Fic: All those channels, not a thing on Wesley, Spike FRC (1/1)

March 25th, 2008 (12:53 pm)

Tags: myfic, spike, wesley

Summary: Two Brits missing home enjoy the wonders of cable television

Spoilers: probably Post NFA
Disclaimer: not mine or else many things would have been done differently. No infringement intended, no profit being made, just for fun.
Distribution: my LJ, my site, elsewhere just ask.
Author’s notes: written for

fiareynne. Unbetaed so all mistakes mine, feel free to point them out.

“When did Angel pay for cable?” Wesley asked.

He was sitting on a sofa in some kind of lounge type area he hadn’t know the hotel possessed. Of course, the Hyperion was quite large and had been renovated so many times; it was hard to tell exactly what secrets it might still hold.

“He didn’, I hooked us up, a demon in the cable company owed me a favor,” Spike replied from the nearby chair, his leg hooked over the arm, remote dangling from his fingers.

“Amazing any demons survived after…”

“Not all of ‘em were evil y’know. They knew how t’hide until it all blew over.”

Wesley made a non-committal sound as he watched channel after channel whiz by on the large screen.

“Where is Angel anyway?”

“Introducin’ the spawn to his lady.”

“So Connor gets to meet Nina. That should be interesting. Is that BBC One?”

Spike stopped for a moment, allowing the familiar logo to crawl across the screen.

“We got Two and Three as well. BBC America is better though, all t’old comedy shows. S’nice to get to see Man U. play live,” Spike grinned, resuming his channel surfing.

“I don’t seem to recall this many channels being offered on any sort of package deal one could obtain legally.”

“It was a really big favor.”

Spike clicked the remote one last time before letting it drop to the carpet. The familiar sound of Monty Python’s Flying Circus made Wesley smile.

“I used to watch this in secret when I was a boy.”

“Old man didn’ approve?”

“No,” Wesley sighed. “He thought it was too low brow for a future Watcher to be indulging in.”

“Bollocks! Some of the best stuff out there these chaps are. Far better than what passes for funny on American telly these days.”

“Yes, rather,” Wesley sniffed. “Shows why the British will always be superior.”

“One of ‘em was a Yank.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, ’m sure. The one that did these animated bits in between sketches. Did the credits too. Gilligan or Gillian or somethin’.”

“I could have sworn they were all native. Let me make a call.”

Wesley pulled out his cell phone and pressed speed dial. It seemed to ring forever before a sleepy voice answered.

“’Lo?”

“Sorry, Rupert, I’d completely forgotten about the time difference.”

“Wesley? What on earth do you need?”

“Just a quick question. Monty Python, all British?”

There was soft cursing and the murmur of a woman’s voice before Rupert answered.

“No, the fellow who did the credits…uh, Gilliam, is American.”

“Thank you, Rupert. Sorry to wake you and Buffy. Give my best to everyone.”

He hung up. Spike, by the surprised expression on his face, had heard everything. Wesley just calmly put away his phone and returned to watching the television.

“Seems you were correct. Anything else on?”

Spike shook himself. “Huh? Oh, yeah, there’s this newer skit show. They got this bit and I swear the git playing the Prime Minister looks like Giles.”

Wesley waved his hand, “Let’s see it then.”

Spike nodded, picked up the remote and changed the channel.