FTVS: An Unwatched Slayer Never ... uh, Boils?
First off, Spike is alive. I mean, he's undead, but, he's ... you know, alive. It's really cool... it's like The Reanimator (or maybe like Bride of the Reanimator, even though I never saw the unrated version with the infamous sex scene), but without the crappy production values.
There is a megaton of backstory to his resurrection (or is it a surrection if he was already dead, and then he was returned to his previous undead state?), apparently, but Spike wasn't in the mood to fill me in on how he was raised. Something about a prophecy and that gaudy pendant that Buffy gave him before we went into the high school. Before we broke the Hellmouth. Before we killed Sunnydale. I'm not clear on the time frame as to when (or how) he died (for the second time), or when he came back, but he's been in LA, trapped as a ghost in Angel's big officey-type thing.
Whatever. Since he's arrived in Clevelandia, we've spent a lot of quality time together. You know, discussing ... stuff. Watching movies on TV. Watching "the series" (as Spike calls it). Sharing meals. Discussing vampirehood, and the very nature of evil. It's pretty cool. As both formerly evil villains, who seek redemption ... we obviously have a lot in common. He hangs out in my room all day while I'm at work, watching TV, and then I get home and we hang. Quality time between men. Faith isn't invited, even though she usually barges in before she goes to work. He takes off shortly after she leaves for her job and I try and get some beauty sleep.
I went out a couple nights in a row when Faith got her bar job, and it ruined me. I even tried to punch a vampire when I was drunk. I should NOT chase sangria with Bartles & James. I mean ... punch a vampire? Like, fisticuffs? What am I? A complete idiot? I didn't even have a stake with me. What was I going to do? Knock him out with my skinny little bird arms? It's not like Spike is super buff or anything, but, he's really... cut. I need more definition. I need more muscles, too, I guess, but, I would settle for the definition. But yeah: anyway. I didn't even have a stake. I was taking on some hideous barfly with supernatual powers ...with my fists. I need to take a stake, and pepper spray and perhaps a vial of holy water with me, everywhere I go. Every time I leave the relative safety of my motel room.
Back to Spike. He's such a enigmatic creature. He's got a great sense of humor, and a fairly concise way of telling a story. And that bone structure... he'd make an amazing underwear model if he wasn't dead. His chain smoking is kind of gross, though. I find it really difficult to breathe, and wind up going out on the commercial breaks just to inhale some of that fresh, noxious Ohio air. I mean, just because you can smoke in motel rooms doesn't mean you should. Those fuzzy motel blankets are really flammable. Plus, I don't even understand what he gets out of smoking ... it's not like he HAS to breathe.
Work at the Blue Moon is going okay. The Borg has started to warm up to me finally. I learned some disquieting information, though ... she doesn't know about the Hellmouth. That's why she didn't press me about details on Sunnydale, and that's why she's reading three year old pressing of half-rate manga, rather than educating herself on how to protect herself from vampires. I suppose her attraction to The Dark Side is really just a fashion-related choice, not a true interest in the Dark Arts. This is a stunning revelation to me, in some senses, though, because, Hi. She works in a magic shop? Is this thing on? She has, like, a very viable resource here to either develop some faux-Slayer skills, or at least, try and turn into some kind of Goffic Lesser Evil. But, since she hasn't completely connected her reality to the high supernatural murder rate in Cleveland ... I guess she's on her own.
Charles ("Chuck") is even worse. He categorically denies the existence of the true supernatural. He does card tricks for parties. He pulls stuffed animals out of top hats. He doesn't believe in true magic or the supernatural. Which is obviously why I couldn't talk to him about the need to be respectful of Faith. To him, Slayer is still just a metal band. I don't push it, though. Why would I? This store would be of more use to me, and in turn, Faith, if he just sat back and let me deal with the real stuff. All I need, besides the weekly paycheck, is access to the books, his contacts, usage of a couple of items, and the ability to order supplies.
I'm currently at the comic book store, taking Phil up on his offer to use the internet. I'm searching for a cheap laptop on Craigslist. I want to get back to work on my screenplay, and I'm tired of writing everything out longhand. I need to be able to search and replace "Vampyre" with "Vampire" in a word doc. Spike told me that it's "unconsionably feeble" to spell vampire with a "y." I really value his feedback. I mean, maybe, if I ever finish my screenplay, I can claim "William the Bloody" as my co-writer! That would be like, Underworld Cred to the nth power.
I've promised Faith that I'd stop in at her work tonight. Every night this week, in fact. She protested, of course, the brave little soldier that she is, saying it wasn't necessary. But, in the grand old me thinketh the lady doth protest a lot tradition, I know she wants me there. She needs someone to see her good deeds.
I get that.
There is a megaton of backstory to his resurrection (or is it a surrection if he was already dead, and then he was returned to his previous undead state?), apparently, but Spike wasn't in the mood to fill me in on how he was raised. Something about a prophecy and that gaudy pendant that Buffy gave him before we went into the high school. Before we broke the Hellmouth. Before we killed Sunnydale. I'm not clear on the time frame as to when (or how) he died (for the second time), or when he came back, but he's been in LA, trapped as a ghost in Angel's big officey-type thing.
Whatever. Since he's arrived in Clevelandia, we've spent a lot of quality time together. You know, discussing ... stuff. Watching movies on TV. Watching "the series" (as Spike calls it). Sharing meals. Discussing vampirehood, and the very nature of evil. It's pretty cool. As both formerly evil villains, who seek redemption ... we obviously have a lot in common. He hangs out in my room all day while I'm at work, watching TV, and then I get home and we hang. Quality time between men. Faith isn't invited, even though she usually barges in before she goes to work. He takes off shortly after she leaves for her job and I try and get some beauty sleep.
I went out a couple nights in a row when Faith got her bar job, and it ruined me. I even tried to punch a vampire when I was drunk. I should NOT chase sangria with Bartles & James. I mean ... punch a vampire? Like, fisticuffs? What am I? A complete idiot? I didn't even have a stake with me. What was I going to do? Knock him out with my skinny little bird arms? It's not like Spike is super buff or anything, but, he's really... cut. I need more definition. I need more muscles, too, I guess, but, I would settle for the definition. But yeah: anyway. I didn't even have a stake. I was taking on some hideous barfly with supernatual powers ...with my fists. I need to take a stake, and pepper spray and perhaps a vial of holy water with me, everywhere I go. Every time I leave the relative safety of my motel room.
Back to Spike. He's such a enigmatic creature. He's got a great sense of humor, and a fairly concise way of telling a story. And that bone structure... he'd make an amazing underwear model if he wasn't dead. His chain smoking is kind of gross, though. I find it really difficult to breathe, and wind up going out on the commercial breaks just to inhale some of that fresh, noxious Ohio air. I mean, just because you can smoke in motel rooms doesn't mean you should. Those fuzzy motel blankets are really flammable. Plus, I don't even understand what he gets out of smoking ... it's not like he HAS to breathe.
Work at the Blue Moon is going okay. The Borg has started to warm up to me finally. I learned some disquieting information, though ... she doesn't know about the Hellmouth. That's why she didn't press me about details on Sunnydale, and that's why she's reading three year old pressing of half-rate manga, rather than educating herself on how to protect herself from vampires. I suppose her attraction to The Dark Side is really just a fashion-related choice, not a true interest in the Dark Arts. This is a stunning revelation to me, in some senses, though, because, Hi. She works in a magic shop? Is this thing on? She has, like, a very viable resource here to either develop some faux-Slayer skills, or at least, try and turn into some kind of Goffic Lesser Evil. But, since she hasn't completely connected her reality to the high supernatural murder rate in Cleveland ... I guess she's on her own.
Charles ("Chuck") is even worse. He categorically denies the existence of the true supernatural. He does card tricks for parties. He pulls stuffed animals out of top hats. He doesn't believe in true magic or the supernatural. Which is obviously why I couldn't talk to him about the need to be respectful of Faith. To him, Slayer is still just a metal band. I don't push it, though. Why would I? This store would be of more use to me, and in turn, Faith, if he just sat back and let me deal with the real stuff. All I need, besides the weekly paycheck, is access to the books, his contacts, usage of a couple of items, and the ability to order supplies.
I'm currently at the comic book store, taking Phil up on his offer to use the internet. I'm searching for a cheap laptop on Craigslist. I want to get back to work on my screenplay, and I'm tired of writing everything out longhand. I need to be able to search and replace "Vampyre" with "Vampire" in a word doc. Spike told me that it's "unconsionably feeble" to spell vampire with a "y." I really value his feedback. I mean, maybe, if I ever finish my screenplay, I can claim "William the Bloody" as my co-writer! That would be like, Underworld Cred to the nth power.
I've promised Faith that I'd stop in at her work tonight. Every night this week, in fact. She protested, of course, the brave little soldier that she is, saying it wasn't necessary. But, in the grand old me thinketh the lady doth protest a lot tradition, I know she wants me there. She needs someone to see her good deeds.
I get that.