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

[deadpoet]

He took a seat across from her, siting to the side of the table, one arm resting on it and the other dangling over the back of the chair. Doing his very best to be concerned, but not seem too concerned. Casually interested, that's what it was. He watched her from the side.

"General. Right. Heard you killed the bastard. Problem solved, right?"

[herotypical]

Despite it being her own unspoken suggestion, Buffy now warred with herself over taking a seat. Obviously, she felt more powerful on her feet. A little taller, even, given that Spike was now seated. But at problem solved she felt that horrible seizing sensation in her knees and she quickly -- mechanically -- took the chair across the table from him.

"Killed him. Of course. Once. About, oh, a few months after I got here. Apparently that's one way to make a name for yourself. But..."

Her well-manicured fingernails tapped the table-top. "If you've heard about that then you've obviously already heard about the one week return policy on the dead. Me and him tangoed again, last draft. He was...much stronger."

[deadpoet]

"Been eating his Wheaties, has he? A new Big Bad that's just getting badder. Never did much care for those."

It put things into perspective, though. It wasn't often Buffy had a foe come back and beat her her. It was always a struggle at first where she was victorious in the end. No second chances. No coming back and proving her better.

"So how strong are we talking about?"

[herotypical]

Buffy Summers -- a champion of forceful eye contact who rarely baulked -- dropped her gaze. She couldn't look at him. However? She had to tell him.

"Strong enough to send me into a week's worth of bed-rest. Of course, we're capped here. Not on the battlefield but...the moment we were shipped back to town, my everything slowed down. You can feel it -- right?"

[deadpoet]

He nodded. "Little bit, yeah. Not quite feeling my full self here. Even the blood smells duller."

He wasn't just weaker. His senses were duller too. Until now, he'd not been acknowledging it. The fact made him vaguely uncomfortable. And moreso, it made him feel vulnerable. Spike never liked admitting to that.

[herotypical]

"You adjust. The good news is that just about everyone else is capped, too -- except the vanillas. The garden varieties. So the playing field remains mostly level. Kinda. Sometimes? It's apples and oranges."

She folded her arms on the table. "Other times? We're left totally powerless."

[deadpoet]

"Totally powerless. Can't say I know that feels."

He'd been there. Hated it. But it didn't scare him. It was just something that was incredibly unpleasant and he'd do anything to avoid getting into that situation again.

[herotypical]

"...We do missions, too. Last one I went on? I was Buffy the Normal Girl. It's -- more humbling than I care to admit, really. But you'll have to know these things. 'Cause when it happens to you? You'll still have that pesky UV allergy and...

Spike. I need to warn you about something else. Something a little more...personal."

[deadpoet]

He'd lived with that 'allergy' for a hundred years. It wasn't a handicap, in his opinion. Just an annoyance.

"I thought we were moving away from personal."

[herotypical]

"Different kind of personal."

But no less dangerous. Probably more so. "The experiments. Sometimes they...change us. Take parts of us away. Important parts."

A soulless Spike was still no Angelus -- but the notion terrified her nonetheless.

[deadpoet]

He could guess right away what she meant.

"You mean me without a soul, right? The same thing could happen to you, Slayer. I heard a lot of things working with Angel and his crew. I was told about a soulless human child that even terrified the demon that possessed him. So don't go making some special concern about me losing my soul. I'm not Angelus, right? I can be downright decent without mine. But you? We've not seen you without one yet."

[herotypical]

"Decent."

It took every final sinew of willpower left in her body not to spit the word back in his face. Decent? After--

No. Different man, now. Changed. She was supposed to be getting better at accepting that. Buffy had made a show of forgiving Jack his past and accepting his current self; she supposedly had already learned to care for Spike and his soul. But it truly did anger her. Decent was never a word she'd use for what had happened.

"I mean that it's incredibly likely that you're going to hurt someone, here. Someone you don't even know or...someone you care about. I've done it. Everyone does it, at some point."

[deadpoet]

He was well aware that he'd made bad moves, even with the chip. Even when he was being downright heroic. It was why he went for his soul. He found himself his own moral compass that wasn't named Buffy Summers.

But he'd never call himself a good man without his soul. Not a hero. Just decent. As vampires go.

"I've already done it, Buffy. A hundred times over. More times than I can remember. I don't fancy doing it again. But death doesn't quite take in this place, does it? I can deal. It's what us souled vampires do."

It was a rare moment where he felt solidarity with Angel on anything. But this was one of those times.

[herotypical]

"Right. What a boys' club that's become..."

She straightened. Her warning had been given -- and the possibility of a necessary staking was made implicit. Or, at least, an uninvitation spell. Buffy would not allow a soulless Spike near her, she thought. Not after the sin that had precipitated the soul's chase.

[deadpoet]

The warning was received. He didn't doubt Buffy would do what had to be done. That was the way of it. Whether he liked it or not, he was a lot like Angel. If it came down to it, he'd tell her to stake him.

With his eyes.

"Just like the Slayer gig then, isn't it? Give it a few years, there might be a whole lot of us, brooding on rooftops in long coats about our past sins."

[herotypical]

"Actually," her tone softened as she delivered some curious trivia, "Luceti's seen a Slayer with a Y chromosome."

[deadpoet]

"Bloody hell." He stared at her for a moment. "Maybe the boy had a bit too much estrogen in him. One of those, what do you call them, herpetologists."

[herotypical]

"I think he's more into birds, actually. Than reptiles."

Buffy perhaps only knows the word because she's recently been reintroduced to her reptile-enthusiast of a friend. Still: "Sokka does know how to accessorize a mean handbag but...nope. Very manly. Works down at the smithy. He's a...friend. A good one."

[deadpoet]

Spike had been to the smithy. He'd seen the boy that worked there. Looked a bit pitiful, really. Walked on a bad leg. Most annoying voice ever. He hadn't stuck around to chat. Just find something good for killing.

"I'll take your word on that."

[herotypical]

"He's been here almost as long as me. And not many've been here longer. Raine. Sheena. Albert..."

No. She'd better not continue long on that track. She didn't need Spike's criticism in that quarter, too. "Well?" Buffy pushed the spotlight back onto him. "Spill. Who all have you met?"

[deadpoet]

"Not many, not a large crowd at night. Didn't much get a chance to meet the others here. Willow and your new boy, aside. Ran into a girl calling herself Rogue, like the comic book. Thought that was a bit weird until I ran into bloody Rapunzel herself. I talked to a few people on the journal besides."

Of course, there was the real meeting that actually mattered. So he saved that one for last. "I found Dru as well."

[herotypical]

"Stop calling him th--

Hah.

So? How is she doing? Tired of straws, yet? Or did she manage to actually talk that stupid idiot into being her blood donor?"

[deadpoet]

For a moment, he looked annoyed that she was so cavalier about the fact she'd killed Drusilla and left her less than she was. Deserved or not. But the last bit was what really caught him.

"Blood donor? What blood donor?"

[herotypical]

"...Some busybody who wants to voluntarily keep her fed."

And we all knew how Buffy felt about humans just givin' it up for the vampires.

[deadpoet]

Spike knew all too well. He'd banked on it in order to get Riley out of the picture.

He hadn't been very decent then.

"And he's not dead yet?"