Rating: R - for language
Pairing(s): Spike,Angel
Warning(s): No slash
Beta(s): Unbeta'd but proofread
Prompt(s): [info]windchild85 : "Angel and Spike are very vain about their hair. So what happens when the company that makes the **very specific** hair product they both use goes out of business?"
Disclaimer: However much I want to be the filling in a spangel sandwich, the boys don't belong to me. Sigh. But wasn't that lovely imagery?!

A Hairy Investment


"This is all your fault, ya great Pouf!"

"MINE? How do you figure that?"

"I missed the stockholders meeting cos I was a pile of friggin' dust at the bottom of a flippin' great crater once called Sunnydale! Wot's your excuse?" His voice rose angrily at each word until by the end he was shouting. Flicking his cigarette away angrily, Spike looked around the warehouse once more. Nope, it didn't matter how hard he looked, there wasn't a pot of the stuff left.

"I - well I was - there was the thing with Darla - and, well - there was a lot going on!" Angel stuttered, aware that just this once, Spike might be right. "I didn't realise things had got that bad - if I'd known they were facing a hostile takeover - well, I don't know, there might have been something I could have done. It just happened so fast - one minute they were there, the next they're out of business and ceased production. How come you got onto the board anyway?"

"Started using the stuff back in the 50's didn't I? Liked it enough, thought I'd invest in the company. You always told us to be sensible with our money". Spike sniffed disdainfully. "'Course, while you were scrabbling around in the sewers eatin' rats I never had to worry about running out o' the stuff, but since you came back you musta made up for lost time. What ya been doin', eatin' it?"

"Excuse me!! At least my hair moves in a stiff breeze once in a while which is more than you can say. You could tile entire buildings with the amount you use every day". Coat flapping, Angel strode angrily around the room, his voice echoing eerily. "Or should I say used to use! Fuck, what are we going to do?"

"I dunno. I checked - the recipe died with the grand-da. No one else knows the exact formula, and hundreds have tried to recreate it with no success". Spike sighed. Giving up what was obviously a lost cause, the two of them turned and headed back to the front door where a security guard waited nervously. "Knew I shoulda stockpiled, but there was nowhere to keep it when I was livin' in the crypt".

"Did you check the mansion?" Spike nodded mournfully - the mansion had been one of his last resorts, the abandoned furniture taking the brunt of his anger when he came up empty-handed. Angel looked over at him mournfully, guilt playing it's familiar game with him. "Look, Spike, I'm sorry".

"Yeah, well, I guess we'll just have to move with the times, eh?" Sighing once more, Spike reached into his duster for his cigarettes, lighting up and exhaling harshly. "Ya ever tried brylcreem?"

The End

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