Anya grimaced as she made her way slowly back to the secret resistance base, hiding her face with grocery bags. Once, she held the ability to warp reality itself and now due to some djinn-come-lately, she'd been turned into enemy number one. What kind of idiot amateur made a regime that hated everything supernatural in charge?
Reaching the back door of a sleazy strip club on the outskirts of Los Angeles, Anya kicked on the door, twice fast, then pause, then three times more, then once.
"Hope you weren't followed again, sugarplum." came a sour voice as the door opened and a green skinned demon woman with red horns grabbed the bags from her and ushered her inside.
"No, I was careful, thank you very much." she sniffed irritably.
"I keep telling you sweetie, you should at least let me use some of this body changing magic mojo I rustled up to change that face of yours! You don't have to go the whole new gender route I did but it'd at least be prudent to switch out that grumpy mug of yours."
Lorna, as "she" preferred to be called now, kept chattering as she led Anya down a secret basement stairwell.
"I mean, you don't have to shake your tushy upstairs like the rest of us surviving demon gals but it would keep you from having to dodge all those wanted posters!"
Anya sighed.
"I like this face. I've had it for 1100 years! Can't you just give me bigger breasts or something? Men won't look at my face that way, I'm almost sure of that."
"They're really more of a puh-pain than anything else." came a soft voice as the two exited the bottom of the stairwell. "Hi, Anya, welcome back."
Tara McClay wasn't actually a demon but believed herself to be one and so she had gone underground early with many of the other persecuted supernaturals. Lorna and Anya knew the truth but didn't have the heart to tell her, as they needed her witchcraft to help the resistance survive. Also, she was a pretty great cook and, after getting over some paralyzing shyness via magic, one of the biggest draws upstairs at the "Have Mercy" cabaret.
"Hello, lesbian witch friend." Anya sighed. "I brought home food and no leads on where D'Hoffryn is hiding in this hellhole timeline. Oh, and I got you a book to read from the burnt down remains of the Magic Box."
"Yuh-you can just call me Tara." Tara muttered, blushing.
"I hope to call all of you irrelevant once we finally undo this terrible nightmare timeline." Anya huffed. "To think, I once thought shrimp and bunnies were terrible."
"Hey, I like bunnies. Especially for eating. Don't suppose you brought any home, Little Miss Sunshine?" came a groggy growl as Spike woke up from his nap. "Preferably live?"
"The chip in your head lets you eat animals?" Tara asked.
"Yeah, whoop-de-bloody-do. Turned my sodding girlfriend into a sex slave and made me unable to tear out their throats for it but hey, I get to chomp on all the fuzzy little creatures of nature." Spike grumbled.
"Yes, yes, very sad." Anya said with a dismissive hand wave. "Lesbian Witch Friend, go read the book I brought. I'll began cooking."
"Ah, ah, ah!" Lorna said, "First we give you a whole new look! I'm thinking something like a young Sophia Loren to go with all that sassy attitude of yours."
A faint rap on the top of the hidden door in the dressing room above alerted them to someone coming.
"Psst! Lorna! Some of the Watcher Council's high muckamucks are here! They requested another one of your "special" champagne room shows!" hissed a voice belonging to Sunday, one of the most popular vampire dancers.
"Aw, shoot! Be right up, kitten! Seriously, Anya, give it some thought? Be back in two twitches of a hypocritical Puritan's dick!"
Lorna bounced up the stairs two at a time, green curves jiggling like mad.