Perched up at the bar, Spike raised a scarred brow at Claire's approach. The gloomy demeanor he was more used to had seemed to have taken a side exit for the evening. He decided, right then and there, that this was likely because of his little lecture about her being a ball of angst that no one wanted to hear whine. Was she trying to prove a point? Because, really, there was no way in the world that this particular girl could ever be cheerful without the influence of illegal substances. At least that was how Spike saw it, considering the only times he ever saw her was when she was looking a mess.
"We don't sell that here," he stated, sliding off the edge of his stool. Without saying another word, Spike circled Claire and inspected her curiously. Dressed nicely, behaving in a cheerful manner...was she going to take him up on his offer after all?
"It was a good idea," he finally said, stopping in front of her. "They find it much more appealing when the girl doesn't look like she's got tons of emotional baggage. And the clothes are a nice touch, I'll admit. Very good." Peering over Claire's shoulder, Spike began to scour the crowds. "I'll set you up with someone real nice. Are you preferable toward humans or can we spice things up a bit? I know a demon who'll screw anything that walks..."