It's early evening.
To the observer, the town is like any other town.
Only darker. There is an overshadowing, suffocating feel to this place. Like a dark power is somhow in control, just below the surface.
The two men at the cafe seem oblivious, but, on closer inspection, it is clear that they know more about the town than any other inhabitant. It is also clear that they are not normal, not by any stretch of the imagination.
The younger of the two – although he deceptively looks to be in early middle-age – smiles humourously at his companion, raises a small cup of steaming tea in a mock-toast. His other hand smooths sandy hair back.
The other man lifts a cup off the table, delicately, which is surprising when you look at his hand, but it does not contain tea. Indeed, he has never let a drop of tea pass his lips, not since it was discovered.
He is terrifying to look at. Bald, with a demon's face, red eyes regard his junior companion amiably. There's always time for a social evening with another soulless being. That was something he learned after years of imprisonment underground.
Their waiter hovers fearfully near them, terrified. And with good reason. One wrong move and death awaits him.
Again.
He is not normal either.
His brow is ridged, mouth filled with unnaturally long fangs. His eyes are gold and he does not drink tea either. It makes him jumpy, you see. And, while there were plently of fruity versions, he could never find plasma-flavoured.
The two men at the small, round table drink. Nothing has yet been said, the screams from a hapless visitor to the town reaching their ears, one human-looking pair, one pointed and bat-like pair.
The younger man tuts softly. "Gee, that just ruined the ambiance." He sighs, swirls his drink around. "You could have ordered your boys to keep it down."
"I could have." The older one acknowledges with a smile. "But it wouldn't have done any good. That was one of my girls at work."
The younger shook his head, chuckled. "Women. Those precious little ladies." He raised his cup in salute again. "Such fickle creatures. The bearers of life and the bearers of death." He half-smiles. "Gosh, I'm getting poetic in my old age."
"Old?" There is a bark of laughter. The older man gestures for another drink. "Wait until you pass your first full centennial, my friend. Then you'll know what it is to feel old." He accepts the cup in dangerous, clawed hands. "Second centenniel is worse."
The other nods. "You look pretty darn good for your age, though." He said agreeably. "If anyone asked, I'd say you were closer to three hundred than...how old did you say you were again?"
"I didn't." He flashes a fang-filled grin at the waiter, who runs. "But I had a childe who is in her fifth century. Perhaps you've met her? Blonde, about so high, goes by the name of Darla?" He smiles reminiscently. "She's been upstaged by my newest baby, though."
"Yes sir. She most certainly couldn’t rival that little firecracker." His companion laughs. "You're the father of two beautiful little girls." Leaning forward on the edge of the table, he smiled. "Perhaps that's the thing that keeps you so young?" He laughs again. "Certainly isn't your diet."
The other shrugged, leather-clad shoulders rising slightly. "You'd be surprised what the blood of the innocents can do for the complexion." He remarks. "Although, I wouldn't imagine you having that problem."
One hand rises, the sandy-haired man touches his face. "Nope. This is all mine." He leans back in his seat. His companion gave him a skeptical look. "All right, perhaps I did make a trade with...an associate, but I have to do the upkeep. Can't have a superdemon being the laughing stock because he didn't take care of his apearance, can we? No, sir."
"So when does this happen?" His companion sips his crimson drink slowly, savouring the texture of the liquid.
"Coincides with Graduation Day at the school." The younger chuckles. "That is, if any of your kids have left any of the classes to Graduate. I will need to have a few put aside for a snack, to get enough strength."
"I'll see what I can arrange." A bald head shakes tiredly. "Honestly, they are all just so high-maintainance, these days. All they seem to do is eat and grow."
"Makes me glad that my kids are all grown up and have moved out." He tears up, dabs at his eyes. "Little Amy made her first sacrifice to Dayock last week." He gropes for a handkerchief, wipes his eyes, blows his nose. "My babies are all demonic entities in their own rights now."
A clawed hand pats him reassuringly on the shoulder. "Count yourself lucky. You don't have your kids bringing their children and grandchildren to live with you." A visible shudder passes through him. "Sometimes, I think good taste must have skipped several generations."
"You always have that red head girl of yours." His friend points out. "She seems to know exactly what she's doing."
"Yes." A clawed hand slowly turns the small, white cup on the surface of the table, voice absent. "Willow. She was a wonderful addition to the family...and that boy of hers." He smiles, fondly. "Both so blood-thirsty. It makes me proud...but then we have Darla’s boy. Such a disappointment."
"The souled one?"
A nod.
"I’m sorry about that." Both men sigh. They know the failings of beings with souls, so weak, so pathetic. A soul is a terrible thing to have – takes the fun out of being a superdemon or a blood-thirsty vampire.
They sit in silence, watch the older man’s descendants prowling around the street, searching for a hapless meal.
Draining the remainder of the crimson fluid that is chilling in his cup, the older of the two slowly rises to his feet. "I ought to be getting back." He says, his eyes roaming the street. "I probably have a few children to dominate. Maybe a couple to kill." He chuckles dryly. "They never tell you fatherhood is such hard work."
The other man nods, rises too. "Good luck with that." He lifts a napkin, wipes his hands carefully. "Before you go, what are the arrangements for the Bridge Club, next week?"
"Kakistos and the Judge are visiting me next week." There’s a pause. "They wanted to join our table, if that is all right with you."
"The Judge?" The younger man’s brows rise. "Gee, whillickers."
"Not afraid are you?" The shrewd gleam returns to those familiar, red eyes.
Running a hand through his hair, the other man chuckles, shakes his head. "Just because he’s the best gosh-darn Bridge Player, this side of the Atlantic? Nope, I’m not afraid at all."
"So would next Wednesday, around eight o’clock, fit your schedule? Or would it be better later?"
"Eight’s fine." He etches the date in his diary. "Where? City Hall or your place?"
The older spreads his hands in a shrug. "I though you might want to show off your property to the boys." His voice held a fondness for the two other demons. "They’re very interested in material possessions, old fools that they are."
"You’re just worried that your flock of kids will interrupt, huh?"
"I must be getting transparent in my old age." The elder smiled faintly. "So, at City Hall, eight o’clock, bring your own drinks and snacks?"
"Perfect." Sliding his diary into his breast pocket, the younger offered his hand, shook the older man’s. "It was good to see you again, Heinrich. I look forward to the game next week."
"Look forward to losing again, you mean, Richard." His companion’s eyes glinted with the threat of a smile. "See you then."
Turning, one moving in the direction of City Hall, the other in the direction of the ex-nightclub, The Bronze, both the Master and the Mayor of Sunnydale smiled, confident that they could outwit the other in the weekly Bridge Club meet.
Just as they had last week.
And the week before.
Just another night on the Hellmouth.