To Be Worthy

"In order to…to be worthy, you must perform the ritual," the Watcher choked out, "in a tutu."

A snarl rose to Angelus's lips. He almost expected his blood to start pounding again like a human's, so animal was his rage. The Englishman regarded him silently, expression almost unreadable. The sweet savor of fear was still evident in his scent, but there was something else…

His eyes were very dark, and he almost seemed serious. Angelus struggled to recall a time when he'd seen Rupert lie. He was just a pitiful dog of the Council, after all. Hardly brave enough to lie to the face of a master vampire.

Nor, Angelus considered, stupid enough, or he wouldn't have lasted so long as the Watcher of Sunnydale's reckless Slayer.

"Oh, damn it all," he muttered, voice slipping back into his long-forgotten brogue. The vampire stole another look at his captive, whose eyes were downcast. Angelus seized a dull knife and held it to Rupert's chest. The scraggly teeth scratched at his flesh, but to his credit, the man only winced.

"If you're lying to me," Angelus promised, in a cultivated tone of danger, "I'll—"

"Cover him with cherries and give him to me for breakfast?" Drusilla said hopefully. He'd almost forgotten she was there, lurking. The aura of her power brushed his so easily and companionably. An excellent childe she'd proven to be, despite her madness—and she wasn't a bad bedfellow, either.

He laughed low in his chest as Drusilla's elegant nails crept over his shoulders. "Perhaps…if you're a very good girl." She cackled at the glint in his eyes.

"Ooh," she murmured, "but I was planning on being quite naughty. Would you spoil my fun, daddy?"

"If this doesn't work, he's all yours," Angelus said darkly.

He was suddenly aware of a third aura, weaker and wilder, but there was no need to overanalyze the feeling when he could hear the squeak of wheels. "If what doesn't work?" Spike asked. There was a note of something odd ringing in his voice that sounded almost like concern, Angelus thought briefly.

The older vampire let out a long sigh and looked down at Drusilla, who was gently biting his shoulder. "Dru," Angelus said, "do you have a…a tutu, I could borrow?"

"A tutu?" she repeated, eyes shining with glee.

He shot his worst glare at the captive. "Just in case he isn't begging for me to rip out his intestines and turn them into modern art. A tutu." As she scampered off, Angelus made the slightest of movements to direct his attention to Spike. "As for you, roll off and pester someone else. I don't need your smartass comments ruining my ritual."

The younger vampire appeared to bite back a retort, and wheeled off with one last furious look at the captive. Dru's presence brushed his again, and within an instant her thin arms had reached around him to pin a fluffy skirt around his waist. "Oooh," she said approvingly. "You'll win best in show if the other pups don't bark too loud."

"And if they do?"

She twirled and bared her teeth. "Bite them."

Feeling awkward for the first time since he was freed of that godawful weight of a soul, Angelus stepped into the tutu. "It's…pink."

"All the better to pick the daisies with, sweet," Dru simpered.

"Couldn't it at least be red? This is a sacred, world-ending ritual we're talking about, not some pansy dance show," Angelus grumbled.

"The color has no bearing," Giles said clearly.

He spread his arms wide. "I'm just strictly talking style here. It's not my color."

"Actually, I kinda like that look on you," a perky voice put in. He turned to face the tiny blonde menace. Her chin was jutting out, and her eyes glittered with amusement.

"Yeah, very dashing," Spike chuckled, emerging from the shadows to flank Buffy. He raised an eyebrow. "Though I'm not too sure it goes with your complexion, mate. Maybe a deeper shade."

In that moment, there was only one thing that Angelus could do. He expressed his emotion in twenty-four languages worth of swear words.

&fin