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beer_good_foamyOK, everyone seemed to be so worried about Spike, so... just don't go expecting me to update this daily every day, y'hear?
Title: Elves, Gremlins and Eskimoes
Author: Beer Good (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
beer_good_foamy)
Rating: PG13
Timeline: Angel season 5
Warnings: Possibly slash and character death in future chapters.
Disclaimer: Angel characters are owned by Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. Simpsons characters are owned by Matt Groening and FOX TV.
Summary: Simpsons crossover: W&H decide to get rid of Angel and bring in some outside contractors to help get the company back in the red again. Now the crew of Angel Investigations will have to turn to someone who knows how to fight this new evil... Someone in the small town of Springfield.
Part 3, in which Spike makes a friend. Part 1 can be found here, and part 2 here.
Part 3: Sidekicks
Meanwhile, back in LA, the California sun streamed through the windows as Waylon Smithers pulled open the drapes in the CEO's penthouse. "Good morning, sir. Did you have a good night's sleep?"
He went over to the bed, where Mr Burns lay immobile. Smithers' checked his boss's pulse, retrieved a small portable defibrillator and gave the old man 200 volts of electricity. Burns' heart beat a couple of times and he opened his eyes.
"Aaaah, good morning, Smithers. What's for breakfast?"
"I've got your favorite here, sir: Condor eggs, toast from wheat grown on what used to be Brazilian rainforest, and freshly clubbed baby seal bacon."
"Eeeexcellent." Burns opened his mouth and let Smithers feed him. After he was done, he let himself be dressed as he looked out over the rooftops of Los Angeles."You know, Smithers, this is quite the change from Springfield. There's so much to do here. In fact, I've got a hankering for some culture tonight. I believe I'll take in a show. Sarah Bernhardt in The Lady of the Camellias, perhaps? Yes, that's the ticket. See to it."
"I'm afraid that won't be possible, sir."
"Oh? And why is that, pray tell?"
"Well... she's been dead since 1923, sir."
Burns shot his retainer a dark look, his voice growing irritated. "So? This is Wolfram & Hart, isn't it? Raise her, damn you!"
*POP*
Spike suddenly appeared in the bedroom. "Wouldn't do that if I were you, gramps. Speakin' as someone who's had a bit of experience with raising dead women... they generally don't appreciate it much. Plus, I saw Sarah Bernhardt back in 1879; she wasn't all that great. Sandra Bullock of her time, if you ask me."
"What in blazes are you doing here?" Burns stared at him. "Smithers, protect me with your life."
"Right away, sir." Smithers moved between them, putting his fists up.
The ex-vampire scoffed. "Please. No need to worry about ol' Spike. I'm just a phantom, without any say in when and where I turn up. Hell, I can't even touch anything 'less I really really try..." He leaned over the breakfast tray and carefully grabbed Burns' coffee cup, and his face lit up as he managed to lift it. "Hey, look at... Oh bugger."
*POP*
Spike disappeared from view again and the coffee cup shattered on the floor. Burns turned to Smithers with a puzzled look.
"Smithers, who was that suffering centequadragenarian?"
"That was William the Bloody, one of our resident ghosts, sir."
"William, eh? Have him fired."
"We can't. Apparently, he's cursed to haunt this place. Even the lawyers can't seem to find a way to get rid of him."
"Lawyers? Bah, humbug! Bloodsuckers, one and all! DAMN THEIR OILY HIDES!"
A few hours later, having spent the morning going over his new duties, Smithers opened the door to the CEO office. "Are you ready to order lunch now, sir?"
"Yes, I think so." Burns looked over the piece of paper in front of him. "I believe I'll have... ooh, sautéed M'Fashnik, that sounds lovely. And I'll have an... Archduke Sebassis for dessert."
"Sir, that's not the menu, those are your meetings for this afternoon. You're expected to negotiate a peace treaty between..." Smithers checked his notes, "14 different demon clans, who are all our clients and are also all bribing us to betray the other 13."
"Negotiate? Charles Montgomery Burns does not finagle with fiends!" Burns leaned back and pondered. "Couldn't we just... well... have all of them killed?"
"I... suppose so... though I don't think the Senior Partners would -"
"Eeexcellent. That's that problem solved, then. Oh, and make sure to save me a slice of Durslar beast, would you?"
*POP* And there was that blonde vampire ghost again. "Now look, you really don't want to do that. Believe me. I've had Durslar beast, and they're not exactly what you'd call a delicacy. Now, I could bitch and whine about how unfair it is that you're enjoying all the perks of running this place whereas yours truly can't even have as much as a drop of pig's blood, but," Spike's face took on a dreamy look at the thought of food, "if you want a recommendation, you take a nice, succulent Suvolte demon and roast it over... Oh bloody hell." *POP*
Burns looked at the spot where Spike had stood a few seconds earlier and spoke in a low, menacing tone. "Have Billy Idol killed."
"But sir-"
"DO AS I SAY!"
"You know, Smithers, annoying ghosts aside, I think I could really get used to running Wolfram & Hart", Burns mused as the sun set. "I believe that power plant was just a phase; this is much more exciting. I wield absolute power over minions in several universes, I can start and stop wars and apocalypses at will, and apparently, I even have a teleportation device somewhere. Do fetch it for me, will you?"
"Teleportation device, sir?"
"Yes, I was perusing some of our brilliant innovators' creations, and I found this." Burns handed over a written report. "Sounds like a splendid apparatus, don't you think?"
"Well..." Smithers took a few minutes to eye through the report. "It says it was an experimental model. The entire research department disappeared without a trace along with the three surrounding blocks, and the ensuing chain reaction came close to wiping out the entire world. The prototype itself eventually folded into the seventh dimension, making it invisible to all but Cnyphon demons, all of which were killed when the Hellmouth collapsed. I'm afraid you'll simply have to settle for the enormous car pool, the helicopter and the company jet, sir."
"Piffle! The CEO of Wolfram & Hart must travel in style, not like some Peter Pauper!" Burns raised his cane and waved it feebly to and fro. "Find me the teleport machine or I will tan your hide!"
*POP* "Oh for the love of..." Spike rolled his eyes at the heavens. "Look, you old geezer, don't you recognize a Bad Idea when it kicks you right in the face? Even if you do manage to find that telewhatsit thing, it'll most likely send your decrepit old self to some untold hell dimension where you'll suffer eternal... torture and pain and... come to think of it, that's a pretty good idea. You do that. Ta." *POP*
"I really dislike that spectre. Smithers..." Burns' voice dipped low, vicious. "Release the hounds."
"You mean the ghost-sniffing ethereal hellhounds of M'Haffla, sir?"
"Yes yes yes." Burns waved his hand impatiently. "Those too."
After putting Mr Burns to bed, Smithers retreated to his own little apartment in the W&H skyscraper, poured himself a large glass of whisky and sank into a chair with a deep sigh. "Oh Monty, Monty... what are we do-"
*POP* "Sure you should be drinkin' alone there, mate?" Spike suddenly sat in the other chair.
Smithers took a deep swig. "Well, I don't think I'll be inviting you, considering how you've been harassing my poor boss all day."
"Fair point, I guess. But I figure since your boss has had me running from ghostly hellhounds the last few hours, you owe me. I can't exactly drink, but I can probably get high off the fumes." Spike leaned in close, his face next to Smithers', and took a deep whiff of his breath. "Oh yeah. That's good whisky you got there."
"One of the perks, I guess." Smithers closed his eyes and shook his head. "You know what? I've been working with Mr Burns... Monty... for 18 years. I've done everything for him, tried to be like him. We've had our ups and downs, and there's always been things I would have wanted to..." Smithers took a deep breath and another sip of whisky. "But then we came here, and it's like... since he started working at Wolfram & Hart, he's forgotten everything that got us here. We've always done things that were... less than good, but we were small-town people. Now he's one of the most powerful people in the world, and I think this place is already starting to corrupt him, making him think he can have everything... He's losing his way, and meanwhile, I feel like I'm disappearing into the background. After 18 years... Can you understand how that feels?"
Spike seemed to think about the question for a long time. "I think I can relate to some of that, yeah." He leaned in for another sniff of whisky, and they sat like that as the last rays of the sun sank beneath the horizon.
TBC
On to part 4
Title: Elves, Gremlins and Eskimoes
Author: Beer Good (
beer_good_foamy)Rating: PG13
Timeline: Angel season 5
Warnings: Possibly slash and character death in future chapters.
Disclaimer: Angel characters are owned by Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. Simpsons characters are owned by Matt Groening and FOX TV.
Summary: Simpsons crossover: W&H decide to get rid of Angel and bring in some outside contractors to help get the company back in the red again. Now the crew of Angel Investigations will have to turn to someone who knows how to fight this new evil... Someone in the small town of Springfield.
Part 3, in which Spike makes a friend. Part 1 can be found here, and part 2 here.
Part 3: Sidekicks
Meanwhile, back in LA, the California sun streamed through the windows as Waylon Smithers pulled open the drapes in the CEO's penthouse. "Good morning, sir. Did you have a good night's sleep?"
He went over to the bed, where Mr Burns lay immobile. Smithers' checked his boss's pulse, retrieved a small portable defibrillator and gave the old man 200 volts of electricity. Burns' heart beat a couple of times and he opened his eyes.
"Aaaah, good morning, Smithers. What's for breakfast?"
"I've got your favorite here, sir: Condor eggs, toast from wheat grown on what used to be Brazilian rainforest, and freshly clubbed baby seal bacon."
"Eeeexcellent." Burns opened his mouth and let Smithers feed him. After he was done, he let himself be dressed as he looked out over the rooftops of Los Angeles."You know, Smithers, this is quite the change from Springfield. There's so much to do here. In fact, I've got a hankering for some culture tonight. I believe I'll take in a show. Sarah Bernhardt in The Lady of the Camellias, perhaps? Yes, that's the ticket. See to it."
"I'm afraid that won't be possible, sir."
"Oh? And why is that, pray tell?"
"Well... she's been dead since 1923, sir."
Burns shot his retainer a dark look, his voice growing irritated. "So? This is Wolfram & Hart, isn't it? Raise her, damn you!"
*POP*
Spike suddenly appeared in the bedroom. "Wouldn't do that if I were you, gramps. Speakin' as someone who's had a bit of experience with raising dead women... they generally don't appreciate it much. Plus, I saw Sarah Bernhardt back in 1879; she wasn't all that great. Sandra Bullock of her time, if you ask me."
"What in blazes are you doing here?" Burns stared at him. "Smithers, protect me with your life."
"Right away, sir." Smithers moved between them, putting his fists up.
The ex-vampire scoffed. "Please. No need to worry about ol' Spike. I'm just a phantom, without any say in when and where I turn up. Hell, I can't even touch anything 'less I really really try..." He leaned over the breakfast tray and carefully grabbed Burns' coffee cup, and his face lit up as he managed to lift it. "Hey, look at... Oh bugger."
*POP*
Spike disappeared from view again and the coffee cup shattered on the floor. Burns turned to Smithers with a puzzled look.
"Smithers, who was that suffering centequadragenarian?"
"That was William the Bloody, one of our resident ghosts, sir."
"William, eh? Have him fired."
"We can't. Apparently, he's cursed to haunt this place. Even the lawyers can't seem to find a way to get rid of him."
"Lawyers? Bah, humbug! Bloodsuckers, one and all! DAMN THEIR OILY HIDES!"
A few hours later, having spent the morning going over his new duties, Smithers opened the door to the CEO office. "Are you ready to order lunch now, sir?"
"Yes, I think so." Burns looked over the piece of paper in front of him. "I believe I'll have... ooh, sautéed M'Fashnik, that sounds lovely. And I'll have an... Archduke Sebassis for dessert."
"Sir, that's not the menu, those are your meetings for this afternoon. You're expected to negotiate a peace treaty between..." Smithers checked his notes, "14 different demon clans, who are all our clients and are also all bribing us to betray the other 13."
"Negotiate? Charles Montgomery Burns does not finagle with fiends!" Burns leaned back and pondered. "Couldn't we just... well... have all of them killed?"
"I... suppose so... though I don't think the Senior Partners would -"
"Eeexcellent. That's that problem solved, then. Oh, and make sure to save me a slice of Durslar beast, would you?"
*POP* And there was that blonde vampire ghost again. "Now look, you really don't want to do that. Believe me. I've had Durslar beast, and they're not exactly what you'd call a delicacy. Now, I could bitch and whine about how unfair it is that you're enjoying all the perks of running this place whereas yours truly can't even have as much as a drop of pig's blood, but," Spike's face took on a dreamy look at the thought of food, "if you want a recommendation, you take a nice, succulent Suvolte demon and roast it over... Oh bloody hell." *POP*
Burns looked at the spot where Spike had stood a few seconds earlier and spoke in a low, menacing tone. "Have Billy Idol killed."
"But sir-"
"DO AS I SAY!"
"You know, Smithers, annoying ghosts aside, I think I could really get used to running Wolfram & Hart", Burns mused as the sun set. "I believe that power plant was just a phase; this is much more exciting. I wield absolute power over minions in several universes, I can start and stop wars and apocalypses at will, and apparently, I even have a teleportation device somewhere. Do fetch it for me, will you?"
"Teleportation device, sir?"
"Yes, I was perusing some of our brilliant innovators' creations, and I found this." Burns handed over a written report. "Sounds like a splendid apparatus, don't you think?"
"Well..." Smithers took a few minutes to eye through the report. "It says it was an experimental model. The entire research department disappeared without a trace along with the three surrounding blocks, and the ensuing chain reaction came close to wiping out the entire world. The prototype itself eventually folded into the seventh dimension, making it invisible to all but Cnyphon demons, all of which were killed when the Hellmouth collapsed. I'm afraid you'll simply have to settle for the enormous car pool, the helicopter and the company jet, sir."
"Piffle! The CEO of Wolfram & Hart must travel in style, not like some Peter Pauper!" Burns raised his cane and waved it feebly to and fro. "Find me the teleport machine or I will tan your hide!"
*POP* "Oh for the love of..." Spike rolled his eyes at the heavens. "Look, you old geezer, don't you recognize a Bad Idea when it kicks you right in the face? Even if you do manage to find that telewhatsit thing, it'll most likely send your decrepit old self to some untold hell dimension where you'll suffer eternal... torture and pain and... come to think of it, that's a pretty good idea. You do that. Ta." *POP*
"I really dislike that spectre. Smithers..." Burns' voice dipped low, vicious. "Release the hounds."
"You mean the ghost-sniffing ethereal hellhounds of M'Haffla, sir?"
"Yes yes yes." Burns waved his hand impatiently. "Those too."
After putting Mr Burns to bed, Smithers retreated to his own little apartment in the W&H skyscraper, poured himself a large glass of whisky and sank into a chair with a deep sigh. "Oh Monty, Monty... what are we do-"
*POP* "Sure you should be drinkin' alone there, mate?" Spike suddenly sat in the other chair.
Smithers took a deep swig. "Well, I don't think I'll be inviting you, considering how you've been harassing my poor boss all day."
"Fair point, I guess. But I figure since your boss has had me running from ghostly hellhounds the last few hours, you owe me. I can't exactly drink, but I can probably get high off the fumes." Spike leaned in close, his face next to Smithers', and took a deep whiff of his breath. "Oh yeah. That's good whisky you got there."
"One of the perks, I guess." Smithers closed his eyes and shook his head. "You know what? I've been working with Mr Burns... Monty... for 18 years. I've done everything for him, tried to be like him. We've had our ups and downs, and there's always been things I would have wanted to..." Smithers took a deep breath and another sip of whisky. "But then we came here, and it's like... since he started working at Wolfram & Hart, he's forgotten everything that got us here. We've always done things that were... less than good, but we were small-town people. Now he's one of the most powerful people in the world, and I think this place is already starting to corrupt him, making him think he can have everything... He's losing his way, and meanwhile, I feel like I'm disappearing into the background. After 18 years... Can you understand how that feels?"
Spike seemed to think about the question for a long time. "I think I can relate to some of that, yeah." He leaned in for another sniff of whisky, and they sat like that as the last rays of the sun sank beneath the horizon.
TBC
On to part 4
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Date: 2007-02-22 08:53 am (UTC)Heh, thanks! Though I personally think that's overdoing it... I mean, it's not Hercule Poirot/Xena The Warrior Princess (http://speakr2customrs.livejournal.com/177120.html#cutid1) or anything. But really, appreciate it!