Part 8:
"What do the Scots know?" Angel asked, a scowl on his face. "And don't even get me started on the Canadians. Although they do play a good game of hockey," he added as an after-thought, refilling his own glass absentmindedly.
Two hours, fourteen beers and another bottle of whiskey later, the five arrived back at the Hyperion in a considerably more mellow state of mind than when they'd left it. Each meandered off to their own room and fell into a deep, liquor-induced sleep, for the moment forgetting the momentous disclosures of the day, and the continued discussion planned for the morrow.
* * *
The AI crew tended to work without regard to a calendar, but Sundays generally were viewed as downtime by all, so given their late night fight and the quantity of alcohol consumed post-fight, it wasn't surprising that it was nearly noon before the first of them appeared downstairs. Fifteen minutes later Wesley was in the process of boiling some water for tea for himself and Gunn, who had joined him just minutes before, when Illyria appeared, looking a bit worse for wear.
"I do not feel well today," she said, wincing slightly at the brighter lights of the kitchen as she gingerly took a chair. "I need you to perform a diagnostic check on this shell to ascertain its problem and provide a solution. Please do it now," she demanded, wincing again when the teakettle on the stove began its shrill whistle.
"I don't need to do a 'diagnostic check', Illyria. You're hung-over, as we both are," he said, pointing vaguely to himself and the dark-skinned man hunched over the table as he turned off the flame and poured hot water into the waiting pot. Tendrils of Darjeeling scented the air and he stood still for a moment, eyes closed as he enjoyed the calming aroma. He opened his eyes to find Illyria watching him, though her gaze was less fixed than usual.
"Hung-over. What is that and how do I fix it?"
"It means you had too much of the Irish, Blue," Gunn groaned from the seat beside her.
"And you fix it with a nice cup of tea," Wesley added, setting a steaming cup before her.
Gunn raised his head and smiled weakly. "A bit of the English to fix a bit of the Irish, eh Wes?" he joked.
"Always, my friend," Wes ruefully agreed.
"'A bit of the English' is a reference to the slang word 'Pet', a term of affection, a."
"Yes, yes, we know what 'Pet' means, Illyria," Wes interrupted. "But there are many English things, and few are more English than tea. I'm sure Spike will concur," he added hastily, when he saw that Illyria was ready to argue the point.
"Concur with what, mate," Spike answered as he sauntered into the room, no evidence of a hangover in sight, much to Wesley and Gunn's disgust.
"Illyria is understandably confused this morning by the phrases she learned last night. She now thinks 'A bit of the English' is synonymous with 'Pet'. I was just trying to explain to her that it could equally be used in regards to, for example, tea," he said, setting down the second cup before Spike and turning to pour another for Gunn and himself.
"Ta, mate," Spike said, raising the cup to inhale the tender scent slowly, before taking a first sip.
"The English are hard to understand," Illyria observed.
"You got that right, Blue," Gunn agreed. "It's strange to be living in L.A. with four other people, and to be the only one actually from this country," he sighed.
"You do not originate from this place?" Illyria asked Wesley.
"Spike and I are from England, Illyria, and Angel is from Ireland," he clarified.
"Ah, a bit of the Irish and a bit of the English," she said to herself, repeating the words of the night before with a bit more confidence. "I understand now. The vampires were defending the relative merits of their homeland."
"Yes, exactly," Wesley agreed, taking a welcome sip from his own cup before joining them at the table.
"But I still wish to know about the word 'Pet' in regards to non-human vampire clan members. Explain it to me," she demanded, turning to Spike.
Wesley and Gunn exchanged startled looks, but didn't speak, instead silently watching Spike and waiting for his reply. The blond vampire sighed and set his cup and saucer down, contemplating both for a minute before glancing around the table at the other three.
"Wesley explained a bit about the difference between true Childer and Minions. Minions are turned, but given insufficient blood to reach the stage of a Childe. They're pretty much made for the convenience of the ruling members of the clan; to be servants and cannon fodder. Pets are different. I told you that 'Pet' was an English term of affection last night."
"Yes, I remember," Illyria agreed.
"That definition applies in part to the Pets of a vampire clan as well. These non-vampire members are usually pampered and cared for," Spike explained. "They're considered special, often cherished members of the clan."
"What is their purpose? What role do they fill?"
"Generally one or more of three roles; Advisor, warrior or sex slave, though often they are all three. Sometimes, though this is rare, a Pet may become a vampire's consort, although they are generally no longer regarded as Pets if they attain that elevated status."
"Why not?" Illyria asked, completely ignoring the 'sex slave' portion of the explanation given, though it was obvious the two humans beside her were fixated on that by the expressions on their faces.
"Because that usually means they won't be human for much longer," Spike elaborated casually.
"Ah, they will be turned to become a true Childe and Mate, or Most Favored?"
"Yeah, probably," he agreed, taking another sip of tea.
"So as Most Favored, you were a cherished member of Angel's clan?" she asked, a frown of confusion on her face. "I have not seen that in my time here, but perhaps I do not fully understand the dynamics of a vampire clan."
Spike grimaced and hastily set his tea back down, a shuttered expression veiling his gaze.
"Cherished? No," he replied quietly, "I wasn't that, except from time to time by Dru, maybe, in her clearer moments."
"Then I do not understand what 'Most Favored' means," Illyria finished, sipping at her own tea calmly.
"Ask him," Spike said, his voice suddenly tense, as he inclined his head towards the kitchen door behind him.