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

Re: 2/2

[deadpoet]

But then he realized he wasn't done. He still had rage. This wasn't even about Buffy.

"Honestly, I can't believe you'd even fall for him. Sure, he's rich and powerful, always seems to do things right, and lives in a classy city. But he's clearly compensating. The man is as old as they come, you know. Like dusty library old. I know you've got a hard on for older men, but really? The man is all reputation, no substance. And petty to boot. Goes out of his way to show me up, he does. He was just using you to get to me, you know. Or will use you. However this bloody timeline nonsense works."

[herotypical]

"...I'm not sure what's more insulting -- the fact that neither you nor Angel could tell the difference or that you actually just accused me of being some kind of ill-used pawn in a ludicrous revenge drama."

Homosocial desire, much?

[deadpoet]

"There was no difference. We saw you dancing. Would've pulled you aside, but we had a head that was stolen from us. I did have my priorities, after all. Placing the common good over my desire to go and see you again."

[herotypical]

"You saw someone dancing, but she wasn't me. Andrew got it into his head to take some pressure off ground zero of our organization by -- well -- you know 'The Prince and the Pauper', right?"

How many times had she explained this, now? Twice to Angel. Twice to Spike. The last instance Spike had been here, he'd been so far ahead that he knew the Immortal's girlfriend was a decoy. But not this time.

"You know better than to think I'd ever have time for dating back home. The whole Immortal thing was Andrew's way of baiting the supernatural tabloid headlines."

[deadpoet]

There was a pause as he let that sink in. A decoy. Angel had someone watching a decoy. And that bloody idiot had him drag himself across the world to go chase a decoy. If Angel was here, he'd be able to direct all his frustration at him.

There was just Buffy here though. "So that's it. A decoy. Well, I'm so glad you trusted me enough to let me know this now. You'd think sealing up a Hellmouth would earn a man enough to be kept in the loop on these things. Not left to run around a city like a moron."

[herotypical]

"...Oh, please. Don't act like you couldn't have found me if you really wanted do. And definitely don't act like I was just kicking my feet up in the Scottish highlands wasting time, either.

We're busy running the wackiest little Slayer school ever, back home. I didn't need any..." A very pregnant pause; it truly betrayed far too much of her heart. "Distractions."

[deadpoet]

"Distractions. Well. Then it's a good thing I never dropped by then, isn't it? I'd hate to think I was being distracting."

[herotypical]

Her expression suggested that she rather doubted there was anything he'd like more than being her distraction -- even if she didn't mean it in a salacious way. Spike could have proven a most disastrous domestic distraction simply due to her own well-established blind spots. How simple it would have been to think she was doing good for him by giving him a little cottage on the castle grounds or by making use of a live, cooperative vampire to help in the girls' training. Doubtless they would've grown close again and...

No -- don't entertain impossible thoughts. But she was getting older, now. And her mind wandered now occasionally towards the settling-down parts of life, even if she wasn't ready to admit it.

"...We both know it was better that way. This way." She altered the tense for his sake. After all, 'that way' was over three years into her past now.

[deadpoet]

"You know that, Buffy. I haven't quite managed the three years of it. Besides, I don't quite think that being sent to hell with LA qualifies as 'better'."

That was perhaps what grinded him the most. That Buffy could be so absolutely sure that nothing could ever be. It was not a mutual decision of them both realizing it was a bad idea. That's how it had been before. He had wanted it, but they both could see what was wrong with it. But that wasn't the case here. She had an absolute knowledge from experience that he didn't have. And now that she had Captain Jack Sparrow, he'd never have it. He'd just have to deal.

[herotypical]

"Well. That was neither of our faults, was it?"

For once in his unlife, it just about looked like Angel might actually be in Buffy's doghouse.

[deadpoet]

"Much as I like blaming Angel for it, and believe me, I do. Still, I agreed to the plan, didn't I? He gave me an out. I didn't take it."

It made for quite the twist for Spike to be the one to defend Angel, even if only partially.

[herotypical]

"He did?

And you didn't?"

One of these facts surprised her; the other didn't. Buffy knew enough about Spike to know that he'd go down in flames if it meant the right thing -- the truly absolute final no-other-recourse right thing. But Angel wasn't, in her experience, so flexible.

[deadpoet]

"More than once. He offered to set me up as a champion of the people somewhere else. Be a real James Bond hero type with all the gadgets and money I could care for. The overgrown ponce may have been outright suicidal, but he knew what he was doing. He figured he'd made a right mess of it hooking up with Wolfram and Hart, so he'd have me keep doing what he was supposed to do somewhere else. Made for a tempting offer, but I didn't much care for the idea of being in his debt."

And then one last time, before it all went south in his office.

[herotypical]

"...He never said. He made it sound like it was an all-in-or-nothing kinda deal."

Frankly, Angel had made it seem as though he'd done his team a disservice by not offering them a chance to avoid his mad plan. Buffy should have known better than to believe his guilt.

"Guess he dove on that grenade..."

[deadpoet]

"Told you about it already, did he? Wish he was here. I've a few things I wouldn't mind telling him myself."

[herotypical]

"Ugh. Don't use the W-word."

[deadpoet]

"Don't tell me there's a vengeance demon locked up in here with us."

[herotypical]

"Who knows. We get everyone from space men to alterna-world people to famous characters to...I don't know -- once? A Slayer from two hundred years in the future and her twin brother who got half her powers.

Doesn't seem so unlikely to find one of D'Hoffryn's lackeys hiding behind a tree trunk."

[deadpoet]

"A little baby slayer from the future. You must be proud."

[herotypical]

"...Very, actually. She does a lot of good even with her abilities split. And she does it all alone. No Watcher."

And then -- pointedly: "No co-Slayers."

[deadpoet]

"Sounds like a tough gig. What happened? Run out of other Slayers?"

[herotypical]

"...Most of the records are lost, apparently. But roughly two centuries earlier? Slayers stopped being called entirely. Vampires disappeared."

And Melaka had as good as confirmed that the source of such a disruption had, indeed, been Buffy.

"But I guess such a victory can only last so long."

[deadpoet]

"We're two hundred years ago." A pause. "Well, so much for being long lived. I won't be living to see two hundred after all."

[herotypical]

"...Shut up. By normal definitions? You're way more than long lived. Some people can't even expect to see their thirtieth."

Really. Complaining about longevity in front of a Slayer.

[deadpoet]

"Well I'm an exceptional vampire, aren't I? Most vampires don't last their first year. Especially in Sunnydale."