(no subject)
Bloody Slayer. Havin' me go out and get this buggerin' soul for her, all for her and then I go up in flames dyin' a horrible and flamey death. No, I'm not bitter, why do you ask? Love the stupid bint, do anythin' for her too but all that is gone and now I'm back. Don't know why, but I can't see her yet. I wanna find her, find out where she is. Asked a fella 'bout Sunnyhell and he said it was no more, gone. Big sinkhole he said. Now I'm on my way to the City of Angel's. Yeah, at the time it was all good and glory and what not, but now I need some questions answered, need to find out some things and only Goldilocks can answer them. But I have to talk to the Poofter of the Poofs and bash his head in. That's the only rightly thing to do after all, seein' as he gave Buffy the amulet, knowin' what would happen' and all that rot. No more Spikey he thought, oh well, didn't he know? The big bad was back and ready for the head bashin' to start. He'll never know what hit him.
Pullin' up to a bar, I figure I might need myself a drink or five before I can go on any further. Jacked me some oldie like wheels to get myself here, seein' as a big bad doesn't ride the route. Walkin' in, I look around and find me a trollop sittin' at the bar. Smirk on my pale face, I strut over by her and take a seat, orderin' me up a whiskey. Glancin' over at her, I notice that she didn't look that much like Buffy to begin' with and sigh and frustration. Bloody bint, still rulin' my world and the like. Grabbin the bottle instead of the glass, I get up, movin' toward the booths, then plop myself down, takin' a swig of the amber liquid.
I love you.
No, you don't. But thanks for sayin' it.
"Bloody hell," I mutter, then sink down into the booth. Bitch is goin' to invade my thoughts, like she always did. Can't escape her, not for a bloody second it seems. Always there, floatin' around, laughin' her pretty head off at me. Always gettin' a laugh out of good ole Spike.
Bitch.
Pullin' up to a bar, I figure I might need myself a drink or five before I can go on any further. Jacked me some oldie like wheels to get myself here, seein' as a big bad doesn't ride the route. Walkin' in, I look around and find me a trollop sittin' at the bar. Smirk on my pale face, I strut over by her and take a seat, orderin' me up a whiskey. Glancin' over at her, I notice that she didn't look that much like Buffy to begin' with and sigh and frustration. Bloody bint, still rulin' my world and the like. Grabbin the bottle instead of the glass, I get up, movin' toward the booths, then plop myself down, takin' a swig of the amber liquid.
I love you.
No, you don't. But thanks for sayin' it.
"Bloody hell," I mutter, then sink down into the booth. Bitch is goin' to invade my thoughts, like she always did. Can't escape her, not for a bloody second it seems. Always there, floatin' around, laughin' her pretty head off at me. Always gettin' a laugh out of good ole Spike.
Bitch.