Dialogue: Who the Bloody Hell is Counting? Spike,Angel
Who the Bloody Hell is Counting?
Summary: Anyone want to read some banter between Spike and Angel?
Rating: PG-13ish, 'cause Spike loves his language
Disclaimer: This is mine to play with, not own.
Notes: Another old fic that wanted to come and play. Minor allusions to canon pairings, but all for the sake of the argument. It's still gen.
“I propose that we remove the stick from up your arse so you can maybe join us underlings and actually care about what’s going on.”
“How about we cut costs in Research and use you as lab rat? Been there, done that. Right, Spike?”
“Oh you soddin’ bastard! Don’t you ever, for one minute, think of anyone besides yourself? There are people out there - living and breathing - that need your help. And what do you do about it? You prance around like the pansy-arse you are and twiddle your thumbs deciding what bloody pen to use! You think that’s helping? Or do you just want to get rid of the surplus population?”
“I think I shouldn’t let you near anything Charles Dickens for a while. I’m not Scrooge, Spike. In fact, if there was anyone here who hated to see others happy, it would be you. You always had to drag everyone down with you! Willy got no supper? Well then, why doesn’t just complain until everyone else’s ears bleed?”
“Don’t you bloody turn this around! I appreciate other people’s happiness. Just ‘cause you can’t get off on a ripe young girl every once in a while doesn’t mean the rest of us have to be celibate! I bet you're even blind to other people’s love. Clearly you didn’t take into consideration that Fred might want to have dinner with Wes tonight, but she can’t because you put the deadline for that really not-so-important project up a week. She barely eats as it is with the work you give ‘er.”
“What the hell are you talking about? I know perfectly well what goes around in this office.”
“Yeah? Who’s the last guy Harm checked out?”
“You.”
“Edgar from Accounting. Said he had cute hair and a pert bottom, but totally weird name.”
“How do you even know that? Better yet, why would you even hold on to that pathetic excuse for information?”
“Because I can. Because I actually feel sorry for the girl that she’ll never get anywhere in this office and that all the girls hate her because she has the job they all want. I kinda feel bad about Sunnydale and . . . well, I kinda used her like. . . Well, I’ve been in that position before and I didn’t quite like it. Made me feel bad for her.”
“You just want to stare at her overly advertised breasts.”
“Ya know, there was a time where you wouldn’t ‘ave been embarrased to do the same. Course, you woulda called ‘em tits.”
“Shut up, Spike.”
“Nah, ya got me on a roll now. Feels good to argue with you again. It’s been what? Half a day?”
“More like ten minutes. I don’t know why my hair gel pisses you off.”
“‘Cause it’s poofy!”
“And your hair is normal?”
“When have I ever claimed to have normal hair? I just like to make fun of yours. It gets you all mad and huffy.”
“It does not.”
“Does too.”
“Does not.”
“Does too.”
“Does - Stop that!”
“Stop what?”
“With the ‘Does too’s. It’s childish.”
“Is not.”
“Is - Stop!”
“Have you ever considered anger management? I’m sure that the pencil was completely innocent. And yet you still had to go and break it. 'Course, you loved to slaughter innocents, didn’t you? Especially with -”
“Don’t!”
“With-”
“Spike!”
“Fine. Prat”
“Stop that.”
“Stop what?”
“That annoying thing you do.”
“Which is what exactly? The feet on the desk. The smirking. The pouting. The way I just stare at you until your jaw ticks. I think there’s plenty more to choose from.”
“I think you can shut up now.”
“Well, we had that little awkward moment of silence, but then you said ‘Stop that.’ and then the silence stopped. So, ya know, it’s your fault.”
“Is there a reason why I feel so tired after talking to you for two minutes?”
“Because your brain cannot handle my brilliance.”
“The only thing that’s brilliant is your hair. I still say it’s radioactive.”
“You’ve seen me in the bloody dark and it doesn’t glow. And Fred woulda done tests by now if it was. That girl could figure anythin’ out.”
“Why don’t you go down to the lab and pay her a visit.”
“You just want to get rid of me.”
“That was the plan, yes.”
“Well I’m not goin’ anywhere.”
“Get your feet off of my desk, Spike.”
“Will ya let me stay?”
“. . . Maybe.”
“Pretty please? With little blonde girls on top?”
“How many times do I have to tell you to shut up before you actually listen?”
“How many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop?”
“That has nothing to do with this!”
“Sure it does.”
“How?”
“Well, both questions have the same answer: The world may never know. Don’t you ever watch the telly? The little paper boy walks out on the screen and asks ‘How many licks does it take to get the the center of a Tootsie Pop?’ and the paper owl with the funny hat on takes the lolly and starts licking it. By the -”
“Ok, I don’t need to know the rest.”
“Yes you do. You have no idea what I’m talkin’ ‘bout. So the owl gets up to three and bites the thing. You see, he didn’t count the licks, he bit the bloody thing. So the kid gets all sad and says ‘The world may never know.’ End of story.”
“How much television do you watch?”
“As much as any other person.”
“The fact that you can even recite a commercial sickens me. Don’t you do anything around here besides annoy me?”
“I take pride in my work.”
“You don’t get paid for it.”
“Oh, I believe it has its own rewards.”
“Like what?”
“Watching you get all huffy. Seeing you throw at fit. Getting up in your face about every other thing. Stealin’ pens. Sippin’ blood.”
“I don’t let you stay here to annoy me. There is no job which entails torturing of the boss.”
“That what you are, then? The boss. You always did like to be the boss, didn’t you? Always had to be on top. Always had to make the rules which everyone had to follow - ‘cept you o’ course. You never liked the rules. I loved to break ‘em, too.”
“I know. You still do. Which is why your feet are still on my desk.”
“And there they shall stay.”
“Can’t you wait until after my twelve o’clock to annoy me?”
“Nope. Sorry. Me schedule’s full.”
“What comes after noon?”
“That’s when I sit in your chair and twirl ‘round while you're off visitin’ Percy.”
“I hate you.”
“I hate you too, poof.”
“Is the argument over?”
“What argument?”
“The one that started all this.”
“What was that ‘bout?”
“ . . . I don’t remember.”
“Me neither.”
“So. . . twelve thirty?”
“Gives me ample time to twirl.”
Summary: Anyone want to read some banter between Spike and Angel?
Rating: PG-13ish, 'cause Spike loves his language
Disclaimer: This is mine to play with, not own.
Notes: Another old fic that wanted to come and play. Minor allusions to canon pairings, but all for the sake of the argument. It's still gen.
“I propose that we remove the stick from up your arse so you can maybe join us underlings and actually care about what’s going on.”
“How about we cut costs in Research and use you as lab rat? Been there, done that. Right, Spike?”
“Oh you soddin’ bastard! Don’t you ever, for one minute, think of anyone besides yourself? There are people out there - living and breathing - that need your help. And what do you do about it? You prance around like the pansy-arse you are and twiddle your thumbs deciding what bloody pen to use! You think that’s helping? Or do you just want to get rid of the surplus population?”
“I think I shouldn’t let you near anything Charles Dickens for a while. I’m not Scrooge, Spike. In fact, if there was anyone here who hated to see others happy, it would be you. You always had to drag everyone down with you! Willy got no supper? Well then, why doesn’t just complain until everyone else’s ears bleed?”
“Don’t you bloody turn this around! I appreciate other people’s happiness. Just ‘cause you can’t get off on a ripe young girl every once in a while doesn’t mean the rest of us have to be celibate! I bet you're even blind to other people’s love. Clearly you didn’t take into consideration that Fred might want to have dinner with Wes tonight, but she can’t because you put the deadline for that really not-so-important project up a week. She barely eats as it is with the work you give ‘er.”
“What the hell are you talking about? I know perfectly well what goes around in this office.”
“Yeah? Who’s the last guy Harm checked out?”
“You.”
“Edgar from Accounting. Said he had cute hair and a pert bottom, but totally weird name.”
“How do you even know that? Better yet, why would you even hold on to that pathetic excuse for information?”
“Because I can. Because I actually feel sorry for the girl that she’ll never get anywhere in this office and that all the girls hate her because she has the job they all want. I kinda feel bad about Sunnydale and . . . well, I kinda used her like. . . Well, I’ve been in that position before and I didn’t quite like it. Made me feel bad for her.”
“You just want to stare at her overly advertised breasts.”
“Ya know, there was a time where you wouldn’t ‘ave been embarrased to do the same. Course, you woulda called ‘em tits.”
“Shut up, Spike.”
“Nah, ya got me on a roll now. Feels good to argue with you again. It’s been what? Half a day?”
“More like ten minutes. I don’t know why my hair gel pisses you off.”
“‘Cause it’s poofy!”
“And your hair is normal?”
“When have I ever claimed to have normal hair? I just like to make fun of yours. It gets you all mad and huffy.”
“It does not.”
“Does too.”
“Does not.”
“Does too.”
“Does - Stop that!”
“Stop what?”
“With the ‘Does too’s. It’s childish.”
“Is not.”
“Is - Stop!”
“Have you ever considered anger management? I’m sure that the pencil was completely innocent. And yet you still had to go and break it. 'Course, you loved to slaughter innocents, didn’t you? Especially with -”
“Don’t!”
“With-”
“Spike!”
“Fine. Prat”
“Stop that.”
“Stop what?”
“That annoying thing you do.”
“Which is what exactly? The feet on the desk. The smirking. The pouting. The way I just stare at you until your jaw ticks. I think there’s plenty more to choose from.”
“I think you can shut up now.”
“Well, we had that little awkward moment of silence, but then you said ‘Stop that.’ and then the silence stopped. So, ya know, it’s your fault.”
“Is there a reason why I feel so tired after talking to you for two minutes?”
“Because your brain cannot handle my brilliance.”
“The only thing that’s brilliant is your hair. I still say it’s radioactive.”
“You’ve seen me in the bloody dark and it doesn’t glow. And Fred woulda done tests by now if it was. That girl could figure anythin’ out.”
“Why don’t you go down to the lab and pay her a visit.”
“You just want to get rid of me.”
“That was the plan, yes.”
“Well I’m not goin’ anywhere.”
“Get your feet off of my desk, Spike.”
“Will ya let me stay?”
“. . . Maybe.”
“Pretty please? With little blonde girls on top?”
“How many times do I have to tell you to shut up before you actually listen?”
“How many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop?”
“That has nothing to do with this!”
“Sure it does.”
“How?”
“Well, both questions have the same answer: The world may never know. Don’t you ever watch the telly? The little paper boy walks out on the screen and asks ‘How many licks does it take to get the the center of a Tootsie Pop?’ and the paper owl with the funny hat on takes the lolly and starts licking it. By the -”
“Ok, I don’t need to know the rest.”
“Yes you do. You have no idea what I’m talkin’ ‘bout. So the owl gets up to three and bites the thing. You see, he didn’t count the licks, he bit the bloody thing. So the kid gets all sad and says ‘The world may never know.’ End of story.”
“How much television do you watch?”
“As much as any other person.”
“The fact that you can even recite a commercial sickens me. Don’t you do anything around here besides annoy me?”
“I take pride in my work.”
“You don’t get paid for it.”
“Oh, I believe it has its own rewards.”
“Like what?”
“Watching you get all huffy. Seeing you throw at fit. Getting up in your face about every other thing. Stealin’ pens. Sippin’ blood.”
“I don’t let you stay here to annoy me. There is no job which entails torturing of the boss.”
“That what you are, then? The boss. You always did like to be the boss, didn’t you? Always had to be on top. Always had to make the rules which everyone had to follow - ‘cept you o’ course. You never liked the rules. I loved to break ‘em, too.”
“I know. You still do. Which is why your feet are still on my desk.”
“And there they shall stay.”
“Can’t you wait until after my twelve o’clock to annoy me?”
“Nope. Sorry. Me schedule’s full.”
“What comes after noon?”
“That’s when I sit in your chair and twirl ‘round while you're off visitin’ Percy.”
“I hate you.”
“I hate you too, poof.”
“Is the argument over?”
“What argument?”
“The one that started all this.”
“What was that ‘bout?”
“ . . . I don’t remember.”
“Me neither.”
“So. . . twelve thirty?”
“Gives me ample time to twirl.”