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Sunday, September 23rd, 2007
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1:39 am - Those Shoes
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“These shoes so don’t go with this dress!”
Robin was beside herself with frustration. It mattered none that her blood-red dress and designer heels were stolen off her last meal – a streetwalker, no less – she hated how they looked on her.
The dress fit fine, hugged every curve on her undead body and showed just enough cleavage to lure in her next tasty treat. But the shoes? Oh, no … they were all kinds of wrong. So wrong Robin considered just ditching them entirely.
If not for almost every bar’s “No shirt, no shoes, no service” policy.
Robin was a vampire; what the hell did she need shoes for?
Spike could still feel the African blend coffee coursing through his veins, mixing with his blood. It was a strange sensation, a physically dead body hopped up on concentrated caffeine. For a moment, the Champion remembered why he wasn’t one to ingest caffeine, but it was for a good cause.
After all, it wasn’t every night someone in need of helping just fell into one’s lap, so on the rare occasion it happened, the hero types were supposed to do their part and lend a helping hand.
Spike wasn’t sure if Chloe was helpless, but she needed – and more importantly, wanted -- help, and who else but Spike to provide it?
Certainly not Buffy or Angel. Which was the crux of the whole matter, wasn’t it?
( For Good Reason )
Spike pocketed his stake once the dust cleared, pausing to light another cigarette. Clacking his Zippo shut, the vampire took his first drag, his face returning to what passed for normal. His eyes danced around the alley, finding nothing out of the ordinary. Just trash and puddles, typical alley stuff.
But as he left, he did notice the shoes. Navy blue high heels, the left heel snapped in two from its shoe. Spike gave an audible smirk, flicking cigarette ashes to the ground as he went about his not-quite-merry way.
He was right: those shoes were terrible.
[NPC vampire Robin written by Jeff.]
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| Thursday, September 6th, 2007
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12:38 am - Head and Heart
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| Tuesday, August 28th, 2007
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1:33 am - Wreckage
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So this was Los Angeles.
Again.
Pfft, whatever. Spike wasn’t impressed the first time he found himself in this dump of a city, and he still wasn’t impressed now. In fact, he was so bored, so dreadfully bored, that the vampire started to think maybe he was better off turning around and heading back to Searchlight.
But no … there was a reason Spike went on this little venture of his. He wasn’t quite sure what the draw was at first, but now, he thought he had an idea.
One of the side effects of standing somewhere that was once a pillar of so many memories. Hindsight had this annoying way of making things a lot clearer.
Seven years ago, Spike helped bring down the Los Angeles branch of Wolfram & Hart. Seven years ago, the two vampires with souls banded together with a pair of humans, an empath demon and a resurrected Old One to bring down one of the strongest weapons evil had in its arsenal.
Two dead humans and an MIA empath demon later, the instrument of evil had been brought down. Angel, Illyria … unaccounted for. Spike, for some reason, still alive. A lot of demons slain and a long-standing part of the Los Angeles landscape destroyed.
One would’ve expected Wolfram & Hart to have cleaned up the mess by now.
( Sidekick?! )
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| Tuesday, July 31st, 2007
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1:20 am - By Sunrise, No Doubt
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For whatever reason, Spike couldn’t leave Nevada soon enough.
Part of that could’ve been issues stemming from Corbett’s unwanted visit a few months back and Spike’s recent stint as a six-year-old boy. Part of it could’ve been Mallory’s lecture the night before, about not being a jerk and how part of being a Champion meant apologizing when one was wrong.
On some level, Spike knew that, but he wasn’t quite ready to full acknowledge that. Hopefully this trip would address that flaw.
Though the map said most of the trip to Los Angeles would take place in California, it seemed to take forever for Spike to reach the state line. Miles upon miles of endless desert passed, oblivious to the anxiousness that filled the vampire behind the wheel of a dilapidated 1974 Chevrolet Camaro.
How the car still ran after all these years was beyond Spike; all that mattered was whether or not it would last him to L.A. and back. He didn’t really know why he was going to L.A. or how long he’d be there, but the trip seemed like the thing to do. Something in his undead gut told Spike this trip was necessary, something to eventually help him sort out his lot in unlife.
( Sodding, good-for-nothing ... )
“Ponce,” Spike growled, glancing at the car.
If he could get it upright again, and if the radiator wasn’t fucked up, he might still make it to L.A. before sunrise. Otherwise?
Sleeping in the backseat. Spike couldn’t remember if that was illegal in California or not.
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| Monday, July 30th, 2007
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5:18 pm - You Owe Me
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Well, Faith was her normal self again. That was good.
But the fact that she was avoiding both her Watcher and Spike was a bit irksome. Understandable, if she remembered everything like the vampire did, but irksome nonetheless.
Also irksome was the uneasiness gnawing at Spike’s gut, the undeniable yet apparently unfounded need to get away. For some reason, the Champion found himself restless since his return to adulthood – or, to be more accurate, undeadness. He felt the urge to leave; not permanently, but for some reason he wanted to leave. Go somewhere, spread his wings a little.
Well, figuratively. Last he checked, Spike didn’t have any wings. But he did have vampire dust on his sleeves. Sighing, the vampire tried to brush it off his coat as he walked by one of seemingly hundreds of trailer parks in this tiny Nevada town.
( Don't be a jerk )
Spike thought of saying good night in return, but found himself unable to do so as Mallory’s words flew through his brain. He stood in place for minutes after she disappeared into her trailer, still mulling over her advice. The pointed “Don’t be a jerk” notwithstanding, she was right in everything she said.
Regardless of whether he felt Corbett was wrong to throw Buffy in his face, Spike was wrong to attack and pummel him the way he did. And considering how Corbett put up with and cared for Spike when he was a child, he owed the Watcher at the very least an apology.
But not before getting out of this hellhole. Spike would be back, he knew that, but for now … he just wanted to be gone.
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| Friday, July 20th, 2007
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12:10 pm - On the One Hand
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On the one hand, Spike was frustrated. But on the other, he completely understood.
The vampire hadn’t heard anything from Faith since they both returned to their adult – and in Spike’s case, undead – selves, and it was starting to bug him. Not in a “Faith might be in danger” sense; Spike figured Faith had been around long enough to take care of herself and figured she would’ve come to him if things were getting way over her head. But more in a … “What the hell is Faith up to?” sort of way.
Could it be the Slayer was wigged by her little episode as a six-year-old? If Spike remembered everything that happened while he re-visited the Billy days, chances were so did Faith. Which probably brought up memories of not-so-dear mum … not to mention something else the vampire probably hadn’t considered.
Still, Spike figured checking in with Corbett was a good idea. Despite their … history … they did share a common interest in the Slayer’s well being.
( You get one. )
( Spike and the Tin Man )
( Unsolicited advice )
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| Monday, July 9th, 2007
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3:43 pm - Now William
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| Tuesday, May 15th, 2007
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1:03 pm - The Thing About Plans
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After leaving Corbett and the children - yeesh - back at the Lighthouse, Connor headed over to the McDonald's, just in case Billy had wandered back on his own. It was fully dark by now, and he had the stupid little plastic car in the pocket of his shirt. He hoped Spike remembered this little adventure once he got back to what passed for normal in his existence, he really did. It was going to be well worth the laugh if he did.
The fast food establishment yielded no lost child, however, and so the Destroyer moved on to the playground Julie had visited just the other day. It would have been rational that a child from the early nineteenth century, or whenever it was Spike had been a human boy, would know not to amble off by himself without an adult, but this was pretty far removed from a rational situation. Connor wondered if the Watcher would blame him if the kid had gotten eaten, or if he would simply write it off as one of those things that happened.
In Searchlight, anything was possible, after all.
He passed the swing set, the merry-go-round, the jungle gym. No little boy. "No wonder you and Dad don't get along," the young man muttered, shaking his head. "He probably thinks you're way more trouble than you're worth. Probably he's even right."
Finally Connor stopped and took a hard look around, then raised his voice. "Spi-- Billy! If you can hear me, please answer!"
( Look who's all growed up ... again. )
( Angelus' greatest sin )
( Is it better? )
( Faith and Paris Hilton )
Spike gave Connor a bemused glance, smirking and shaking his head. “Considering I remember everything, including the embarrassing Disney outfit?” he offered. “She’ll probably remember a Slayer’s potty mouth.”
Connor stopped walking, then turned and gave Spike a deadpan stare. The corners of his mouth twitched a couple of times, and he had to smother a chuckle before he said, "Disney, huh? Yeah. Yeah, I can see you being into Peter Pan or something. Unless you're more of a Blue's Clues fan."
He waited, then shrugged casually. "Well, I'm gonna let you get on with whatever it is you're going to do next. When I see Corbett, I'll tell him about the kid. Whenever this wears off for Faith, let her know she should either call the bar or drop by. Something fairly big is brewing, and there's probably going to be more fighting. I'll talk to you later, Spike."
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| Wednesday, May 9th, 2007
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12:07 am - Little Teapot
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| Tuesday, March 27th, 2007
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1:41 am - Tether
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Yep, any minute now.
Spike just knew Faith was going to stop by soon, take time out of her busy slayage schedule to give him what for, to spar with him for bruising her Watcher’s wrinkled face. Never mind how Corbett had invaded Spike’s dilapidated abode and badgered him about crimes he’d committed years ago.
And Corbett never once met Buffy or set foot in Sunnydale, so why was it his place to get on Spike’s case about things? Oh, that’s right … he thought Spike was the Big Bad who killed his precious little not-quite-a-Slayer and wanted him to have nothing to do with Faith.
Jealous old fart.
Still … as mad as Spike was at Corbett for digging up past uglies, the vampire was also mad at himself for doing those things in the first place. A lot of years had passed since Spike’s last act as an soulless beast, and he’d be damned all over again if he didn’t remember every detail with vivid clarity.
Every sight, every sound. Every single word of the conversation – if a woman screaming and begging for him to stop could be considered a conversation. But mostly, the parting shot.
Ask me again why I could never love you!
So if Faith wanted to beat Spike’s face in for doing likewise to her Watcher, he wouldn’t stop her. He’d understand … and honestly be shocked if she didn’t. Possibly even disappointed.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
( More Like Answers )
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| Saturday, March 24th, 2007
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12:47 am - Aftermath
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| Thursday, March 22nd, 2007
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5:14 pm - History Lesson
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This had to be the place.
After all, how many crypts in Searchlight had Sex Pistols blaring through what passed for windows? There was no doubt in Corbett’s mind this was the crypt he was looking for. Reaching into the inner pocket of his black leather coat to grab his stake, the Watcher took three cautious steps toward the crypt’s front door, keeping his movements as quietly as humanly possible.
He meant to have words with Spike, yet he realized in order to have said words, he needed to still be breathing.
For a moment, the Watcher paused, considering how stupid this idea probably was. Seeking out a vampire – in his own home, no less – to threaten/discuss all matters relating to his Slayer. On the surface, this seemed like a really bad idea. But if what everyone said was true – if Spike really had been neutered – then what could he possibly do to Corbett?
So with a heavy sigh, the Watcher stared straight ahead, banging his fist against the door, clutching the stake behind his back.
Spike’s wounds had all but healed. The hole in his gut had closed up and he once again had a non-throbbing burning sensation between his legs. As it was, the only remnants of Grace’s little revenge kick were a few bruises on his cheek and forehead. That left Spike in slightly better spirits, but the revelation of who Faith’s Watcher was did little to calm his nerves.
Given his … brief history with Corbett, it wouldn’t have surprised Spike in the least to run into the ponce one night and play a rousing game of Threaten the Spike. It seemed right, in a way; old bag still thought he killed Teresa, so naturally he’d want Spike to stay as far away from Faith as possible.
Never mind Faith would probably break every bone in Spike’s body and fold him up like a pretzel. There were only two Slayers in the world Spike could never handle in a fight, and Faith was one of them.
The knock on the door surprised the vampire, and he shot a confused glance at the entrance as he put out his cigarette and turned the music off. Who the bloody hell...? He supposed it could be Faith paying him another visit, check up on his wounds … as it were.
Only when Spike opened the door … yeah, that so wasn’t Faith.
( It's you... )
( Every detail )
( He went and made Spike mad )
( Remembering )
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| Friday, March 9th, 2007
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1:40 am - Coming to a Hero's Rescue
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Spike had to have the worst timing ever. If there was an award for that, he'd totally win it by a landslide. The vampire just had to get into a near-death battle on the night she was having her first emotional breakdown in, like, ten years. Wasn't life just so ironic? Alanis was totally right when she sang that song.
But the cool night air and the wind in her hair was doing Faith a world of good. She wasn't thinking about Kathryn or Corbett as her bike zoomed through the blinding lights of the Vegas streets. The mission was to find Spike. She didn't have to think about how much she still missed Kathryn or how she still blamed herself for her death when she had a friend who, if they were human, was possibly bleeding to death. Spike's description of "behind a biker bar near the strip" was hardly anything to go on. There were plenty of biker bars in a city as large as Vegas was.
It only took the Slayer three tries before the stench of blood was unmistakable. This time was always the charm, you know?
"God, it reeks," Faith complained as she hopped off her bike and waved her hand in front of her face. "Nothing like the smell of rotting trash and fresh blood in the evening."
Debris from the fight was everywhere. The normally semi-clean sidewalk just outside the alley was littered with crates that had been thrown and overflowing trash bags that had somehow flown out of the alley. The place was a mess, a big, smelly mess. As Faith drew in closer and entered the only, the stench only got worse.
It was dark at first, the light from the flashy bars and hotels barely filtering into the alleyway. Her eyes took a moment to become accustomed to the low lighting and finally landed on the fall form of the vampire. It was unmistakably Spike. Even in this light, his hair had a tendency to kind of glow. Must be from all the bleach. When she inched in a little closer, she could just make out the extent of his injuries.
He wasn't kidding when he said he was skewered to the sidewalk.
Shaking her head, Faith walked a few more steps until she was standing directly above him, an almost amused look in her eyes as she stared down at him and asked, "Who the hell did you piss off this time?"
( Who Spike pissed off )
( Hotel Nevada...just doesn't have the same ring )
( My Watcher told me... )
( Don't tell him )
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| Wednesday, February 28th, 2007
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9:38 pm - A Really Good Night
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The Plymouth needed a paint job, Grace decided as she drove the car into the parking lot with a squeal of tires and a guttural roar of the engine. Something shiny, a high glossy black that would catch the neon lights as though they were stars. She could even get the upholstery re-done. Red leather, maybe, dark like the color of blood. And a new set of hubcaps, sharp ones. A high toned fixer-upper. It'd be great.
She was sick of herself, was what it was. She'd stampeded out of Searchlight like all the devils of hell were after her, breaking the speed limit and trying to break the sound barrier as she made for the city. She was going to have a drink and pick a fight with the first unlucky son-of-a-bitch who crossed his eyes at her.
It was time to get back to Goddamned normal.
The door of the bar smacked against the wall, and the vampire looked inside. Pretty good crowd, there had to be somebody in here who was fool enough to take exception to her.
She'd make somebody take exception.
( Taking exception )
( Uppity fucker (Adult Content: Violence) )
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9:38 pm - A Really Good Night
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The Plymouth needed a paint job, Grace decided as she drove the car into the parking lot with a squeal of tires and a guttural roar of the engine. Something shiny, a high glossy black that would catch the neon lights as though they were stars. She could even get the upholstery re-done. Red leather, maybe, dark like the color of blood. And a new set of hubcaps, sharp ones. A high toned fixer-upper. It'd be great.
She was sick of herself, was what it was. She'd stampeded out of Searchlight like all the devils of hell were after her, breaking the speed limit and trying to break the sound barrier as she made for the city. She was going to have a drink and pick a fight with the first unlucky son-of-a-bitch who crossed his eyes at her.
It was time to get back to Goddamned normal.
The door of the bar smacked against the wall, and the vampire looked inside. Pretty good crowd, there had to be somebody in here who was fool enough to take exception to her.
She'd make somebody take exception.
There was no denying how Spike was enjoying his drinks tonight. Propped up on some stool by the bar, downing as many shots of scotch as he could, not necessarily in the interest of getting drunk, but in the interest of keeping to himself as he scoped the bar for anything that might go bump in the night.
Granted, everything in this bar was going bump in the night, but Spike was looking for the dangerous kind of bumping, not the kind you had to pay about $10 an hour for in a hotel room.
So far, though, no luck. The Champion was disappointed in that, feeling the urge for some violence. He hadn’t had a good spot since his little spat with Tristan. It couldn’t be considered a real fight, since the soulless of the two vampires went all Angel and started questioning his existence.
Spike really hoped he saw the sunrise.
"Whiskey." Grace hauled herself up onto the first stool she reached, rested her forearms on the bar. Nobody seemed to be too lively tonight, but it was probably just the end of the doldrums, the aftermath of the freaky-ass weather.
It'd get livened up pretty soon.
She looked across the room, picked up her glass without looking at it and took a sip. Who had the biggest “punch me in the mouth” sign over their head tonight? These things were usually pretty easy to read, and in lieu of a fight with Katherine she would take the next contestant just as gladly.
Scanning across the room in silence, the vampire stopped, made a split second's eye contact with a bleached blond who was also drinking, and remembered a piece of rebar finding an extremely uncomfortable place in her chest. Grace swept her gaze back that way, then ordered another drink and raised her voice a notch.
"Fuck, they'll let anybody in here, won't they?"
Spike’s glance caught Grace for a moment, but he went back to his drink almost immediately, downing the contents and pounding the surface of the bar to demand a refill. If tonight meant a confrontation with her, then maybe Spike would have to rethink that whole getting drunk thing.
He really didn’t feel like dealing with this tonight; the vampires in this area were more annoying than the ones back in Sunnydale; at least there, they were mostly concerned with feeding, killing and not running afoul of the Slayer. In southern Nevada, they seemed content in generally pissing people off and/or getting all woe-is-me about the nature of their existence.
He thought of about a dozen witty comments to fire back with, proud of himself for what was probably his finest pun-work in several years. But he kept them all to himself, because if there was going to be a big fight with the bitchy redhead sitting not too far from him, he wanted it outside, not in the middle of a crowded Vegas bar.
Establishment owners tended to frown on that sort of thing.
Oh. So he was gonna ignore her. Or try to. Grace wished him good luck with that shit.
"I thought this was a class joint," she said, then pointed down the bar in Spike's direction. "Once you start lettin' that riff-raff in here, what's next? Pay toilets?" Someone on her left snickered, and the vampire shook her head as if she couldn't believe the general state of civilization.
"Shouldn't you be off somewheres beatin' up on somebody that ain't fightin' back?"
“Might wanna start speaking English, love,” Spike finally said, giving Grace a smug grin as he flushed the contents of his shot glass down his throat. “Cause I got no bleeding clue what you’re going on about.”
"No, 'course not. Big man like you, why would ya? That boy you left leaned up against that dumpster, he told me all about it. Takes a real hero to kick a fella when he's down, reckon. Bet you like to hit girls, too."
The Kentucky hick in Grace's voice was twanging in full force, and people were looking now, giving Spike sidelong, mistrustful glances. She wasn't looking at him, though, keeping herself facing forward while she watched the level in her glass.
"Has the clue bus pulled up for ya yet?"
It had, and Spike couldn’t hide the self-satisfied chuckle. So, someone actually gave a rat’s furry hide about that poor excuse for a vampire. The hilarity of that almost outweighed Spike’s disappointment that Tristan didn’t earn himself a one-way ticket to Dustville, because it really seemed like he wanted one.
“Only when they hit me first,” the Champion said, tossing a crumpled-up wad of money onto the bar before standing and glaring at Grace.
If things kept up, they would be fighting. And he wanted that outside. “So, wussy-boy vampire told you what I did, eh?” he went on. “He mention the part where he was feeding off some helpless little co-ed? ‘Cause I think that’s the best part of the story.
“You know, what gives the hero his bloody motivation.”
"You'd hold it against a man for not wantin' his dinner interrupted?" Grace demanded with false incredulousness. "Like you'd appreciate it, ya rude bastard."
She got up, tossed cash of her own onto the bar. She didn't always need to be drunk to get in a brawl. She just needed to feel mean. And fuck if she didn't have mean crawling around in her gut right now.
"Oh, but I forgot, you don't do that anymore, do you? You just prance around like Superman without the cape and think the world's supposed to kiss your ass."
( Uppity fucker (Adult Content: Violence) )
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| Thursday, February 22nd, 2007
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10:58 pm - New in Town
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Clemence pocketed her room key as she made her way downstairs and out of the motel. She had a messenger bag slung over her shoulder, a green t-shirt and black zip-up sweater over it, and a new pair of jeans she had caved and bought earlier in the day. She wasn't exactly a shop-til-you-drop kinda gal.
Her plan was to get something to eat -- McDonald's that afternoon hadn't really cut it -- and maybe see what this town looked like at night. Her reasoning was that the more she didn't want to do something, the more worthwhile it was. She paused to take in the air, the night sky, all that jazz.
Satisfied enough time had passed since his run-in with Elfleda that all her corrupted ickyness had passed through his dead system, Spike had fancied himself a night out in the puny desert town of Searchlight. Faith hadn’t been around much, but he figured that was a product of her having a new Watcher. Whichever tea-and-crumpet warrior had drawn the shortest straw on that one was probably running her through whatever training and all such nonsense.
Spike scoffed at that thought, lighting a cigarette. Girl helped avert an apocalypse and close a Hellmouth – that should give her a lifetime card out of Slayer training.
Then again, the vampire could understand the need for guidance. He was actually jonesing for some himself. Between Drusilla’s vague prophecy and Lorne’s even more vague reading, Spike had no idea just what was in store for him. Unless, of course, one counted an adventure and some allies.
But while Spike awaited the call from The CW with regards to the TV show idea, he patrolled the desert, staking whatever vampire caught his eye and hoping to avoid running into yet another person/creature who wanted him dead.
Cause after a decade or so, that sort of thing just got old.
( Lot more than sand out here )
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| Sunday, January 21st, 2007
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1:08 am - Doing Favors
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Well, the Strip was...well, a little less strippy these days. One would suppose a near-apocalypse would do that to a towering, shining landmark of American gluttony.
Was a shame, too; Spike really liked a couple hands of blackjack after a rough night of fighting off the baddies. Then again, watching the sky open up and threaten to swallow everything up from Vegas to Phoenix was enough to kill just about anyone’s gambling buzz.
Even a vampire with a soul.
Spike hadn’t done much in the big battle, aside from ride a cyclops and have a brief conversation with this freaky-ass lady who looked like she either belonged at a cosplay convention of the last disc of one of those Final Fantasy games. And as amazing as his little episode the night before had been, Spike couldn’t shake a general feeling of dread.
It was confusing, feeling so timid after the end of the world had been sidestepped. Spike thought he’d seen enough near-misses to not be phased by them, but this was different. Maybe it was that woman; Spike recalled getting a big case of the heebie-jeebies the last time they’d crossed paths, and he wasn’t too tickled about possibly having to find off the inner demon again.
It was hard enough on his own; he didn’t need help from any self-proclaimed “Corrupter.”
( Does Angel have some undead brother nobody knows about? )
“Get yourself a soul,” he suggested. “Then you’ll find out. But I can’t answer that for you.”
What was with this guy? At least when Spike started questioning his lot in unlife, he’d had the all-encompassing excuse of being in love. Being in love and realizing you’re a monster was a pretty powerful vehicle for change, but Spike wasn’t sure if that was the case here.
“I don’t know what you’re deal is,” Spike said, wiping the drying blood from his chin. “Nor do I really care. But I catch you munching on the helpless around here again, I’ll stake you good and proper.”
Spike reached for his cigarette again, lighting it before glancing Tristan’s way again. After standing in silence for what seemed like minutes, Spike got out another cigarette, placed it in Tristan’s lips and lit it.
“Just in case you decide to wait for the sun,” he said before turning tail and heading off into the night.
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| Thursday, October 5th, 2006
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9:39 pm - Like Father, Like Son
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It didn’t matter how much Spike brushed the sleeves of his coat, the dust just was not coming off.
It annoyed him to no end, nearly as much as the vampire’s constant prattling about how bleeding awesome Spike was, even while he was busy beating the creature’s face in and turning his limbs into a general origami experiment.
Spike wanted to turn the vampire into a swan, but he got a turtle instead. Well, a turtle that eventually exploded into dust.
Dust that was now caked into his signature jacket. Spike growled to himself as his face shifted back into its human façade, more of an instinctual reflex than anything. Now that the fight was over, the Champion really had no need to look all scary and bumpy-headed. One never really knew who—or what—was just around the corner in this little podunk, middle-of-nowhere town.
Connor was measuring the steps between himself and the snarling vampire, one hand lifted to keep the thing at bay while the other formed a loose fist near his side. He'd caught the bloodsucker lurking around the motel that night, decided to put him out of the world's misery before he got hold of some hapless passerby. The fight had passed largely in silence, intermingled with the occasional grunt of pain.
The vampire finally made a rushing charge at him, and Connor sidestepped it neatly to sweep the figure's legs out from underneath it. There was a thud, and then a whoosh of air as the young man drove the sharp wooden stake through the vamp's back, exploding its heart and setting off a burn that reduced the body to ashes in seconds.
He brushed his hands off, tilted his face up into the light breeze. Breathed in the smell of road tar from the highway, rapidly settling dust, grease from the diner, and...a telltale stink.
( You smell what I smell? )
( Quoting that classic Star Wars line would be too easy here )
Spike stood motionless, lit cigarette dangling from his mouth, the end burning slowly. His face turned quizzical, wondering not only why Angel never said anything, but why nobody else ever mentioned it. Fred, Wesley, Lorne, Gunn…nobody ever said word one about Angel having some demony offspring with his old vampiric squeeze.
Spike slinked off into the night, shaking his head and puffing on his smoke. He couldn’t believe it; he’d heard it, but he couldn’t believe it.
Darla’d had a baby…wow, she must’ve been a joy to deal with when she was knocked up. No wonder that boy was so moody.
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| Friday, August 25th, 2006
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1:20 am - A Side Effect of Booze
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| Tuesday, August 15th, 2006
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2:30 pm - Not So Graceful
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It had been a little over a week since Drusilla had told Spike he’d eventually find himself knee-deep in some sort of adventure, the kind requiring he make a share of allies and friends.
A little over a week, and Spike was still sans friends.
Then again, how was a vampire with a soul expected to be able to connect with others? Spike was going out of his way to avoid contact with those of the human persuasion, mostly to keep his latent bloodlust at bay. The last thing the vampire needed was to bite some bitch’s neck, only to have her obviously drugged-up boyfriend cast a nasty bit of mojo in retaliation.
Still, it could’ve been worse; least the girl didn’t use Wolfram & Hart’s resources to exact her vengeance. That would’ve sucked.
Almost as much as Spike twisting and stalking through the alleys of Las Vegas, coming up empty in his search for evil nasties to slay. Spike always enjoyed a good fight, enjoyed getting his violence on, and since the spell on his free will had been broken, the Champion found it soothing to fight off the evil undead, as if each explosion of dust and ash were vindication, a way for Spike to quiet his screaming conscience and get back to some sense of normalcy.
Without Buffy or Angel to lean on, Spike had to deal with the ramifications of his soul on his own.
( Woof woof, bitch )
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