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Nightmares at Nights

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Summary: A famous foulmouthed chef decides to do an ambush makeover of Xander's Nights.

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
BtVS/AtS Non-Crossover > Comedy > Xander-CenteredmariahFR1376,72214014,43524 Dec 0926 Apr 13No

Sweet Ripper

The camera displayed focused close-in on Rudolf's face, as he asked, “What are the three key ingredients to a successful restaurant?” He held up one finger. “First, good food.” He held up a second finger, “Good service.” Then a third. “In a clean, pleasant environment – at a reasonable price. Other things, like location, décor, menu selection can vary. But these three things are critical.”

NatN ~ NatN ~ NatN ~ NatN ~ NatN ~ NatN ~ NatN ~ NatN ~ NatN

Grayson had spared a moment to glance over to the bar area as Jim Wilson said his lines. There was still no sign of activity behind the bar. Glancing down at his watch, he saw that four of the seven minutes were used up. There was no way the orders could be completed in time. Then the singer caught his attention as he began the next verse.

Any reticence Rupert had displayed prior to his performance had completely dissipated by the second verse. He slid through the audience, fully immersed in the character. He was pawed teasingly by the young ladies sitting at the tables. A few girls jumped up and kissed him on the cheek. Rupert made his way to the table where Gwen had sat. Giles ran his hand through Jack's hair, earning a grin from Jack who stood up and slid his hands around the watcher, pretending to feel him up. Or maybe not pretending.

Well you got caught with a flat
Well how 'bout that
Well babies don't you panic

The two men put their heads together and gave the audience a wicked bedroom-only smile. Jack rubbed himself against Rupert as Giles moved on to Tosh, running his hand down her face, earning chuckles from the other members of the Torchwood table.

By the light of the night
It'll all seem alright

Giles tugged Tosh to her feet, and bent over her as if to whisper in her ear.

I'll get you a Satanic mechanic

Tosh threw back her head and laughed, leaning into Giles.

I'm just a sweet transvestite...

Rupert slid his hand around Tosh, pulling her blouse out and taking advantage of their difference in height to peek down. Tosh gave him a half-hearted elbow to the ribs, and slipped out of his grasp, still laughing. Giles continued to rub up against Jack as he sang. Jack, for his part, was gamely, if a bit over-enthusiastically, going along with the show.

Why don't you stay for the night
Or maybe a bite
I could show you my favorite obsession

Giles held out a hand to another member of the Torchwood table. The blond man stood up, and Grayson noted that he was wearing a reproduction Napoleonic era jacket. The girls in the restaurant appeared to be your run-of-the-mill teenyboppers, a little too much makeup, a little too little clothes. Cell phones occasionally flashed as a picture was taken. Some of the men – well, if they weren't just eccentric, like red-coat man, well then, they were scary looking, like the enormous black man with the dark knit cap and inscrutable expression one table over.

I've been making a man
With blonde hair and a tan

Giles pretended he was introducing John Hart to Jack. Jack continued to play along as if judging Rupert's workmanship as Rupert indicated John's blonde hair and tan.

And he's good for relieving my tension.

“Now there's a capital idea!” Captain John shouted, pulling Rupert away from Jack Harkness.

“If he's always turned me down, what the hell makes you think he'll take you up on the offer?” came the retort from a nearly identical appearing man in a long black coat at the bar.

I'm just a sweet transvestite...

Rupert pranced away from the Torchwood table, earning looks of disappointment from both Jack and John.

NatN ~ NatN ~ NatN ~ NatN ~ NatN ~ NatN ~ NatN ~ NatN ~ NatN

“Ow.” The blond woman emerged from the TARDIS, rubbing her elbow and shaking her head. “That was a rough landing.” She gave a small chuckle. “Hit my funny bone, not too funny.”

The Doctor clapped her on the back, and turned up his black leather collar against the wind. He threw one long arm around his companion, and glanced around. “This isn't Chicago. Or 2146.”

“Then where are we? When are we?”

“Not sure, but looks like late twentieth century to me. America, obviously.” The Doctor gave her a slightly maniacal grin, and steered Rose out of the alley way, pointing across the street. “A bar, always a good source of sustenance and information – come on.”

“I'm a bit peckish,” Rose agreed, “And you can never go wrong with a decent ale.”

Additional credits: Dr. Who belongs to Newman, Weber and Wilson
Sweet Transvestite (quoted): Richard O'Brien (Lyrics) and Richard Hartley (Music)
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