First Stanza - [Action & Voice]

[deadpoet]

[Action, Locked to Willow]
[A few moments before Spike arrived, he and Illyria had just escaped most of the main action and a great big bloody dragon come out of nowhere. He'd lost track of Angel and Gunn. Wesley was dead. So now it was just the two of them. Until Spike suddenly came to the surface of the river, cursing as he suddenly started burning and then swimming back underwater again until he could hide under the shade of the bridge. A bloody tiny bridge. And here he was with only a pair of white pants, now failing to hide much of anything, as he ended up STUCK in this tiny shadow. There was a book in the sunlight that was just out of reach. As the day passed on, it continued to get further away from him as the sun shifted the shadows further and further away.

What bollocks.

He decided he'd just wait until the first person came across the bridge and get their attention. That ought to do it.]

[Action/Voice, Open To All]

[Well, Willow took him 'home'. And he rather decided he liked it. Of course, a vamp can't make himself good and comfy without the proper accouterments. So after taking a nice long shower in House Seven, perusing the kitchen, and no doubt making his new housies terrible uncomfortable, he makes his way out as soon as it's evening. In his New Feather pants at first, because what else was there? But his first stop is the clothing store and he's soon back into slimming back. And then it's off to pick out a fancy weapon, get some blood at Good Spirits, find some smokes, recollect his lighter, and then snoop around town because he knows a certain old flame is around here. Not you, Buffy.

Around midnight, he hits up the journal after finally recollecting it from beside the bridge.]

This is a nice little village you lot have here. Very cozy. Has a certain quality to it, you might say. Very Shyamalan-type setting. Too cheerful. Downright unsettling, if you ask me.

Anyway, who do I talk to for the big plan? I've done my sitting around already. Relaxing, sure. Not too fond of the wings. Too ironic for my taste. But I'm ready to go and find the wankers who locked us up in here and do something about it. Champion of the people, right here. Just point me in the right direction.

Comments

action;

[deadpoet]

[He plants his feet firmly in place and doesn't budge.]

Look, little girl. This is some nice hair, you have. But if you don't untangle me, I'm going to burst out of it. I fancy it will take you a good long while to regrow as much as you've got here. So I'd suggest getting on it before I get impatient.

action; wow dreamwidth sure did eat this tag

[gleamed]

[Her glare stays firm, but there is definitely something withering in her eyes at that comment.]

You--you wouldn't dare!

tsk tsk!

[deadpoet]

[He fixed her with a very serious look.]

Care to try me?

please forgive me

[gleamed]

[N-not particularly. But backing down now seemed like such defeat.]

If I let you go, will you promise to do your fiery stick thing outside?

this time!

[deadpoet]

No. I don't fancy that I will. I like it in here. But I'll not put it out on your hair. How's that for a compromise?

[Defeat is the only option.]

grazie

[gleamed]

I-I don't think that's a very fair compromise at all!

[deadpoet]

Counting to three then.

One.

[gleamed]

[She is looking around for a Threatening Weapon. This mop is going to have to do.]

I'm warning you! Cut it out and I'll let you go!

[deadpoet]

Two.

[Suddenly? Spike's face changes as he dons his demon visage.]

1/2

[gleamed]

[SCREAM

WHAT

WHAT JUST HAPPENED TO HIS FACE]

2/2

[gleamed]

[--And with a quick flick and a tug, the knot comes loose and her hair falls.

Her heart is beating rapidly, but to her credit, she doesn't give any ground.]

[deadpoet]

[Well, that works. He resumes his normal face, the pointy teeth gone. Smug.]

Three. That wasn't so hard, was it?

[gleamed]

[She holds the mop out in front of her like a lance.]

What--did--you--just--do?

[deadpoet]

[As long as that mop doesn't touch his face, there is no problem. He just looks over it, still mildly annoyed with her antics.]

Put on my game face, Rapunzel. I don't fancy having to do that, but you didn't give me a choice, did you?

[gleamed]

[Here comes the pouty lip.]

The whole point was I was giving you a choice!

[deadpoet]

[Don't even, Rapunzel. It won't work! Probably.]

Well I didn't like the choice. So I made my own.

[gleamed]

[She will TRY EXTRA HARD.]

But that's just unfair!

[deadpoet]

That's life, little bird. Lots of big, bad, and unfair things happen in it. Best learn to start dealing with it.

[gleamed]

[She puts down the mop finally and crosses her arms in protest.]

I don't think that's true at all! Life is as happy as you decide to make it. Even if things get bad!

[deadpoet]

We're saying the same things, bit. Your version's just a bit more cheery.

[gleamed]

Hmpf. Well, cheery is better than being grumpy about it, like you.

[deadpoet]

Call it what you like, bit. Maybe I'm just all bad.

[He exhales some smoke again. This time not in her face, at least.]

[gleamed]

Nobody's all bad.

[deadpoet]

That’s where you’re wrong, bit. You might be tempted to think there’s a bit of good in every last sod. Well, the world may have its share of gray, but some of it comes in shades of only black. They’re the all bad variety. A little pouting lip won’t do much against their like.

[gleamed]

[She puts her hands on her hips then. She's heard this argument before, from another Lucetian. She didn't buy it then, either.]

There's more ways to bring out the good in people than that, you know!