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

[herotypical]

"...Welcome to life -- err, unlife -- in Luceti. Where very little is fair and, occasionally, the points matter."

[deadpoet]

"Yes, well thank you for the introduction, Miss Carey." He liked the British version better. "So anything else I ought to know before I get myself in a fight?"

[herotypical]

"...If it's someone who really deserves it?

Go for the wings."

It was advice more for any potential drafts or missions rather than something to be used in the village. Still -- useful words.

[deadpoet]

He recalled Drusilla's reaction last night when he went for the wings.

"Right. The wings. I'll remember that."

[herotypical]

Buffy would want to hear as much about that as Spike'd likely want to hear about work-roughened pirate fingers getting all friendly in her feathers.

"Lose'em and you die. Lose one and you nearly die. Lose some feathers? And it's like a flu from hell. At least, that's what it's like for me. But it means a blade's useful to have on hand if you need to clip an enemy on short notice."

[deadpoet]

"You've killed a lot of them, haven't you?"

There was a sense of expert knowledge in there. Not just objective, but from experience. Like when she talked about dusting a vampire.

[herotypical]

Coolly: "Death is my gift."

Death is your art; you make it with your hands. "If I don't...stop them first, they'll get to someone I care about. Or even someone I don't care about. It doesn't matter. Children end up on those drafts, Spike. If something happened to one of them 'cause I got cold feet...?"

Well. Self-forgiveness would be less than forthcoming. She didn't need to tell him that.

[deadpoet]

Too coolly. He found he didn't like her coughing up to that so easily. Even if she'd been a killer as long as he knew her. Just. Not that kind.

"Easy, Buffy. I may be judging a lot of your life decisions here-" and he meant that insincerely as a jab at himself."-but that's not one of them. They may not be demons, but it seems they've got it coming to them."

He'd been concerned more than anything. A legion of crazy cultists to fight wasn't a picnic. Especially since they were probably human. And Slayers aren't supposed to kill humans.

[herotypical]

...His words managed to moderately ease her knee-jerk defensive reaction. She couldn't keep her chin up with Spike like she could in front of the others. He knew. He could predict how much of a drain it would be on her. And Buffy had been trying very hard to keep Summers and the Slayer separate -- only occasionally deigning to fight alongside her pirate-boyfriend and only now, when the same pirate's past was in question, was she forced to confront the conflict between these two parts of herself.

"It's worse than that, Spike. They've given up on living..."

The General's faith in death and its release still gave her nightmares.

[deadpoet]

"Doesn't give them much right to take it from those who haven't."

He hadn't been out there yet. He had no reason to be sympathetic with faceless, nameless enemies. If he'd gotten anything out of Wolfram & Hart, it was that doing the right thing wasn't always simple.

[herotypical]

"Rights have nothing to do with it. These guys ring a whole lot of Bringer bells: they walk like humans and they act like humans but they sure as hell don't talk like them. Sometimes literally -- I mean, they don't say a word.

Really cuts into my righteous banter riff."

[deadpoet]

"I hated those bastards. But for a group of cultists, they must not be big on recruiting if they aren't talking."

[herotypical]

She spoke without thinking: "Oh. Their leader doesn't really see us as ripe for the recruiting. Yet."

[deadpoet]

He did not quite grasp the seriousness of that. "Let me guess. Size does matter with the wings?"

[herotypical]

"Actually? Yes. But wing-size depends on birth and...

...Crap."

It was a little like a light bulb just blinked on above the blonde's head.

[deadpoet]

"Well? Do share with the rest of the class."

He hated Buffy being the one who knew everything. He was the experienced one. Always the one with a little insight, even if they had to turn to the books for more later.

[herotypical]

"...People born in this world? Doomed to wear the big wings. And apparently they're the most susceptible to being drawn on to the dark side. If the General said Luceti wasn't yet ripe...?

There've only been, like, three babies here. I thought he was just being lofty when he said we weren't ready. Like, we were stunted in the psycho-philosophy department but I think they must wait for an enclosure to do lots of procreating and child-rearing before they start handing out the enlistment forms."

A deep breath.

Oh, she was so upping her contraception tea dose.

[deadpoet]

"Bloody hell. Always going for the children, don't they? Moldable minds and all that." Still. It was all so theoretical for it to truly sink in. "Well, here goes my plans to aim for a few little Spikes running around."

[herotypical]

"Great. That's the last thing any world needs. Another impossible vampire baby.

Yeah. I heard about Angel's..."

She can't even finish the sentence.

[deadpoet]

"Vampire baby? Angel's what?"

Confused vampire, he was. Utterly baffled.

[herotypical]

"Connor. His...son. You didn't know?"

She'd never been clear on what had truly gone down in LA before hell swallowed it. "His impossible son that he impossibly had with his impossibly aggravating sire."

[deadpoet]

"No. Can't say I have. The only Connor I know is-- bloody hell."

The boy that Angel was suddenly partial to. Giving a tour. Showing him things you don't show your average teenage boy.

"I can't believe he didn't tell me. I mean, we were both evil in Sunnydale. Fighting the fight and all that. You'd think he might pull me aside and say, 'Hey Spike, I've got a son out there.'"

Except Spike would've seen it as a challenge and tried to do the same with Drusilla. It was for the best, probably.

[deadpoet]

He paused, then stared at her. "Wait, did you know? You know, back when he was dating you. That he had a son as old as your sister. I mean, really, hitting you up at seventeen was bad enough. But shirking his fatherly responsibilities to hook up with a former cheerleader? That's just crass, even for him."

[herotypical]

"I didn't. I didn't know. Didn't even meet the kid until my first day here, in the wings."

Buffy knew the real answer but -- having now realized that she'd said too much and was revealing personal facts about Angel that Spike wasn't already privy to -- her tongue stopped wagging so much. Even if it meant letting some of those comments about her relationship with Angel go by without retaliation.

"...Maybe he just didn't want you to go all pouty on him for not being named godfather."

Okay. Maybe a little retaliation.

[deadpoet]

For once, he actually bought her lie. Because he had absolutely no problem believing Angel was the worst. It was entirely plausible in his mind.

"Like I'd want that. You've got to give him credit, keeping a secret like that. To you, especially."

No wonder she had Angel in the doghouse.