"There really is a very good explanation."
Giles blinked blearily at his companion and downed another shot. "Nothing on earth would make me wear an atrocity such as that," he managed to get out without too much slurring.
"Can't help it. See, doesn't matter what it is, it turns into this."
Ethan tugged in disgust at the polyester pocket of his disco shirt then beckoned to the waitress. He need more libation before telling this tale.
~~~~~
His skin was drying out. It was driving him around the bend, and every time he scratched, his skin flaked off like scales. Afraid to see what he looked like, he avoided all mirrors as he grabbed clothes off the racks of Abercrombie & Fitch, Nordstrom, Banana Republic, maxing out his admittedly purloined credit cards to replace his wardrobe.
Reaching his hotel room, he dumped the bags out on the bed and nearly wept.
All those lovely linens, cottons, wools...
The curse had turned them to horrid polyester. The shirts were in garish colors and patterns and did not feel at all like silk no matter how much the manufacturers tried to convince the consumers that polyester was comparable to the luxury of silk. The pants were tight and flared and wouldn't breathe at all. The sweaters--oh gods, the gorgeous Ralph Lauren sweaters were now velour tops!
Sinking down onto the bed, Ethan buried his face in his hands and scratched his itching earlobes.
~~~~~
The bright pink and very naked--and very male--giant squid sloshed around in its tank beneath disco lights to the pulse of Donna Summer. Ethan tried not to wince at the horrid sound. He had managed to miss disco totally by being completely wrapped up in the punk scene, dark magic and seducing a certain Watcher-to-be. The humanoid goons on either side of the tank were dressed like John Travolta rejects, but the guns they were caring were the latest thing in illegal fully automatics.
"Ethan Rayne, we meet at least," echoed eerily from the tank, the vibrato making the water splash over the sides and the disco balls on the ceiling of the club shake.
Ethan glanced up at the thug who had him by the collar and grimaced. "It wasn't like I had a choice."
"You have been making a name for yourself here in Seattle. A very annoying name. The curse racket is mine. It has been in my family for five generations. No human will take it over from me. Kill him."
"Wait!" Panicking, Ethan tried to twist free as the guns rose, aiming at his heart and head. "You don't need to kill me. We can make a deal."
"No deal. You die."
"Really, I'll leave Seattle. No problem. I had no idea there was competition in the curse field here. I never would have trod on your er tentacles." Unable to free himself, he tried to twist his legs around behind his captor to at least make himself a smaller target.
"I can have you killed for less fuss than letting you live will be."
"I can offer you...offer you..." Ethan thought furiously then lit on a name, said a silent prayer to the dark gods, and spoke again. "I have the Countess Naafair's account. I know she's never outsourced for curses before. Surely the quarter million in annual profit she was going to bring me would be worth my life to you."
The squid smacked a tentacle against the glass and Ethan could almost see a frown on its face. "Countess Naafair has always performed her own curses. You lie."
"No, no I don't! The contract is in my suitcase. Your goon here brought it with me."
Gesturing his tentacle at one of his other guards, the squid said, "You better be telling the truth or I will eat you for dinner."
As Ethan tried to keep his own dinner in his stomach, the guard came back with the suitcase and opened it on a table in front of the tank. Ethan winced as he ham handed his way through the delicate linens and silks, then sighed softly in relief as a folded piece of paper was removed. The guard unfolded it and held it up against the tank.
A moment later, the squid smiled--a sight Ethan would be seeing in his nightmares for months. "I have tried for forty years to obtain her curse needs. How did you accomplish this in a matter of months?"
Deciding to leave off the part about seducing the two hundred year old bat, Ethan only partly lied, "At her age she is growing tired of performing her own curses. I'm sure she will be happy to allow you to take over for her." And if she wasn't, Ethan could only hope that he would be far away from this damp hellhole when the squid found out.
"Sign the contract over to me, in blood, and you shall live."
Nodding eagerly, Ethan let the thug holding him walk him over to the table and he quickly pricked his finger with the offered knife and signed away his nest egg. "So, I can go now, right?"
"Go quickly, before customers arrive. Your modern attire offends me."
Finally shaking free of his captor, Ethan looked down at his natty gray flannel trousers tailored to fit him, crisp white cotton Brooks Brothers shirt and Frank Lloyd Wright tie. "My attire offends you? This place is a disco!"
The splashing in the tank made him grab his suitcase and hurry backwards out of the club. At the door, he gave the angry squid one last look and muttered, "Should have been a lounge lizard instead of a squid," before fleeing into the night.
~~~~~
Three nights later in Oxnard, California, Ethan awakened to a dreary morning. He'd decided to head to Sunnydale and bother Rupert, maybe snag a few contracts. The Hellmouth always attracted those willing to pay for a dark spell or three.
Stumbling out of the bathroom naked, he scratched his ass and yawned before walking over to his suitcase. He flipped it open, then gaped in horror at the contents.
All his lovely and very expensive clothes--so important in the seduction of rich matrons wanting to converse with their dead loved ones or buy a spell to make them appear young and beautiful-- had been replaced by rejects from 1975. Pawing past the shirts and pants and, gods forbid platform shoes, he found that even his gorgeous silk boxers had turned into tightie whities.
Holding in a scream, he slumped onto the bed and tugged on his hair. A curse. It had to be a curse from that damn squid.
As he sat, he scratched his knee, then glanced down and saw big flecks of skin peeling away like the scales of a lizard.
~~~~~
Replacing the clothes hadn't worked. Everything he bought turned into disco wear. He hoped the Hellmouth would give him enough power to overturn the spell. At least the flaking skin wasn't actually leaving behind scales, and the farther he got from Seattle, the less he itched.
Still, the clothes continued to be hideous mockeries of his lovely outfits and he'd maxed out all his credit cards.
So, first a trick on Rupert, then a few quick scams to make a few quid so that he could afford the ingredients needed to break this curse, and then he was thinking that he'd had enough of America and maybe it was time to return home.
At least London didn't harbor any talking squids. A few mussels and other assorted shellfish, but no squids.
~~~~~
Giles blinked a few times, then began to snicker. "Only you would run afoul of a demonic squid, Ethan."
"Who would think that a place like Seattle would harbor any demonic clans?" Ethan sighed and sipped his beer.
"Let's see: dark, dreary, damp, with highly caffeinated humans running around. Yes, nothing there to attract a demon."
"I'm going home to London as soon as I get this curse off me. At least in that dark, dreary dampness I know what to expect."
"I thought there were a number of contracts out on your head there."
"That risk, any risk, is better than a life of disco clothes!"
Snickering again, Giles tipped back his glass and drained its contents, failing to notice the gleam in his companion's eyes...or he may have been distracted by the glare off his polyester shirt.
End