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First Stanza - [Action & Voice]
[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.
[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.
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.
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He finally followed her to gather the curtains she was no doubt fetching anyway.
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"Talking like that to Jilly is just about the fastest way to get evicted into a vacuum cleaner. You're safer saying them to me."
In front of Jack was the unspoken warning. Jack loved Buffy but he protected Jilly.
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"Jilly's the special one, is she? Well, I'll be sure not to criticize her paintings either."
The unspoken warning was not spoken enough.
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Buffy pushed aside what looked like a massive stainless steel pot that was kept in storage because it wouldn't fit under the sink in the kitchen. Where were those curtains?
"She's too kind for her own good, sometimes."
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"I'll try and be nice then."
Too kind for her own good. She reminded him of Fred already.
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Buffy glanced back over her shoulder as she searched.
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Which was really only a promise not to physically harm him. Verbal torment was fair game.
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"Just...keep in mind that if-slash-when the first punch is thrown? I'll find out who threw it."
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The thought did occur to him that he only had to coerce Jack to blows. But only because he had a lot of nasty thoughts about him.
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"So it might be him. He...rocks a real grudge against all things vampire."
Buffy understood that any eventual conflict might not necessarily be all about her. Jack had other issues.
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Though the possibility had been out there. He wondered whether Buffy knew of the prophecy. She seemed to know every sodding thing else.
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"It could happen. It...does happen. Here. Not permanently. But -- it happened to Angel. For almost a month? Maybe more. I don't know. We weren't exactly chummy."
She didn't know about the prophecy. She did, however, know about Wolfram & Hart's trick back in Hell A.
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He relieved her of the curtains, highly unimpressed by their pattern.
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She sounded surprised. "Not even a little bit?"
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An answer and a non-answer rolled into one. He might very well be talking about the curtains.
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"...Someone here might be able to make it. It's kind of like a supernatural brain trust, sometimes. On everything except the question of how to get out."
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"We'll work on that too."
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But it would make it all the more sorrowful when she saw him lose it or else be sent home before he lost it. And it was worse, she thought, for how much she already dreaded him being sent home.
"Well. I'd better leave you to your curtains. Unless I grow a few more inches in the next ten seconds, I won't be much help."
that's totally a curtain rod in this icon
"Later, then."