Well ... That was to have been expected, but the lack of a stake was particularly disappointing. That tiny twinge of both hope and fear disappearing right away when he noticed that stakes weren't part of the conversation. Damn. Hadn't his alter egos been doing their jobs? "Not since Woodstock," he told him without losing a beat. His hand went to the bottle and he poured himself a third drink. In his opinion, as long as he could keep score, he wasn't nowhere properly drunk.
"Sam. I imagine he's here or that he'll show up. Can't throw a stone without hitting one of you two in any made up world," Spike muttered bitterly. At least they had that going on, the whole thick as thieves , superglued together thing. "Ain't seen hide nor hair of Faith since the battle back in Sunnydale." And Spike actually bothered to lean back to get a good look at the man. "Wherever the hell you ended up, must've been a good place. But dunno who your 'girl' is. Contrary to what everybody seems to think, not a mindreader," he pointed out.
And for added drama, he sniffed. "Don't smell demons." And then he sniffed into his coat. "'Cept for me."