"Who would willingly choose life as a puppet?" Angel said grumpily, resting one four-fingered hand beneath his chin.
"No one, probably," Gunn said from behind his newspaper.
"I mean, on the one hand, nice reprieve from the blood. I don't have to eat or drink, or breathe. Not that I had to before, I just...noticed. I--" Angel became still, and if he could have paled he probably would. "Do I have a brain? Gunn, do you think I have a brain?"
"I'm thinking I don't be the one to check on that," Gunn said, turning the page.
Angel rested his forehead on his desk. Spike had teased him earlier about how accurate the proportions of his forehead were to the rest of his face, which had earned him a short but satisfying ass-kicking. Being able to beat up Spike was one of the few things that kept Angel's self-esteem intact.
"Angel, calm down," Gunn finally sighed, putting his paper down. "In all the stories, it turns out okay."
"The stories weren't real," Angel argued.
"Actually, the Red Riding Hood thing was pretty accurate, and Mystical Mythologies is still tracking down info on the Three Bears," Gunn said.
Angel narrowed his eyes.
"I'm not lying!" Gunn said placatingly. "My point is, things turn out okay, even for Pinocchio. Becoming a real boy and all."
"But I already *was* a real boy--man. Real man. Well, vampire. Whatever."
Gunn shrugged. "Even better chance of it working out then. Not like you were cursed or whatever."
Angel stopped for a second, thinking, then shuddered. Gunn decided he didn't want to know what Angel had come up with.
"It's what, five in the evening? Go back to your apartment, Angel. Get some rest. I bet by morning things will be back to normal and you can, like, torture Spike and save someone all in the same day. It'll be good."
Leaning back in his chair, Angel sighed. "It's just not the same when my head doesn't reach the top of the mattress."
"Wanna order takeout?"
"There's the not-eating thing again."
"In that case, I'll order moo goo gai pan. I know you have Issues with it."
"I do not have Issues. I just don't like the smell."
"You don't like the smell because it reminds you of pig's blood."
"Look, it's not like I can help it if I just don't find pig's blood palatable after twenty years of drinking it."
Gunn rolled his eyes. "Whatever, dude. Can you even smell in that body?
Angel glared at him, and Gunn back off. "Fine, fine. Chicken friend rice."
As Gunn was making for the phone, he thought he heard Angel mutter under his breath, "Never as good as in China."
words © SA. characters, show, and people not mine. no infringement is intended.