This is probably the only author's note I'm going to write on this story, so I'll just say everything I think I'll need to right now. I've never written a snippet of a story like this and quite honestly, I'm not entirely sure whether I understand it all correctly. That's my defence, I hope you enjoy. Feel free to give feedback, I think it's pretty great.

"You spilled it!"

"Oh, Angel, grow up. Red isn't going to show on black. What, are you afraid to mess up your bad boy image?"

"I was the vilest killer in Europe!"

"And now you're whinging at me for spilling a teensy bit of blood on your shirt. Do you see how this isn't looking good in the emotional-growth department?"

"I don't see how going from mass murder to a new dress sense is emotional degeneration."

"Why does it matter? It's not like you can get any anyway – without trying to kill everyone like back in Sunnydale."

"What was that like, anyway?"

"Wes, stay out of it."

"Oh, my God, Wes; I have never seen so much leather on one human, undead or otherwise."

"Really? Because I was thinking about going for some sort of leather-look, I mean – it is quite suitable for a rogue demon hunter such as myself -"

"Apocalypse? Anybody there?"