Michael was even more of a Star Wars nut than Andrew. She only wished that their current conversation — about the number of janitorial staff required to keep the Death Star running — wasn't killing off brain cells she needed for important information, like remembering her own name.
Looking around the warehouse she spotted Spike examining an Ankor demon funereal urn, a PDA-wielding woman trailing in his wake like a love-struck puppy.
Dawn chuckled, feeling that she'd got the better deal on assistants after all.
open_on_sunday — challenge #79: work
Part of the Rome!verse, the London!verse and the Wolf&Declán!verse