[ everything else kind of fades out when she comes near him, he feels deaf dumb and blind from the proximity, though he tries desperately to hide the shock on his face. he hadn't even seen her at the bar, and in retrospect he really should have. he should have known she was here.

but it doesn't stop him. on the contrary. he slings a casual arm around her shoulders, unconcerned with the high probability that he'd be lucky to get away with touching her without am injury. but he does it anyway, raising the cordless microphone. ]

I know you know who this girl is. Buffy Anne Summers. Your savior, right? She was ours first. Our world... [ his lips curl in a sort of cruel smile and now he's hoping she does punch him. just put him out of his fucking misery already. ]

But she wasn't there, in Hell. She didn't see to the bad guys -- I did. That's why I'm the Lord of Beverly Hills.

[ he dropped his arm to puff out his chest a little, then raised it like someone might cheer for one of them. except almost no one in the crowd was listening anymore. ]