[ Spike attends, partially for nostalgic reasons. He used to hang out with Tyki in these meetings, drink smuggled in whiskey and laugh at the poor lit'le souls that felt so guilty for doing things the two of them found immeasurable pleasure in.
Tyki isn't here and Spike's soul still weighs heavy with guilt, will always sit like a molten rock in his chest. He smokes, of course, scraping at the remnants of black nail polish on his fingernails. ]