Free beer from the not-Angel. Huh. Spike wasn't really one to turn anything free down, so he reached forward and grabbed onto the bottle with a pale hand. Taking a gulp of the beer down, he set it square onto the space in front of himself and leaned forward. Arms resting along the edge of the bar, Spike glanced over at the not-Angel and shrugged. "What isn't wrong with me? That's the fucking question." He smirked lightly, then turned to look down the opposing end of the bar. Didn't seem to be anyone of interest running that way either. Sighing (or, at least, releasing as much of a sigh as a vampire could seeing as he didn't have any breath to give), Spike pushed a hand through his bleached hair and reached for the beer once more. "Y'know, you really do look like Angel. Like his twin, in fact." What a time to be thinking of Angel too. Dru was around and all. All he needed was a Darla lookalike and he could properly sulk about the glory days of the Fanged Four. He'd been a real monster then, hadn't he? They all had. Some of them, as Drusilla so proudly declared, still were.
"What's wrong with you?" Spike raised a scarred brow, looking down into the mouth of the beer bottle between his hands. He shrugged, ever so casually and chose to quickly add: "Not that I give a damn either." Because he didn't. Really didn't. Anyone who looked like Angel? Got an automatic 'do not care' stamp from Spike. It was just the way that things went. Of course, plenty of other people got one from Spike too automatically, so perhaps that didn't really make much of a difference. Why? Because Spike generally didn't give a damn about anyone but himself. Ah, well.