The vampire tore into his prize. The only sounds in the deepest, most remote basement area of the Hyperion Hotel were that of a demon's clawed hands slashing and ripping, as the monster finally pulled free his prey from its wraps, and brought his food to his fanged mouth. Ecstatic moans were uttered by Spike, as he crammed his face with the craved fare. Satisfying this specific appetite had been one of the things the British vampire had most desperately yearned for during the time he'd spent as a intangible spirit.


The door to the small room where Spike was gratifying his forbidden appetites slammed open at a blow from a truly furious master vampire. As Angel stepped into the room, he flicked up the wall switch, turning on the lights, to reveal to the others also coming into the room exactly what Spike was doing. The looks of shock, horror, and dawning rage appearing on the faces of Wesley, Gunn and Lorne as they stood behind Angel were clear indications of the seriousness of the situation.

Only Illyria maintained her usual contemptuous expression about the doings of the muck she was forced to spend her existence with, as the blue-haired Old One walked into the room and stood at Angel's side. Coldly eyeing the frozen vampire crouched among the remains of his meal, the pure demon watched as Spike's hand opened, letting a piece of his repast drop to the floor, to roll right at Illyria's right boot and then fall over.

A rare flicker of curiosity appeared in the female's eyes as she bent over to pick up from the floor a small disk of some sort, coated with a dark brown covering. Bringing this disk to her face, Illyria sniffed at it, and a moment later, she popped it into her mouth, thoughtfully masticating it, and then swallowing.

There was absolute stillness in the room, as all there gave their total attention to the female God-King, total ruler of continents, destroyer of entire nations, the greatest nightmare of the Primordium Age, who now did something she hadn't done for millions of years.

She grinned.

"Perhaps there is hope for your species, unbelievable as that may seem," announced Illyria in an actually jovial tone of voice. "If you can continue to produce such appetizing morsels, I may let a percentage of your numbers survive when I conquer this pitiful world. Is there a specific name for what I just consumed?"

Angel answered while still glaring at Spike, "It's called a Thin Mint." As the Irish vampire watched Spike stand up from where numerous empty packages of these named cookies, along with Tagalongs, Do-si-dos, Trefoils and Samoas, littered the floor, a wave of righteous fury overcame Angel, making him snarl at his childe, "YOU BASTARD! You were holding out on us!"

Spike's sneer was magnificent, as he stood before numerous cases of Girl Scout cookies stacked right to the ceiling of the room. "Listen, poofter, it isn't my bleedin' fault you lot forgot last weekend was when they stopped selling these heavenly biscuits. I got mine, so you can all piss off, and leave me to it!"

There was the soft scrape of weapons being drawn, as Wesley, Gunn, and even Lorne produced various knives, swords, and axes, with every one of them now having the light of coming battle on their faces, as they all stared covetously at the boxes of cookies behind Spike. Every member of the trio also had various trickles of saliva running from their mouths as they held their weapons ready.

Illyria now stepped at Angel's side, as she inquired, "There are more such foodstuffs in those containers behind the half-breed?"

Angel only nodded, as he struggled deep within himself to contain Angelus' baying for vengeance and demands for Lemon Chalet Cremes.

Illyria now advanced towards Spike, followed right after by all the others of the Fang Gang, as she expressed what they were all thinking.

"Hand them over."


Much later, it was agreed by all (well, except for a sulking Spike), while uttering soft burps and belches, that the absolute gustatory carnage had been worth it.