This is Spinal Tap/Sanctuary crossover ficlet
I couldn't help it. It was too good a joke!
Nigel Tufnel was sure it was the best deal ever, even if the gent was kind of shady, and he said so to David St. Hubbins over a breakfast of toaster waffles at three in the afternoon while reclining by the pool (more of a pond, really) at the posh estate he'd rented in the Cotswolds.
David blinked at him owlishly. "You spent sixty thousand pounds on an amp?"
"It's custom," Nigel said, wondering if he should drink his tea with the pinky extended or if that would seem pretentious. "There's never another like it."
"We have amps," David said. The sun was in his eyes, and he shaded them with one hand, looking disapprovingly at Nigel's pinky. "And what's that? You think you're bloody Paul McCartney?"
"It does that," Nigel said, but he wrapped his pinky around the handle. "Not an amp like this, mate. You've never seen an amp like this. Besides, he's not just some bloke. He's an immortal vampire."
"A what?"
He could see David was skeptical. "An immortal vampire. Like in that book. Only he don't live in New Orleans. He was passing through London, dropping in on an old school chum, trying to raise a bit of a wad for a venture he's starting in the Bahamas, and I talked him into building me a custom amp. There's never another like it in the world!"
"Sixty thousand pounds?" David seemed stuck on the money thing.
"If you think I've been taken, wait till you hear it," Nigel promised. He pulled the little spoon out of the marmalade and considered it. "It goes to eleven."
Nigel Tufnel was sure it was the best deal ever, even if the gent was kind of shady, and he said so to David St. Hubbins over a breakfast of toaster waffles at three in the afternoon while reclining by the pool (more of a pond, really) at the posh estate he'd rented in the Cotswolds.
David blinked at him owlishly. "You spent sixty thousand pounds on an amp?"
"It's custom," Nigel said, wondering if he should drink his tea with the pinky extended or if that would seem pretentious. "There's never another like it."
"We have amps," David said. The sun was in his eyes, and he shaded them with one hand, looking disapprovingly at Nigel's pinky. "And what's that? You think you're bloody Paul McCartney?"
"It does that," Nigel said, but he wrapped his pinky around the handle. "Not an amp like this, mate. You've never seen an amp like this. Besides, he's not just some bloke. He's an immortal vampire."
"A what?"
He could see David was skeptical. "An immortal vampire. Like in that book. Only he don't live in New Orleans. He was passing through London, dropping in on an old school chum, trying to raise a bit of a wad for a venture he's starting in the Bahamas, and I talked him into building me a custom amp. There's never another like it in the world!"
"Sixty thousand pounds?" David seemed stuck on the money thing.
"If you think I've been taken, wait till you hear it," Nigel promised. He pulled the little spoon out of the marmalade and considered it. "It goes to eleven."