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]

"Present, actually." Shifting from one foot to another, she was beginning to feel her nakedness. "But I kinda haven't been...present in that present for a while, now. But I've heard rumours. Hearsay."

Some of it from Spike himself. Last time.

"Can I just...can you give me like, three seconds?"

[deadpoet]

Everyone was in hell. Not much to hear rumors about, save for how Captain Forehead went and fouled it up for everyone. Which made him a tad impatient to know what she knew. But he tilted his head and looked away, slightly exasperated.

"Right. Go do your thing. I'll just keep having yogurt." There was an unspoken complaint about he lack of any blood to drink. He was parched and just waiting for the sun to finally set.

[herotypical]

"My yogurt," she stressed -- cattily -- as she fled further into the house. Try not to be too much of a nuisance while she's off panic-strickenly looking for clothing.

[deadpoet]

While she was gone, he continued his search in the kitchen, eventually finding himself a spoon and then hopping up on the counter to sit. He was trying to make his wings move around, but would have to stop because of how uncomfortable it still was. What a nuisance.

[herotypical]

She took much longer than three seconds. It was more like five or seven minutes. And Buffy had spent each one of them fumbling clumsily with clothing that she wished was trendier or more flattering. Stupid desires in the face of stupid feelings in the face of a stupidly returned man. Spike had been all over her brain, recently. Always a constant benchmark she hoped and begged and waited for Jack to supersede. And when he did...

She hopped around as she tugged her jeans up over her hips and fumbled with the fly. Why now? Why did it have to be now?

The evening was humid but she skipped the tank top and went straight to a nice, flowing blouse that kept that tattoo mercifully covered. She'd just gotten used to the idea of showing it off and now it was once again under wraps.

She was still finger-combing her hair when she appeared again. Before even saying a word, she grabbed herself a diet Coke from the fridge and gulped down at least half.

Caffeine helped her think.

"It's so weird," she spontaneously confessed. "Seeing you. Right...there. In my kitchen."

[deadpoet]

"It's not exactly normal for me, either."

He scraped the last bit of the yogurt off the bottom to finish it off, then tossed the spoon away. And managed to sink the cup of yogurt into the trash.

When it came down to it, seeing Buffy like this wasn't how he planned it. He'd picked up a lot from just that short exchange. She had a new friend here that he didn't recognize. There was a man who lived her. He stunk of rum. She had a tattoo she didn't want him to see. All in all, she was hiding something. Keeping secret. And she was older. Different. He could see it in her eyes, how she walked, how she talked, and everything. Sure, a year had changed him too. But this wasn't the Buffy he left in Sunnydale.

"So where should we start? The ink's what's got me curious."

[herotypical]

"...The ink is none of your business, Spike."

Her reticence said more than any words could convey. She crossed her arms over her chest and the solid stance gave her confidence. The Coke can dangled from her fingertips.

[deadpoet]

"Awfully public place for something that's no one's business, wouldn't you say?"

He was going to find out. He wanted to know. Spike would find out. It wasn't like Buffy ever succeeded in keeping secrets from him.

[herotypical]

"Not your business. I didn't say it was...no one's. It's someone's. I mean -- it's my business. And it's..."

She bit down on her tongue. "It's not what's important right now."

[deadpoet]

"Seems important to me. After all. You've got a telly just in the living room. We can't be in much of a rush to escape, can we?"

Buffy was settled. It was obvious. This wasn't a hideout. It was a home.

[herotypical]

She opted to distract him from one harsh truth by waggling another over his head as bait: "That's because I've already been here for more than three years. I practically have tenure."

[deadpoet]

"Well it does explain a fair bit, doesn't it?" He wasn't even surprised. Age was so noticeable with mortals. When you primarily associated with vampires, there was never any change. It was easy to forget to 'adjust' for changes in normal humans. "Bad luck, though."

[herotypical]

"...The baddest. Awful, terrible, tragic luck."

Coupled and mingled with excruciating happiness. Scheduled peace. Friends who didn't die as often and when they did, they came back. A steady relationship.

[deadpoet]

"Food's decent, though." He hopped off the counter, tilting his head as he carefully regarded her.

"Willow's told me everything."

A bluff, really. He had no idea if she did. But she'd told him a lot. The important things. He knew, for instance, that the only other ones present were the other Slayer. And Drusilla.

[herotypical]

Matching his hop, she stepped back. Away. She was not to engage in anything even approaching contact until she felt more...certain.

"Everything?" Buffy's voice twisted into a panicked question. "No. She...no -- not everything. Most things? Sure. But not..."

Willow. This was Willow. She couldn't have said it all, except...

"Well? Got an opinion?"

She called his bluff.

[deadpoet]

"Well, I don't like it." That was true. And unspecific. "The whole lot of it stinks."

He circled her, pushing with not just his words, but with his eyes as well. He was gong to crack this Slayer. Just like he always did. Just in that emotional way. There was no menace inherent in it.

[herotypical]

Here was the man she'd once seen drape himself over a cross, begging for forgiveness. A man who'd gotten on his knees at the end of the world and reminded her of her own capabilities. A man she held dearly in her heart even years after the fact. A man who couldn't yet know what it was to live here, love here, and be loved here.

For a moment, her façade cracked. Her lips bowed into a sadder frown. All the parts of her that wanted to spill her guts and seek refuge in an old confident tightened up and prepared to share every secret.

But in the end, the ice-queen won out. She took another sip of her soda before she misconstrued his entire accusation: "I'll have you know that he bathes regularly."

Stink, indeed. Hah.

[deadpoet]

He'd been expecting to get something out of that white lie. Something along these lines was also expected. But it still was a surprise. A hurtful one, at that. He'd been trying to fool himself into thinking there wouldn't be someone else. That this time he'd beaten Angel, made it to Buffy first, and that they were in a situation where they might finally make things work.

Silly Spike. He knew, of course, they'd never work.

But he already hated whoever this new man was.

"Glad to know your taste in men keeps improving. Brushes his teeth too, does he?"

[herotypical]

"...Pretty sure you probably already scoped out his toothbrush sitting next to mine by the sink."

Buffy didn't enjoy hurting him. Not like this. "Spike. Doing the verbal mambo around who I am or am not with right now is not -- can we just not do it? Not yet."

Not while she and Jack are still on skinny ice.

[deadpoet]

There was a lot of toothbrushes on that sink. Sneaky as he was, he hadn't worked out which belonged to who. Though now he felt like he ought to of. You know. For her sake.

"Well excuse me for taking an interest. Three years of catching up, I thought I might take a mild interest in who you're shagging these days. I suppose you'd just about have to go and find someone new after cavorting with every mysterious bloke straddling good and evil, wouldn't you."

It was a little too easy for him to slip into an accusatory tone. Jealousy, that's all it was. It was easier not being with Buffy as long as she wasn't with anyone at all. Knowing there was someone else just meant that there was someone else she'd rather be with than him. At least, that's how it was in that still childish, High School sort of thinking that sometimes permeated his thoughts.

[herotypical]

Pain flickered over her features. A deep-cutting hurt that betrayed how much she hated to hear her relationship painted so poorly by a jealous ex. Cavorting. That word had once hurt Jack; now it hurt her.

"This is a line you don't wanna cross," she warned -- teeth grit. A hollow crinkling noise filled the already-electric air of the kitchen. The Slayer had just crushed the Coke can in her bare hand.

"I will tell you anything, Spike. Anything you need or want to know about this place. Anything in my power. But I will not put my relationship under your magnifying glass."

[deadpoet]

All was not well in the land of happy couples. He could see that much. Much as he'd like to criticize her choice in men not Spike, as well as her fling with the Immortal, he was smart enough to not push it. For now. She'd said enough already. And what she hadn't said had been more telling.

Besides, he'd work it out soon enough when he saw the new man.

"I think I've worked out most of what I need to know. Faith's here, but not living here. And Dru's around."

He walked past her, towards the living room. "I suppose I ought to go get dressed up and look her up."

[herotypical]

And, somehow, that hurt even more. She tossed the wrecked can into the trash with a stunning ferocity before following at a safe distance.

"What? Jonesing for yet another ex-flavoured reunion?"

There was no justifiable reason to be jealous. None at all. So she riffed instead on the righteously angering fact that Drusilla was evil. And just last week, Spike's sire had attacked both Buffy and Jack in the woods. While Buffy had been power-capped, no less.

There was so little mercy to be found for Drusilla.

[deadpoet]

"She's my responsibility, right? If my sire's running loose around here, it seems good and proper I see to it."

He loved Buffy too much to use Drusilla against her. Or maybe he loved Drusilla too much to use her against Buffy. Or more likely, he'd learned his lesson in that tomb four years ago when he tried to prove his love with a stake to Dru's heart.

Either way, his tone was completely sincere. He may have been intending to leave in a huff, but it was for good reason.

[herotypical]

...Now was probably not the best time to explain to Spike that she had already seen to it a few months back. And that it hadn't helped in the long run. Buffy could anticipate at least that much.

"...Angel felt the same way. When he was here." Quieter: "Years ago. In the first year."

Step by step, Buffy was heading for the front door. She might be planning to cut off his escape route. At least until she can say her piece.