drunk [heroes]
Location: some demon bar
Intoxication level: quite high thank you very much
Cigarettes consumed: too many to count
Mood: Feeling sorry for myself
I hate that damn Briget Jones. Always whining about her weight. I happen to think she looks good chunky. Hate commercials, can't believe they are making another Jones movie.
Edge of reason. Yeah, like she knows anything about that.
One week and my world has spun around, collided, crashed and burned. That Buffy girl really does a number on a guy's heart.
Oh but I'm not a guy, I'm a vampire. A big bad swaggering ball of evil, so she must have decided she can't love me.
So does she pick some sweet simpering ball of goodness to bang to try to get me out of her head? No. She chooses me with a pussy.
What the hell?
Got to get out of this bar, noise is driving me crazy. Don't know where to go though. Got no apartment. Me in my infinite wisdom burned it down in a ritualistic ending to my and Buffy's ... whatever we had.
I can't believe we found each other, actually talked. Really talked. Not me telling her how much I love her and then she fucking me into silence and then her running.
We talked.
And she ... she told me she loved me.
And I believed her. I didn't want to. I even fought it. It had to be some kind of dream, some whiskey induced dream. But she made love to me, stayed until the next day, talked to me about her feelings and her life- like I was a man, her man, and I fell for it. I bought into it.
We could have the dream.
Lovers in love and all that rot.
Fucking idiot I am.
She told me she loved me, got a phone and went and fucked Faith.
I head for the phone booth in the back and start to sob.
Never told Faith she loved her- I believe the bitch was telling the truth there, but she loves me and fucks me over.
How could she?
And she makes it out like it's nothing. No big deal.
Hee hee, it was research Spike. Geez, get over it.
Rip my heart out, put it in a blender and then feed it to me, but yeah I'll get over it.
Not anytime soon.
I call Angel.
"Angel?"
Intoxication level: quite high thank you very much
Cigarettes consumed: too many to count
Mood: Feeling sorry for myself
I hate that damn Briget Jones. Always whining about her weight. I happen to think she looks good chunky. Hate commercials, can't believe they are making another Jones movie.
Edge of reason. Yeah, like she knows anything about that.
One week and my world has spun around, collided, crashed and burned. That Buffy girl really does a number on a guy's heart.
Oh but I'm not a guy, I'm a vampire. A big bad swaggering ball of evil, so she must have decided she can't love me.
So does she pick some sweet simpering ball of goodness to bang to try to get me out of her head? No. She chooses me with a pussy.
What the hell?
Got to get out of this bar, noise is driving me crazy. Don't know where to go though. Got no apartment. Me in my infinite wisdom burned it down in a ritualistic ending to my and Buffy's ... whatever we had.
I can't believe we found each other, actually talked. Really talked. Not me telling her how much I love her and then she fucking me into silence and then her running.
We talked.
And she ... she told me she loved me.
And I believed her. I didn't want to. I even fought it. It had to be some kind of dream, some whiskey induced dream. But she made love to me, stayed until the next day, talked to me about her feelings and her life- like I was a man, her man, and I fell for it. I bought into it.
We could have the dream.
Lovers in love and all that rot.
Fucking idiot I am.
She told me she loved me, got a phone and went and fucked Faith.
I head for the phone booth in the back and start to sob.
Never told Faith she loved her- I believe the bitch was telling the truth there, but she loves me and fucks me over.
How could she?
And she makes it out like it's nothing. No big deal.
Hee hee, it was research Spike. Geez, get over it.
Rip my heart out, put it in a blender and then feed it to me, but yeah I'll get over it.
Not anytime soon.
I call Angel.
"Angel?"