**********FALLEN ANGELS********
 
 

Part 4    Dinner and Discussion
 

Willow walked along the corridor that led to her bedroom in her parents'
house.  It was odd how easily she had accepted that this was no longer
her home. Angelus had made that clear to her from the beginning. She
guessd she should be thankful he had allowed her to continue with
something resembling a normal life. Ha. That was a joke. Her life could
never be normal...not as Angelus' consort.
 

Her feet ached from the new shoes. She wasn't use to wearing heels even
the low heels that Angelus had insisted on and her legs ached from the
unaccustomed position.  Although she guessed she would get use to it.
She had no choice.  Angelus had destroyed her beloved sneakers warning
her if he ever saw or heard of her wearing another pair, apart from at
physical education, then he'd break her ankles.

"Threats...the way vampires show they care," she muttered ruefully to
herself as she dumped her new leather backpack on the floor and walked
into her dark room fumbling to switch on the bedside light.  As the
room brightened she screamed and jumped back, clutching at her choker
and gritting her teeth together.

"Hullo love," smirked Spike, reclining back on her bed, his arms folded
behind his head.

"What are you doing here?" she hissed at him, her breathing ragged as
she tried to calm her nerves, guessing this was another thing she would
have to get use to.

"Come to get you, pet," his voice took on a sarcastic edge with the use
of 'pet'.  Crossing his legs he casually looked up at her.  "You've
got half an hour to have a bath, do your hair and get dressed...in
that."

He nodded toward an outfit of dark green silk and lace that was hanging
up on her closet door.  Willow glared at the blonde vampire who was
still casually lounging on her bed.

"It's only 6.30 I thought I was free until 9," Willow stated moving
about the room, taking a closer look at the dress that was hanging up,
frowning at it.  It consisted of a long dark green silk slip with a
flowing lace overdress, there were matching dark green silk shoes
resting beneath it.  Behind her Spike laughed and searched his pockets
for cigarettes.  Taking his time he lit one and smirked at her,
blowing the smoke in her general direction.

"You aren't free, love," he took another drag on his cigarette, rolling
his jaw and studying the glowing end before fixing his eyes on her.
"You're his twenty-four hours a day, so get ready...you now have
twenty-five minutes."

Willow let out a frustrated sigh and went to grab the dress.

"No pet, leave the dress here," he stated quietly.  Snatching her hand
away from it she turned and glared at him.

"Fine," she spat and stormed out of her room to go have a shower.  She
was half way to the bathroom when she heard Spike chuckle.  "Bastard!"

After a quick shower she returned to her room. Spike was still lounging
on her bed, a bored expression on his face. She turned to look at him
expectantly.

"What?" he asked offhandedly.

"I want to get dressed."

"So?  I'm not stopping you," he shrugged and then pouted at her.
"But I'd suggest you fix your hair and makeup first ~ that way you won't
get anything on the dress."

Willow was beginning to hate him ~ he made sense.  Fuming she sat down
at her computer desk and ran a brush through her slightly damp hair.

"I turned your hot rollers on, you can put them in and then once you
have your makeup and clothes on they'll be ready to take out," he
stated, stubbing out his cigarette butt on a picture of Buffy and
Xander.

"Excuse me?" she asked, shocked that a man knew that much about such
things and then she got annoyed because he actually knew more than she
did.  "And do you want to tell me what shade of lipstick to wear?
Or which underwear?"

Suddenly he sat up on the bed and Willow jumped back in her chair,
banging into her desk.

"Ow," she hissed rubbing her elbow.  He laughed at her.

"Fifteen minutes, pet." he said, lighting another cigarette.

***********

Half an hour later she was following Spike's flowing duster as he strode
through the huge main lounge area of the upper level of the mansion. The
stairs opened up into this vast room and off it were a number of doors,
which led off into private sitting rooms and bedrooms, and an archway
that led into a library.  Now, as Spike led her toward the library,
she caught sight of Angelus relaxing back in a plush chair his legs
crossed at the ankles and resting on an ottoman.  She tightened her arms
that were already crossed against her chest and hunched her shoulders up
even more.  As he looked up she bit her bottom lip.

He put the book he was reading down on his lap and cradled his head in
one hand as he watched her approach.  If looks could kill he would be
a pile of dust right now.  He allowed himself a small chuckle at that
and then ran a critical eye over her.  The tight fitting dark green
dress suited her, the soft lace overdress flowed and softened the look,
the low cut dress and the v-neck of the lace showing off her choker.
Her hair fell in loose soft waves and her make up was kept to a minimum,
a dusting of powder and a slash of lip-gloss.

"Well say hello, love," admonished Spike a huge smirk crossing his face
as he threw himself down into the chair next to Angelus.

"Hello," she mumbled, not looking at him.  Angelus shook his head.

"Stand up straight, don't sulk and don't close yourself off with your
own body," he spat at her.  "And when you speak don't mumble, speak
softly but clearly."

Willow cocked an eyebrow at him, her face turning into a momentary snarl
as she slowly uncrossed her arms letting them fall to her sides and
straightened up.

"Hello, Angelus," she said softly a hint of venom in her voice.

"Hello, Willow.  Turn around," he ordered, twirling his fingers in the
air for emphasis.  Holding her arms out slightly she turned a full
circle.  Angelus smiled behind her back.  The dress did suit her,
the dark green was tight and form fitting, hugging her soft curves,
while the lace clung like second skin to her arms and torso before
falling away in soft folds to her ankles.  The slight heel of the
green silk shoes added to her height and changed her posture
slightly.  He liked it.  But of course the best part was the choker,
her collar.  "Very nice. Sit down."

He lifted his feet off the ottoman and motioned for her to sit, she
moved to flop down and Angelus shook his head.

"Don't crush your dress, Willow," he instructed.  Biting her tongue,
she smoothed down the fabric of her skirt and carefully sat down, her
eyes falling on the book he held on his lap.  "Do you like
Shakespeare?"

"Yes," she stated quietly.

"Why?"

She shrugged.  Didn't everyone like Shakespeare?  "I don't know..."

"If you have an opinion you know, so tell me," Angelus stated, watching
her intently.

She glanced up at him frowning.  She hadn't expected this, to be
engaging in a discussion on the merits of literature.  He had made it
clear to her that she was there for his entertainment and she assumed
that meant sex, not this.  Still give him time and he would grow bored
of the conversation, she was sure of it.

"I enjoy his work...and some of his sonnets are lovely..." she offered
hesitantly, stumbling in her conversation, not sure of what was expected
of her.  "They have a different style then most of his contemporaries
such as Donne and Sidney..."

"Ha," shouted Angelus frowning in distaste and waving her off with his
hands.  "Those poets were nothing more than poor imitations of
original works ~ they did nothing more than plagiarise Petrarch...you
know who Petrarch was?"

Willow struggled for a moment, trying to place the name.  "He...he was
an Italian poet."

"Good. You know he fell in love with a woman he couldn't have and spent
his life worshipping her, devoting endless hours of his creative genius
to her?"  Willow nodded, the story sounded familiar.  "Well as I
said, the English were too unimaginative so they blatantly plagiarised
him...of course they excused it by saying they were so inspired by his
work that they were encouraged to emulate him.  Pathetic lot of
copycats, nothing more."

"Please, they were a bunch of poofs who needed an excuse to why they
were still single and not tied down to some old hag with a brood of
kids," offered Spike, leering at Willow, his eyes flashing wickedly.
"So they ripped off Petrarch's idea to pine after some unobtainable
woman ~ that way they could bugger anything and everything that had
balls."

Willow ducked her head and giggled, her hand trying to stifle her mirth
at the idea of men in tights and neck ruffles going around 'buggering'
each other.  Angelus on the other hand roared with laughter at his
childes opinion.

"You just like the stories of Chaucer," he stated shaking his head.
Willow giggled and looked at the blonde.

"The Canterbury Tales, especially the Millers tale," she stated.
Spike ran his tongue across his lips and smirked.

"Ah you know me well then," he laughed.  "What about you?  Who do
you like from that period?"

"Well, I haven't had a great deal to do with the writers from that era,"
she frowned for a moment, considering her options and shrugged.  "I
suppose Shakespeare."

"Now there was a man who wrote for the masses," stated Angelus smiling
down at her.  "And his friend Marlowe...great writers.  Sadly many
of their stories were also filched and used by writers who were talented
but merely unoriginal."

Willow nodded emphatically, "I know. Isn't it sickening? Look at
Marlowe's Faustus, how many times was that reworked?  It's pathetic!
Of course none of the copycat stories were as good or as fascinating as
the originals."

Angelus smiled a whisper of a smile at the fire in her eyes as she
warmed to the subject. He nodded, "That's the thing with plagiarism, the
plot and the twist and turns that make a story interesting...they no
longer exist...the story will only work, will only become real for the
author who has created it.  Someone could take a basic plot line from
an author and totally screw it up, leaving it flat and
two-dimensional.  But an original piece of work, something that is
well thought out and soundly written will always capture peoples
attention, will stand out and shine stronger that the silly facades that
are merely a black and white copy."

Willow hadn't realised it but her face was barely inches away from
Angelus' as she listened intently to what he was saying.  Shaking her
head, she pulled back and looked down at the floor.

"I suppose you're right," she responded glancing up at him and
shrugging.  "It's a sad thing but it happens all the time. Stories are
always being repeated and reworked.  Look at Conrad's 'Heart of
Darkness', that was the basis for Welles' 'Citizen Kane' and 'Apocalypse
Now'."

Angelus smirked at her and laughed, leaning back in his chair and musing
over her statement.  "You're right, but at least they were well spaced
apart.  People forgot about the original so the copy was all nice and
shiny and new.  Still unoriginality bores me to death."

"You already are dead," Willow stated.  Angelus shrugged and gave her
a half smirk.

"See what I mean?"

At nine o'clock Angelus stopped the discussion, which had become quite
heated between Spike and Willow concerning the originality of Oasis when
compare to The Beatles, announcing that they had reservations at The
Bistro for 9.30.  Willow tilted her head and cocked an eyebrow.  Was
Angelus suggesting that he was going to dine on the patrons?  She knew
his taste was opulent, but dining on the richest citizens of Sunnydale
was a little ridiculous.

"Spike, we'll be back by midnight," Angelus instructed standing up and
holding his arm out to Willow.  She frowned at him and her face fell,
he was serious, they were going to The Bistro.  Her stomach turned at
the thought of watching Angelus massacre their fellow diners.
Suddenly he reached down and yanked her up off the ottoman, lacing her
hand through the crook of his elbow.

************

It wasn't a massacre, it was her dinner, which Angelus ordered along
with a bottle of red wine.  Willow was just finishing her main course
when Angelus lit up a cigarette.  She wrinkled her nose in disgust.

"Does it bother you?" he asked offhandedly, his face a mask of concern.

"Yes," stated Willow sipping her wine.

"Get use to it then," he spat, blowing the smoke in her general
direction.  Leaning forward on his arms he watched her take another
sip of her wine.  "You look ethereal tonight, your face is flushed
from the wine and in this light...well perfection."  He said brushing
a piece of stray hair from her face, his cool fingers brushing across
her skin.

<Food and fucking,> she thought ruefully to herself, she knew that it
was going to happen sooner or later.  Actually she had been expecting
it a lot sooner, she wasn't sure what game he was playing at, especially
after their time together in the library earlier tonight.  Breaking
his gaze she glanced down at her half full wine glass and thought she
really needed to be a lot drunker before she could give Angelus what he
was expecting.

"I understand you told Buffy that you have a new curfew, that your
parents were worried, and that your mother had bought you some new
clothes in New York.  That was good thinking on your part," he stated,
picking up his own glass of wine and taking a sip.  Willow stared at
him, her jaw almost hitting the ground.  "I also understand that some
boy was flirting with you in French.  I'll tell you this once Willow
and once only.  If a male talks to you and you encourage him, I will
rip out his tongue.  If you let another man touch you, I will cut off
his fingers.  If you even consider fucking a man, I will castrate
him.  Do you understand?"

Willow stared at him, her mouth still wide open in shock.  She nodded
mutely, unable to say anything.  Finally curiosity got the better of
her.  "How did you know what I told Buffy?"

He smiled at her, a cold and malevolent smile.  "I know about
everything that concerns you."
 
 

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