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  Deleted Scenes: 6 x 06 - Alone 

 

LORNE: What’s this we, white man?

 

ANGEL turns and looks at him in surprise.

 

LORNE: I mean it’s all very laudable, but what makes you think you’re the right person to do the right thing?

ANGEL: You don’t trust me?

LORNE: I don’t trust me anymore, let alone anyone else.

 

ANGEL opens his mouth, but LORNE interrupts.

 

LORNE: You dare ask me to read you and I’ll scream demon. Bring the Brady Bunch there over to save us both from torment. I’m not playing that game anymore. And this time it’s not just cause I can’t stand to hear more Manilow; it wouldn’t even do any good. The fates are all so messed up that I can barely tell someone’s next five minutes, let alone their long forecast. Guess all of our chaos has thrown mud in the predicting pool.

 

-           -           -           -           -           -           -           -           -           -           -           -

 

SPIKE turns to check the other exit of the street, only to see another mob cutting off that one.

 

SPIKE: Looks like we stand and fight this one.

 

The two mobs converge and stop a couple of paces away from SPIKE and LORNE. A LEADER steps out. He’s tall, broad and has lost his shirt somewhere. His chest has two violent scars slashed across it and his face bears marks from an earlier fight. He’s carrying a pike or javelin of some kind and lowers it so that the point aims towards LORNE.

 

LEADER (to SPIKE): You’re a man?

SPIKE: Of late. Who the hell are you?

LEADER: We’re the Army of Los Angeles.

SPIKE: Little small for an army, aren’t you?

LEADER: We spread all over the city, fighting for what’s ours. Fighting to take back what those things have tried to steal from us!

 

The mobs roar their approval and SPIKE looks around with a raised eyebrow.

 

SPIKE: And you would be what? The King?

LEADER: General.

SPIKE (amused): Of course you are.

LEADER: Why is a pureblood talking to an unclean?

SPIKE: Listen, mate. I will talk to whoever I bloody well please.

LEADER: That thing’s a demon!

SPIKE: I had noticed, yeah.

LEADER: It’s life is forfeit!

 

The mob roars again. The leader shifts his pike so that the point aims at SPIKE.

 

LEADER: And now so is yours.

SPIKE: Right.

 

He slaps the pike away with one hand, grabbing the shaft and forcing it backwards to knock the LEADER flying. The mob charges and SPIKE whirls, kicking the first man away and turning to hurl another into the oncoming crowd. LORNE has his knife out, but he’s notably reluctant to use it, swinging it in an amateurish wide defensive arc to keep the mob back. A thrown rock bounces off his head, opening a gash and LORNE reels, still keeping his feet.

 



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