04-13-2008, 11:54 PM
The Mayor looked up at Anyanka. “The boy has courage,” he said, chuckling. “Trying to chip someone—sending someone out at night?”
“He is also a fool,” she said to him. “He believes we can’t find out. Who does he have?”
“None of ours,” he said to her. “But that isn’t the problem.” He leaned forward in his desk.
“The problem is, the Initiative, as they call themselves, are making too big of a name for themselves around here. They wreck the morale of our boys and our girl, Willow. Now, we can’t have that, can we?” He chuckled a little, pushing forward a plate on his desk. “Have a mint.”
“Thank you.” Anyanka leaned down, taking one of the peppermints. “What would you like me to do?”
“As a favor, of course, I would like you to seek them out. Find an ex-girlfriend, or maybe a disgruntled sister of some kind. Hear their wishes, and wreak havoc over the military men. I knew they existed, but was not prepared for them; not yet.”
“As a favor,” repeated Anyanka. “For any other man, you know, I would broil them in their own stomach’s acid.”
“I know, I know!” He laughed, amused, leaning backwards. “That’s one of the fun things about you—you’re so creative.”
“Thank you.” She smiled, finally, and he knew that she’d do it for him.
“Now. First things first. I…” He stood up. “….Need to warn the big boys. And our Willow, of course. Angelus is fun.”
“What he did to Drusilla was unforgivable—and Darla,” said Anyanka, her face showing her contempt.
“But Drusilla does seem so happy now,” pointed out the Mayor. “True, she’s insane, but only a little. Besides, he makes other guys miserable, too. There’s Spike.”
“Spike,” agreed Anyanka. “I think Halfrek knew him, once. We were around when he and Drusilla shot through Europe in the 1950s. There was tension. He isn’t good either. I’ve heard, however, that he makes Drusilla happy.”
“That he does,” agreed the Mayor. “So, you see, they’re all worthwhile.”
He walked around his desk. “They’ve all got their place,” he said, “whether it’s food for the ascending mayor, or temporary joy for a sweet young lady such as yourself.”
“You do know that I’m about three times older than you, right?”
“You don’t look it,” he told her, holding open the door.
“That’s the nicest thing anybody’s said to me in the past few centuries,” she said. “Excepting a few of the other things you’ve said. You really know how to treat a girl.”
He looked around his office, turning out the light. “Well, I do try.” The door clicked shut behind him.
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