Desperately Seeking James Marsters

We got to the hotel and I waited until dark to sneak out of the car, otherwise this article would have been written by Mini-Pile of Dust. I don’t know where exactly they’d unknowingly brought me. For a moment, I thought maybe Pavayne had escaped his prison, cos there were a number of… people? milling about. I thought they were just demons or actual souls trapped interdimensionally waiting to be fed into hell. There were blue people, and horned people, and shirty beings covered in leather and studs, drinking from something they called "wIj HIvje’, I think, but that actually looked like one of those ale mugs those git Hobbits drink from at the Prancing Pony in that looooooooong movie with wizards and elves.

I couldn’t make it to the panel as it was during the day, again with the Mini-Pile of Dust theme, but I hid out until it was time for the concert. At night. Why? Creature of the night, here.

I entered the concert hall with a “borrowed” press pass as the people were coming in. Many nummy treats in attendance, in pretty dresses, with very fetching ‘dos. Everybody was excited and expectant, then I look at the stage and there’s no microphone set up for me! What the bleeding hell is wrong with you bloody people?! What the hell does it take? Why do you people torture me? Can’t you see James and I are a team?

James comes out… and I look at him. And I remember.

Bollocks.

We don’t look alike anymore.

Bugger this. I’d rifled through Kelly’s bag in the car for some walkin’-around money, so I decided I was out of there.

Wouldn’t mind paying Sunshine a visit at the Peppermint Club…

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