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]

"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?"

[herotypical]

"Corpses don't exactly turn up around here. I gave him the speech; it didn't seem to make much difference. Hence the words stupid and idiot.

I guess you found her long enough to figure out that she's been causing trouble in these parts."

She tried not to sound tetchy. Possessive. Slightly envious. It wasn't as though she craved Spike's attention. She simply didn't want his attention straying elsewhere. And not to dangerous elsewheres at that.

[deadpoet]

"It's Drusilla. Goes without saying, that."

If it seemed he wasn't being very forthcoming about her, it was because he didn't want to be. He knew exactly what he did. Like hell he was going to tell Buffy about it. Or anyone, for that matter.

[herotypical]

"...Speak of things that should go without saying," she started -- all at once and almost too sincerely curious. "Ships. Boats. And their cabins. Do those count as houses? Y'know, if they're treated in a semi-frequently inhabited casual cottage kind of way?"

Because she needed to know whether Drusilla could make it onto the Joanna Joyce and into the small-but-homey cabin. After that run-in in the woods, she wasn't looking to take any chances. What seemed like a non-sequitur of a question was actually deeply tied up in the tangle of anxiety that was Buffy Summers trying to cope with Drusilla being in Luceti.

[deadpoet]

"Look, if you and your new- man are off doing the Love Boat thing, I don't fancy I'll be wanting to visit anyway. Sailing isn't quite a vampire sort of activity anyway. Too much sun, not enough shade."

He knew that she was talking about Drusilla. But the fact she was asking about trying to protect herself while she shacked up with her pirate friend did not encourage him to be particularly helpful.

[herotypical]

"...I just want to make sure he's safe, Spike. There's nothing unfair about that. Drusilla gets a twisted kick out of tossing around the kinds of threats that I take very seriously."

And she'd attacked him before -- the first time she'd been here. When Jack had first arrived. And with Jack likely to escape out to the JJ any moment now to avoid being around Spike...?

"I wanna know what my options are, 'cause..." Because it was unlikely that simply staking the tramp until she couldn't function anymore was a valid option, now. "Because if you're gonna turn around and start molly-coddling her? I want to be prepared for the worst."

It wasn't a fair accusation. She'd once witnessed Spike threaten to stake his sire. Of course, he'd also threatened to toss Buffy at Dru's mercy at the same time. But things were always difficult when you didn't yet know where the chips would fall.

[deadpoet]

"Molly-coddling her? That's what you think I'll be doing, is it? Forget the blood donor. Spike's here. I'll just go find some hapless ponce, slice his throat up, and deliver him back to Dru, right?"

Defensive. Too defensive, perhaps. But also offended, because he had no intention of letting her stay on human blood.

[herotypical]

Through grit teeth: "Not. What. I. Meant."

[deadpoet]

"Well explain it, then."

[herotypical]

"If disaster strikes 'cause you've got a Drusilla-shaped blind spot...?"

She feared he'd be too soft on her. Maybe he wouldn't go so far as to deliver meals but she feared he'd have the capacity to look the other way. And he'd sounded so very defensive...

This was an easier fear to nourish than any other. Especially not the real and true fear eating away at the bottom of her gut. No, she thought. He couldn't have...

[deadpoet]

"I offered to stake her for you, remember? I went looking for her last night, thought I might do that myself for real this time. I don't do blind spots, slayer. If she makes trouble, I'll deal with it."

Again he insisted on her being his responsibility. Vampire slayer or not, she was his sire. His ex. His... well, lover. He was intent on keeping her reigned in.

[herotypical]

Right before you threatened to feed me to her. But -- old times. Very old timed. Even before she and Spike had...

Buffy glanced at some space far beyond Spike's shoulder. "Don't do blind spots? You used to be a better liar." Ugh. He was calling her 'Slayer' again and it seeped into her skin and maybe she was just old enough now that she didn't want to deal with that antagonism. It didn't hold the same electricity.

She just felt tired.

"I'm holding you to that. That's your word you've just given."

Don't disappoint me.

[deadpoet]

"Fine, you've got it. My word. I'll do what needs doing. That's all there is to it. Happy?"

Of course she wasn't. He wasn't happy about it either. Now that he had a soul, staking Drusilla was a harder task than when he didn't.

[herotypical]

"Fine. She's your responsibility. But if she so much as sniffs at one of mine? I'm staking her myself."

Again.

"Try and make that clear to her."

[deadpoet]

"I'll do that."

[herotypical]

Buffy wanted very much to take him at his words. To trust what he was telling her, although it was hard to trust an untrustworthy man. She had to continuously remind herself in a tiny little voice in the back of her mind that Spike had long been loyal in his own twisted way. It was more a case of wondering whether that loyalty was ever going to work against her, intentionally or not.

She believed that there was only one method in which to clear the bad air. There was a fundamental tragedy at the root of all this bickering and...

And she hated that she'd done this with him three times before now and that she had to do it again. Repetition did not make the facts any less painful.

"Look, Spike. You died."

You died and then you came back and then you didn't even look me up despite the fact that I was similarly callous in that I didn't send you a...fruit-basket. Or something.