The drink is dry. It leaves, not a bitter taste, but a liquid trail of ghost he wishes. Would hurt.

It is because I cannot feel my toes, that I feel like this. The fog, and cold. I need more tweed.

(i am home now)

He laughs, with mirth. Because it is. Funny, genuinely so.

Half-drunk, not sloshed. Not nearly close enough to- plastered. Giles wishes he were plastered.

So they'd brought her back, had they?

I am not interested in Slayers Raised From the Dead, I am. I do not want them, Giles I am.

Fuck.

Conscious, conscience. Conspiracy, bastard. (laughter, oh I do wish it drunken)

He cannot help himself; he titters.

I woulda gotten away with it, if it weren't fer those meddling kids! Damn them. Damn him. (tears. there are. He laughed so hard he-- Christ.) oh hell.

"What's so funny?"

"Oh..nothing, Mr. Barkeep. Nothing at all-" (snorts. chokes, nearly.)

Gasps.

"A shot of whiskey, please."

Verily. That is why his sides hurt. It really is quite funny.

What is optional, and what does it all mean?