Cage Match: Angel vs. Santanico Pandemonium

Well, that certainly didn't go well for Edward—Spike mopped the floor with him by a margin of 30-4 (the fact that Edward got four votes would appear to be evidence that this blog gets the occasional teenage girl audience).

On to the next fight!

We have a slight schedule change. I've been watching The Vampire Diaries to get a sense of how the Damon-Lestat fight would go, and I'm almost there ... almost. I don't quite have the shape of it yet—this one might be too close for me to call. It was, I must say, serendipitous to have these two draw their fight together. Such delightful assholes, both of them. Don King would bill the fight as "The Battle of the Bastards" or "Skirmish of the Scumbags."

Anyway, while I figure out how to write that fight, I'm moving up the next showdown. This one was fun: today's match is between Angel, of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel, and Santanico Pandemonium of From Dusk Till Dawn—the exotic dancer vampire who has the distinction of effectively launching Salma Hayek's career.

Santanico won the coin toss, so the fight will take place in the bar with the subtle and tactful name The Titty Twister, just over the Mexican border.

HOW I THINK THE FIGHT WILL GO:

Angel sits uncomfortably at his table near the stage, looking around the filthy bar at the bikers and banditos who comprise its clientele. Latin music throbs in the air and topless dancers in harlequin masks writhe in the many alcoves. Not really my scene, he reflects. Spike would love this. Too bad he didn't draw this fight. He notices that he is getting a lot of dark looks from the club's patrons. Angelus would have loved this place too.

He looks to his right, and realizes that most of the hostile curiosity is actually focused on Wesley, who is very conspicuously absorbed in a massive leather-bound tome.

"Fascinating!" Wesley exclaims suddenly. "This ... bar ... "

"You can't say the name, can you Wes?"

He squirms. "Of course I can. I just choose not to."

A papery voice whispers from beneath them. "Titty Twister."

Angel starts, and looks down. "What ... Fred? What are you doing under the table?"

"Hiding," she says. "A man at the bar offered me a ride on his hog. I calculated that the odds are thirty to one he wasn't being euphemistic."

"Um, OK ... fair enough. So ... what does your book say, Wes?"

"That this ... bar ... is built on an ancient Aztec temple, and is a beacon of mystic energy. Vampires are drawn here. It's sort of like a Hellmouth."

"Like a Hellmouth?"

"OK, it is a Hellmouth." Wesley runs his finger down a line of the crabbed text. "Your opponent, this Santanico Pandemonium, is a princess of sorts, revered by the vampire community here."

"Huh. So what you're saying is that if I kill her in this fight, there'll be a lot of pissed-off Aztec vampires wanting revenge?"

"In a nutshell."

"Well, good thing I brought the troops." Angel looks around. "Speaking of which, where are the troops?"

"Well, Gunn is chatting with that ... ah ... lady over there. Last I saw Lorne, he was trying to instruct the bartender on how to mix a proper Manhattan, Fred is hiding under the table, and Cordy refused to come when she heard this bar was named ... the, um, name it has."

"And Spike is in the Pacific Northwest fighting a vampire idolized not by Mexican biker undead but teenage girls. How did I pull this gig again?"

Before Wesley can answer, the lights in the bar dim and the improbably-muscled bartender climbs onto the stage.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" he bellows into his mike. "For your viewing pleasure this evening we bring you a battle to the death! In this corner, I give you the Mistress of the Macabre! The Sanguinary Seductress, the Madam of Mayhem! Bow down before the glory that is ... SANTANICO PANDEMONIUM!"

Underneath the thunderous applause, Angel hears Wesley murmur appreciatively, "Oh. My."

Santanico sways forward into the spotlight, wearing a traditional Aztec headdress and not much else.

"Uh ..." Angel leans over to Wesley. "I don't know how good I'm going to be fighting a woman in a bikini, Wes."

"A little after midnight," Wesley responds distractedly, his eyes not leaving the stage.

"AND IN THIS CORNER ... the Brooding Byronic Bachelor of the City of Angels! Helper of the Helpless, the Vampire With a Soul, I give you—" the bartender does a double take at the note in his hand, and leans over to exchange some words with someone near the stage. "Seriously? That's his name? Seriously. Well, OK ... Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you ... 'Angel'," he finishes, his voice dripping scorn and sarcasm.

Raucous laughter and wolf-whistles accompany Angel as he vaults onto the stage. Santanico stands hipshot, her eyes raking over him. "Well," she purrs, "you're an awful lot prettier than most of the men I see in here. It will be a shame to ruin those babylike looks."

Annoyed, Angel puts on his game face, feeling his brows contract and teeth jut into his vampiric rictus. "I'm not that pretty."

Santanico laughs derisively, and her face similarly transforms into a grotesque, snakelike mask.

"Huh," says Angel. "How about that." He glances down at Wesley. "Looks like that bikini thing isn't going to be an issue after all."

Hissing, Santanico launches herself at Angel, her hands outstretched. She's fast, Angel has time to think before instinct kicks in and he catches her by the wrists, wrenching her arms apart. She uses the movement to force her head forward, her teeth bared and aiming for his neck. Angel falls backward, putting a foot on her midriff, launching her over top of him to fall on a group of tables clustered together. The bikers sitting there scatter as she crashes into their midst.

Angel pauses for just an instant as Santanico crashes down, his fingers at his throat. Weird ... why would she ...? And then Santanico is on her feet again, and Angel leaps from the stage. She comes at him, hands again outstretched. He knocks her arms apart and kicks straight out. The blow catches her by surprise, but she recovers quickly. Now she is warier, circling Angel with her hands raised as claws. The bar has gone quiet. All eyes watch the two combatants. They are shocked, Angel suddenly realizes. They did not expect anyone to give their princess a run for her money. He lunges forward, landing two, three blows on Santanico's snakelike head while she vainly tries to block his attack. His last punch sends her flying backward. Again, she is on her feet quickly, but her face is back to normal, her expression baffled and hurt.

"How ...?" she asks.

Angel passes a pool table as he strides toward her, snatching up a cue and spinning it about theatrically in his hands.

"You don't know how to fight vampires," he tells her. He looks around at the bar, his words taking all of them in. "None of you do. You have lived here so long, preying on the humans that cross your path, taking the easy pickings that wander into your bar for liquor and sex. But fighting vamps? It's pretty much what I do for a living."

He crosses the short distance to Santanico, lunging with the pool cue as if it was a fencing foil. She stands, shocked, as fire spreads from the wound and she disappears into flame and ash. Angel stands still for a moment as silence reigns in the bar.

"Uh .... Angel?"

He straightens, and turns to see that Gunn, Lorne, Fred and Wesley have all clustered near him, weapons in hand. All around them, the faces of the bar patrons have transformed into fierce vampire masks. Angel nods.

"All right, then. Now the fun part."

Projected Winner: ANGEL