Behind the Scenes

elcome one, welcome all as we round up another exciting year at the City. As is our tradition, a most proper and distinguished party was thrown at Angel Investigations. Proper and distinguished, of course, meaning an exorbitant amount of imbibing, ruckus-making, CityofAngel.com style appetizers, and all of the other fun activities that make a party memorable. Yes, it is the Holiday time. The time to put aside feuds (at least until the second or third drink), and embrace the universal joy that is life, or undead life. Well, you get the picture. On to the party!

A wave of nostalgia swept over us as we approached the unforgettable Hyperion Hotel (once the hubbub of glamour and excitement during Hollywood's hayday . . . oh if these walls could talk, what am I saying, they often do...but that's another story). Outside we were most surprised to see Boone, steel knuckles and all, solemnly checking off names as people entered the party. A suspicious Wraither demon tried to slip by only to receive a swift punch in the face, sending him reeling. "No ticket," Boone mumbled in explanation as we swiftly entered, "Wasn't invited - private party, unless you want to become an hors d'oeuvre." He laughed at his quip until he was blue in the face (drum roll please!)

One cannot describe the sensory experience of an Angel Investigations Holiday party. A gargantuan decorated Spruce tree, propped in the center of the lobby, spanned all the way to the second floor. Adorned with countless glittering ornaments, it was quite a sight to behold. Blaring over the speakers was an unlikely, though much enjoyed, duet: Lorne accompanied by Drusilla! The ever-insane Dru took a break from her haunting chanting to snag some chips. "Mmm, how delightful. The little elves are tip-tip-tapping. Create mummy a toy, I have been ever so good," she said, swaying her hips methodically.

Our presence was not hidden for long. As soon as a liberally altered "Deck the Halls" was finished, Lorne rushed over to us, decked out in a rather vibrant Santa suit. "Darlings! Oh, lifesavers! This crowd is getting a little too hungry, literally," he said, motioning to Lilah who was seductively nibbling on Wesley's ear. "It just warms your heart doesn't it? Sea breeze?" he offered as he danced away to hob-nob with the others. We motioned to Fred concerning Lorne's outfit. She laughed and shrugged, "He's been wearing it for a week!"

As we catered around in our Lornette suits, complete with full green make up (don't ask, we lost a bet), many an interesting sight was witnessed. Who can forget Charles Gunn, always the life of the party, strutting around asking all the pretty women what they wanted for Christmas. He might have been charming, if it wasn't for his constant belching and "toga" chants. His sly winks were usually followed by a slap or a grimace from Fred, who has long learned to endure the innocent, drunken flirtations. As we offered her some assorted treats, Gunn rushed over. "Hey, whoa, what do you think you're doing?" he asked. Fred poked him in the gut, "Just appetizers Charles. No sexual deviance over here," she laughed. "You're damn right...because...this..." He paused and examined our attire. "Because this is just disturbing," he said, stumbling off to continue his assault on the drink and the lovely ladies in the house.

Dancing provocatively, surrounded by a circle of viewers, was Lilah and Wesley. Lilah slithered across his body, groping him much to the enjoyment of the audience while Gavin, stone-faced, stood besides them holding a tray with drinks. Lilah grabbed a drink and took a sip. "Gavin, this isn't what I asked for," she said, throwing the drink in his face. "Off with his head!" she yelled. Gavin stood pale faced with horror. After a moment Lilah laughed gleefully and advised, "Relax, no heads off tonight, at least not yours," and continued dancing. "You know," Wesley said, "you really are quite a bitch." Lilah scratched playfully at his chest like a cat, "You love it...and am I wrong, but aren't there over a hundred empty rooms in this hotel?" She smiled naughtily.

Off to the side Angel was having a father-son talk with Connor. "Why not?" Connor asked. "Because, you're too young. If I let you drink underage, then who knows? That could lead to drugs, smoking, gambling, and before you know it, bam! Another apocalypse," Angel argued. Connor sulked against the cushions. "Hey, there are plenty of other ways to have fun besides drinking," Angel continued. "Just look at..." He scanned the room and pointed over to the weapons cabinet. "Killing things! Remember son, a family that slays together, stays together," Angel smiled at his witticism. Connor stood and shook his head. "You're so lame." As Connor walked back to the party Angel yelled, "Oh, come on! I'm cool. I was young once, many, many years ago. It's not like I don't remember. Of course we had grog and drove carts, but I understand the younger generation! See?" And in one of the most horrid sights ever known to this planet, Angel attempted to dance.

As the evening drew on and the party got into full gear Cordelia finally made her grand entrance, and oh, what an arrival! The main doors to the Hyperion seems to gracefully open on their own and slowly a bright and shimmering light filling the foyer as Cordy stepped onto the landing, soft, glowing and radiant. The assemblage all stopped what they were doing and turned towards her. The music subsided and the tinkling of ice in glasses was the only sound as this apparition overwhelmed all. "Oh please!! Like you've never seen a higher power enter a room! Can someone get me a drink? I've had the commute from hell getting here! LA traffic, still a b...." "Cordy!" Shouted Angel . . . Connor rushed over to Cordy with a drink and a sly smile. "Thanks darling," she said, giving him a gentle kiss on the cheek.

Suddenly, the power cut out, throwing the lobby into darkness. After a tense moment the power returned and all eyes turned towards the cellar door, where many an odd sound was emanating. The door practically burst from its frame as none other than the slayer in retribution, Faith, came in. She was dragging a beautiful young woman dressed in red, very red, pleather to be exact, and did we say tight? Yes, tight. Wesley spun at the noise and accidentally dropped his drink, "My word." Lilah grimaced, "My word? Do I need to get you some tweed again?" Gunn fell down, literately, but with the aid of Fred or not we weren't sure. Angel came running over to still the excitement, "No one told me I was hall monitor for the night," said Faith still hanging onto the woman's arm. "Looky what the hell I found stumbling through the basement window. Can I kill her?" "Faith," Angel chided with a concerned look. "Just kidding. I like the feeling of being out for the night. Not to fret darkman, I won't cause any trouble." She tapped a metallic bracelet on her arm. "Lockley's got me on a leash." Angel turned his gaze to the restrained woman. "What? I just wanted to drop by and have some fun - cute guy at the door but not my type." "Gwen," Angel started. He looked around the room, and truly feeling the Holiday spirit, he smiled, "Have a blast, I mean..." Connor sighed in the background. "You are so lame Dad."

The night winding down, Lorne approached the stage and clinked his glass . . . "Okay all, time for the hokey speech and we all know Angel cakes isn't getting up here so . . . guess that means me, moi, le Lourne. Raise your champagne or your bloody Bloody Mary's, whichever the case me be - can I just say plasma puke? Or not - Hey it's been a hell of a year, right? Love, laughter, tears, mayhem, a bit of apocalyptic foreshadowing...heck, we've seen it all people. So what can I wish you? How about this: May your rain be fire free, your soul ever intact, and your children safe from any hell dimensions. To another year!" Exactly, to another great year!

Written by CoA Staff Writer, Jeff Ritchie with generous contributions from Kristy Bratton and Rachel Barrera.