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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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"Right. 'Marie.' I heard about her."
From Buffy, as a matter of fact. She dropped her hand to her hip and cocked it, her body taking on an S curve. She met his gaze.
"She sounded lame."
That's right. This is the genuine article.
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He remembered being in the basement one night in Sunnydale as Andrew and Xander got into talking about it. Spike had only vaguely paid attention to it at the time. But there was quite the heated argument-- no, agreement, about comic Rogue being that much better. All very geeky and Spike had tried to tune it out.
"Decent movies, if you like that sort of thing. Maybe once I get out of this place, I'll live long enough for the third."
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On the one hand, hot guy she was likely about to scare off. On the other, there was pretty much a fifty/fifty shot that he was an evil vampire who was just setting her up to try and kill her.
Meh.
She tucked a white strand of hair behind her ear and smiled with a little devil-may-care and a little wry amusement that might be close to pain. "I don't think I'm gonna get ta see 'em. In my Earth, the only time X-Men are on TV is if they're flashin' bad pictures for wanted ads or filming us fightin'."
She pauses a moment, "I sure ain't that Rogue."
Marie. Honestly.
"But I am Rogue." She shrugged a little, "Nice ta meetcha."
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Well. Bloody hell. He had wings on his back. Why not?
"Spike." That was his answer. One made up name to to the other. "A vampire. Seems only fair to let you know, seeing as I know your secret already."
The whole zap-zap thing. He didn't seem too worried.
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Didn't hurt to check before sharing a bit of her own news.
"You're not gonna try an' eat me, are ya?"
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Casually. Still walking and only taking a moment to look her over again as he said 'scrumptious'.
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At least he's got his soul.
She flashed a quick grin at him, "Don't think I'd normally take a vampire's word on somethin' like that. But while we're bein' all fair an' all, you should know - I've heard of you 'bout the same way you've heard of me."
So yeah, that's right - she totally went on this walk with you to figure out when you were from. Well. One of main the reasons.
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"Well I know I've got a big reputation, but I didn't much think it carried over into other worlds. Clearly I've not giving myself enough credit, have I?"
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"Look, all I'm sayin' is don't be too surprised if ya end up with some fanboy or fangirl starin' at you. It's pretty much agreed that you're the hot one."
She delivered that with utmost casualness. Barely glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, in fact. She didn't feel casual about it, though - first, because she was very nearly hitting on Spike, and secondly, because she hated this entire subject of conversation. But it was only fair. She was sure he'd hear it elsewhere and at least she knew how to deal with things like this. Rogue was all-too used to knowing more about people's lives than she should, and she really didn't want to get into discussing just what did or didn't line up with Buffy the Vampire Slayer.
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"Oh bloody hell." He stared at her. "I've a TV show, don't I? So what is it? Spike and Friends? How the Big Bad went and got a bloody soul?"
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But she hadn't told him this out of any great concern for him - true, that was there, in part, because she wanted him to have a warning. Learning about it the way that she had had been fairly awful. She hadn't told him this because she'd been struck into a fangirl frenzy by the sight of his naked chest, razor cheekbones, and charismatic charm.
She'd told him this because if he was going to react badly to it, she'd rather it happen to her.
So she met his stare with one of her own, her gaze firm and slightly sympathetic, "Yeah, it pretty much sucks."
Pause a beat and more honesty, "But if it makes ya feel any better, you're not the headliner."
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"Well it better bloody well not be Angel."
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And she relaxed a little - he seemed to be handling this with as much good grace as could be expected. That meant she didn't have to worry as much about Billy.
Her eyes glint in the moonlight with amusement, "Let's not go there. I'd rather deal with you-the-person than talk about somethin' that might not even be entirely accurate. An' the Clothing Shop's just a bit further up here."
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In silent films, no one can hear your victims scream.
"But this means you'll know what I'm looking for. Convenient, that."
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She looked ahead to the Clothing Shop. "Your gear might have shown up - it might not. Took almost a month for my uniform ta show."
She hadn't really anticipated helping him find what he wanted to wear - honestly, finding out what she needed to and delivering what she felt was important information so easily and relatively smoothly had thrown her a bit off balance.
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He opened the door to the clothing shop, letting himself on in. And then taking the time to locate the light switch. Seems there weren't that many late night shoppers.
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"An' that's right. No money here. It's all - good will and optimism, until someone comes in and tries to take it all away."
...she might have become slightly jaded recently. The Kin'corans had no right to do what they did, and they'd absolutely trashed her Item Shop, but it was what it was.
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It was his coat he was concerned with most. When it came to pants, to a shirt, or a pair of boots, he could care less. As long as they were black and fit, that was the important part. Thus, they were not the first thing he was looking for.
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Finding a pair of trousers he liked, he tossed it over his shoulder.
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...she is having this conversation with Spike.
"It's a mix of science an' - whatever strange thing that gives us wings when we show up here."
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...also, helping Spike pick out his clothes was too weird for her. She stopped looking.
"You saw the bar codes?"
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"Bar codes? For what? You just said this was all free."
All the same, he was now looking for a tag on the clothing.
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"For us."
There was reckless and then there was just plain stupid, and Rogue wasn't sure what this was. But he couldn't see in mirrors and she had a feeling he wouldn't just take her word for it. Two years in Luceti had given Rogue fine motor-control over her wings, and she folded them flat against her back, their ironically angelic white feathers shimmering in the electric light as she turned.
She glanced at him from over her shoulder, frowning a little. "Don't come too close."
And she flicked one gloved hand up under her short reddish-brown hair to bare the back of her neck and reveal the bar code.
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