Starring:
Summary:
After Lorne has tied up the influenced girls (and Wesley), he tries to find out what is causing them to act so strangely.
December 5th, 2001:
Tryst-O'-Clock
Hyperion Hotel
"Oh sweet baby Jesus." What kind of calamity did he get himself into? That's what our green friend is thinking repeatedly as he stares with nervous worry at the two women and Wesley. Who, by the way, are tied up on the circular sofa in the Hyperion lobby. The ladies are roped together around their waists, back-to-back, with their wrists cinched with the same form of twine. Wesley… well… Lorne ran out of rope. He did a little rummaging, and-boy, does Angel have a weird collection of novelties. Point being, Wesley is in handcuffs.
About an hour has passed since the Host walked in on the out-of-character flirtations and… here we are. He sits in a wheeled office chair several feet away, elbows his knees, cell phone in one verdant hand and bottled water in the other. He brings the phone to his ear. Again. "Ha haha," he laughs nervously into the cell, "A-answer your phone, Angelkins. I'm holding out for a hero with a strong arm, here! Five four three two one, I'm going to leave your pals to their doom and unleash a whole world of inappropriate lovin' on LA. Ahaha— TTYL?"
It takes a few moments, but Fred blinks and slowly wakes up before a sudden jerk up of her head, realizing where she is. And how she is there. Her head hurts, and there's that slight ringing in her ear from Lorne's illustrious windpipes, but she'll survive. Testing the ropes around her, she gives a smirk and then tilts her head at the green-skinned demon chatting on his cellphone. In her sweet and too innocent sounding voice, she tells him, "If you wanted to tie us up, Lorney-kins, you could have just asked." A glance is tossed to Wesley. "Oooh, handcuffs. I like where this could be going."
The feeling of movement stirs Cordelia, and the brunette wakes up. Sure enough, she's got her wrists bound, and she looks up to see Lorne chatting on the phone. "Ooh. Fred's right. You don't need a partner, Lorne. You can have us both for yourself." A coy smile is given to the demon as she looks back to him.
"You'd think he'd stock chloroform…" Lorne is in the midst of mumbling as he flips the fancy-schmancy phone shut, which is when the first sexy beast starts to awaken. Oh goodie. He's tickled pink, honest. "Simmer, Daisy Duke, Lusty-Loo. You're not goin' anywhere." He gestures with the phone and a few lightly flicked knuckles to the tied-up women (and Wesley). "I'm not interested in what you're selling. You may look footloose and fancy free," he chuckles through his words, flippantly scoffing, lack-of-brows raised high, "But I don't believe for a second that you're not charging a whopper of a price in mystical dollars."
"Now that's just ungentlemanly. You know we'd be only too glad to go willingly." Fred tilts her head a little, upward to give Lorne an imploringly look. "Everything comes with a price, but you know you'd get something real good in exchange. Just one kiss. I'll even give it to you for free." Not going so far as puckering up, she just gives him another smile.
Cordelia nods emphatically. "One little kiss never hurt, right? For the charming singer?" She smiles. "You can even pick which one of us. Or both of us." She tries at her wrists again.
"Not that I don't appreciate the flattery, ladies…" Lorne begins, smiling tightly, "Uh— thanks but no thanks.". The nicety isn't a nicety at all — it's devoid of his usual polite cheer. He stands up, but makes no move to go closer. No sir. "There's something more than raging hormones at work here. Now, you two weren't born as succubi, so that's out… that's a bit of luck, those ladies are pushy, pushy— and hard to get rid of, hoo! They're like a rash— that's, uh, the word on the street."
"Maybe we've just been waiting for an excuse to set us loose. You don't know us all that much, darlin'." Or, at least, Lorne doesn't really know Fred all that well, other than the few days they spent together in Pylea. "It's been too long since I had some fun. Let my hair down. Now, what d'ya say. Lemme out? We won't even make you undo Wesley's handcuffs."
Lorne may not know Fred very well, but this is the exact opposite impression of the little Texan than his first. "Unless you Little Mary Sunshined yourself out of your shell in a day, colour me a skeptic," the green-skinned demon retorts. He shoots a vaguely nervous — and maybe even a teeny-tiny bit guilty — look at Wesley before his red peepers settle on the girls. "You better get used to the boredom, Chiquita," he informs Cordy. "I'm keepin' my personal space personal — mine, I don't want your grabby hands all over my suit." He's getting a little bolder and more confident the longer the pair is bound. He strolls closer and points. "So start talkin' or I start walkin' and leave you here by your lonesome. What'd you do today before tryst-o'-clock?" Interrogation by Lorne isn't very intimidating.
Giving a deep sigh, Fred rolls her eyes to the side, almost like a petulant teen. "If you're going to be boring, fine." She pretends to think for a moment. "I wrote on the walls, did myself up, tried to show Wesley a good time. It's about time he stopped being all repressed, don'tcha think?" Rolling her head back, she shrugs her shoulders at Lorne. "Can we get to the fun part now?"
Cordelia looks back. "Fred's right. Let us go, Lorne." She sounds like old Cordy…but sounds can be deceiving. "There's nothing wrong. You're just reading too much into things. We're allowed to get an itch every now and again."
"You pet your pretty pearls I'm reading too much into things. Incase you haven't noticed, it's what I do! Your auras are buzzing!" This is going nowhere fast. Think, Lorne. Think. How to figure this puzzle out? By running out the-no, he can't leave them alone. But he can't stay here all day chatting up the chicas. And they might break out and mob him. He slips his phone into an inner satin pocket of his jacket and untwists the cap of his water bottle thoughtfully throughout his inner monologuing. Then… pause… wait…
Suddenly, Lorne flings a stream of cold water from the plastic bottle at the two women. Cool off? Right? Huh? He's doing well? "I know a good exorcist in North Hollywood, she can work with anything from demonic possession to your run of the mill randy ghost," he threatens lightly, picking his phone back out of his pocket.
Blinking and turning her head away at the cold water, the woman raises an eyebrow at Lorne. "We're not vampires and that's not holy water," Fred tells him, amusedly. "But we could have a wet t-shirt contest if you're really so eager." The mention of an exorcist makes her shake her head and pout her lips, almost certainly mocking. "Oh no, don't do that. Not the big bad exorcists!"
Cordelia narrows her eyes a little at some of the conversation, and then "You're hosing us down? I thought your club was Caritas, not Caritatas." A general annoyed-Cordy tone. "Now let us out already! My wrists are chafing and I have to pee!"
Lorne gives a dramatic eye-roll of his own. Truly, you can see the … reds of his eyes. "Gimme somethin' to work with here!" he says, throwing his hands up and keeping them there in the air, nearly avoiding the splashing of more water around the Hyperion floor. "How about a little song for ol' Lorne, huh? I can tell you're feelin' the Lady Marmelade, am I right or am I right?"
"If it'll get me out of this?" Fred sighs and does a very unenthusiastic version of twinkle twinkle little star. She's off-key, but does smirk somewhat toward the end. While it's still Fred that's doing the singing, there's a much baser note that's being hit there. Something all but wrapping around the woman and twisting her into what Lorne is seeing now. Good thing, however, that it doesn't look permanent. But, the trick is to catch what it is that's different about her and Cordelia both. "There. Can we go now? I'm sure there're guys out there who're more willing to enjoy us."
Cordelia opts to sing the chorus. "~She's a Killer Queen, gunpowder, gelatine, dynamite with a laser beam, guaranteed to blow your mind, anytime!~" And much the same as Fred…she's in the same boat. It's still Cordy…it's just Cordy with an extra layer of wrapping paper, entwining around her. She honestly doesn't seem aware that this is odd for her.
By the time Fred has finished her little ditty, Lorne is making a rather indescribable face, frozen with his hands in a halfway-finished gesture in front of him. Then Cordelia starts singing and he gets the shivers. "Oish. That tingles." Frowning, he turns a look of concern on the pair and their unconscious friend (whoops). He sighs. "Oh, you gals are wrapped up by somethin' as clingy as your dresses. You, ah-you just sit pretty, I'm gonna hop, skip and jump outta here to get you some possession treatment. Think of it as, uh… birth control."
