7AM on a Saturday morning is a time of peace, where even the birds pause in their eternal quest for the next seed and spend that little bit of extra time in the nest listening to the plaintive chirps of their nestlings and then wishing they were somewhere else. [Themselves that is, not the nestlings. It's considered bad form in the bird world to push the young ones out of the nest when they start to piss you off – especially when they can't fly].
Xander Harris, man alone, man unloved, was roused from his morning torpor by the crashing and banging of his rubbish bins. Since the sun, bastard that it was was shining happily in the sky, Xander groggily ruled out stray vampires, disoriented demons and Anya coming to take what little she had left him.
Groaning mightily, the eternal Scooby, tradesman builder and sometime demonic punching bag, heaved himself out of bed, waded his way though the accumulated detritus of the past week and approached the door to his humble abode; snagging a robe on the way so as not to completely ruin his neighbours' morning.
Opening his door, Xander peered in the direction of his garbage. There, sorting through the accumulated leavings of the Harris household - population 1 -, was an old vagrant dressed in what passed for the highest of transient fashion.
"Hey you, get away from there". Xander pronounced in his best 'hiding behind the Slayer' tone.
The vagrant didn't pause in his rummaging.
Great, thought Xander, ignored by someone with less dress sense than Giles. "Hey!! I told you to get away. Go find a park bench somewhere. Don't you have some begging to be getting on with?"
Again, the vagrant payed Harris no attention, however, the rosebush beside the door burst into flame and a voice issued forth.
"Piss off".
Whilst it is true that Xander was used to the unusual, having, unlike the majority of Sunnydale, not had his head buried in the sand since time immemorial, burning, talking rosebushes were somewhat outside his experience.
"Did you tell me to 'piss off'?" He inquired.
"Are you thick boy? Begone lest I turn thee into a pillar of salt".
"That is my rubbish bin you realise. It's not like a hire purchase arrangement where you get to come along and scrounge through my leavings with payment rendered with your eventual, and one hopes, inevitable departure"
The old man turned his head and fixed Xander with a steely and extremely non-vagrant-like gaze. "And how would like it if I drove you into a pig and chased you off a cliff'?
Xander backed off with his hands raised. "Again with the insults. Who went and dropped a house on your sister?"
The only response the sometime carpenter received was a muttered "Got anything to eat?"
"Now you want me to feed you? Do I look like a snack bar?"
"No, you look like an idiot, but since I asked you for food and not an intellectual discussion I'll take my chances".
Obviously it was going to be one of "those" days, Xander thought, and thus, resigned to the inevitable, gave up arguing. "OK, how about an apple?"
"Do I look like a serpent!?!" came the immediate and obviously angry reply. "Do you not have any ambrosia? How about some milk and honey? I'll even accept a fatted calf".
"And then you'll want one of my first-born I imagine?" replied Xander, determined not to be out sarcasm'd by one of the socially disenfranchised.
"I don't have time to wait until you find someone gullible enough to mate with you".
"Hey now, none of that" proclaimed a visibly hurt Xander. "I did have someone who loved me and we were constantly with the mating".
The vagrant barely acknowledged the comment returning his attention to the now scattered flotsam of Xander's existence. "Have you even heard of a balanced diet? I mean, look at this" he gestured, pointing at numerous takeaway containers, empty sweet packets and a particularly alarming amount of Ding Dong and Pop Tart wrappers. "I've heard the phrase 'you are what you eat', but I never envisioned a solely additive and preservative powered human. Tell me, do you ever come down off your sugar high?"
"Only when I'm woken at an ungodly hour in the morning by someone going through my rubbish", Xander noted sourly. "Are you normally this nasty, or are you making a special effort just for me? I imagine with an attitude like yours' your welcome at all the best shelters.
This time the vagrant actually smiled - if a one-degree upturn of one side of the mouth can be considered a smile. "You know Harris, there may be some hope for you after all. At least you can follow instructions, even if they are little more than SIT and STAY; my son on the other hand…oy.
"Don't show off I say. Don't draw attention to yourself. Don't get in with the wrong crowd. Stay on the good side of the police. But does he listen to his father? Last I heard he was hanging around with common criminals".
"Hang on", interrupted Xander, "How'd you know my name?"
"I checked your mail before I got to your garbage"
"Anything importa…? What do you mean you checked my mail? Don't you have any concept of a person's privacy?"
"Of course I do Harris, it's not my job to make windows into men's souls" The old man smiled again, more broadly this time. "You know, you're a bit like my son, he was training to be a carpenter too".
A dreadful suspicion was starting to dawn on Xander. "I know you don't I?"
"Anything's possible Harris, anything's possible". The old man glanced skyward. "Looks like rain Harris, you may as well go back to bed". And with that, the vagrant turned and headed back down the drive.
"Wait" cried Xander, "I mean, what should I do?"
A distant laugh reached his ears, "Build an ark, Harris, build an ark".