Daily Drabble Roundup
Daily Drabble Round-up for Day 37 of the 100 Drabbles Of Summer (6/23/2010)
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All participants post your drabbles here as a comment!
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Spike disapproves of several of the minions, but Amelia is the worst. She’s snippy and fussy and always complaining. Worse, she’s in cahoots with Darla. Worst of all, she’s trained in all matters of hair-cutting.
He sits on the hard wooden stool with a sheet draped round his shoulders, grimacing as she snips the silver scissors, one firm hand grasping his bicep.
She natters on about his curls and how women would kill for hair his texture and colour.
Later on, when he hears the shriek and crash of crockery, he knows she’s found the bullfrog in her bath jug.
Number 47: A Summer Sport
Spike’s thirteen and stroppy. He and Angelus have been having battles of will. And Angelus is determined not to lose a battle to a wet-behind-the-ears thirteen year old brat. So, now he’s been gated for seven weeks.
Well, Angelus can keep him in, but he can’t keep him from having fun. Spike stands in the great hall, facing down Jonas as he winds up. He bowls the ball. Spike has a slosh-connects with a crack of wood.
And then, a crash of shattered glass as the face of the long-case clock is smashed.
Running is jolly good exercise too.
Number 54: Picture of a broken clock
William died three weeks before his twenty-first birthday. Twenty one days and a lifetime.
Now he’s sitting on a hard form in a schoolroom again, scowling at a schoolbook as he tries to swot methods of gaining an invitation. Bending over for the cane when he gets it wrong. Writing out lines. Being put through his paces at drill, and taken on nightly walks. Being bathed thrice weekly. Lying back, blushing from head to toe, as he’s dusted with sweet smelling talc by Madam after. Being tucked into bed.
They talk of ‘turning back the clock’ - William’s clock’s been bloody smashed.
Author's Choice: Breeding
Stand up straight. Hands behind your back. Hands out of your pockets, boy. Comb that hair. Clean those fingernails.
Boots must be perfectly polished, stockings pulled straight up, shirt tucked in, cuffs and collar starched to snow white stiffness.
He’s been drilled for weeks on protocol, etiquette, how to go down on one knee at the appropriate moment.
At last the night comes. The old bat and his retinue are ushered in. Angelus brings him forward, keeping a massive hand on the back of his neck and introduces him as William the Bloody.
“Wotcha,” he says, “only it’s Spike, really."
Number 3: Camp
He’s still pissed they managed to bag him, and with the oldest trick in the book. He turns up to a ‘Free Virgin Blood party’, then he’s waking up in a metal pen in some underground lab.
Nazis and vampires, it’s like something out of a pulp magazine. Spike assesses the situation. Thinks what Angelus would do. Then head-butts the first guard who opens the gate. There’s a lot of Germanic shouting and things getting smashed.
In the melee, Spike strips a Kraut of his uniform and legs it, then hotwires a Kubelwagon, smashing through the fence.
Rule bloody Britannia.
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