Next challenge!
This one is from karabair--Wesley, another character, and a vending machine. I used Ghost!Spike as the other character and set it early in AtS season 5.
Title: The Physics of Ghosts, the Metaphysics of Vending Machines, and Diet Coke as a Metaphor for Love
Rating: PG-13 for a little British swearing
Characters: Wesley, Spike
Evil was, of course, a constant, everyday concern at Wolfram & Hart, even under Angel’s semi-benevolent rule. Wesley had to keep an eye out for employees who didn’t realize that promotions no longer corresponded to one’s body count. Then there was the demon clientele, who might be under the mistaken impression that a blood sacrifice was on the agenda, and one of Angel’s crew had to take one for the team. All that didn’t even take into consideration the problems of detecting malevolent spirits, hexes, and all other manner of bad mojo.
This, though--this was just wrong. And Wesley was done playing around.
He bashed his fist into his glowing opponent. “Give it to me, you buggering piece of mechanical--”
“Got problems?” inquired Spike, walking through the wall.
Wesley gave his antagonist another good kick. “This bloody machine won’t give me the Diet Coke I bloody well paid for!”
“Well, I’d lend you a hand, but I am a bit insubstantial at the moment.” Spike leaned against the break room wall beside the Coke machine.
“If you’re so insubstantial,” Wesley asked, exasperated with pretty much the whole world, “how is it that you lean on walls, sit in chairs, and walk on floors?”
“Buggered if I know,” Spike said cheerfully. “You know, at first, I thought it all might be one big hallucination, this ghost bit. Reminded me a bit of the time I went tripping on acid.”
“You took acid?” Wesley asked, rattling the machine again.
“No. Caught this bloke dropping acid, got curious. So I ate ‘im. Spent the next few hours trying to fight off a flock of mini-Supermen.”
“I’m sure it couldn’t have happened to anyone nicer.” Wesley gave the machine one last, futile thump. “I give up.” He heaved himself into one of the break room chairs.
“Good idea. Always helps.” Spike smiled at Wesley’s glare. “You know, I’d have thought you’d be the one to figure out why I can walk on floors I should fall through. You’re a Giles type; he’d have it by now.”
“I’m not Giles,” snapped Wesley. “Besides, it’s not my area. I understand the metaphysics of spirits and ghosts; it’s the physics that you want explained.”
Spike snapped his fingers. “Exactly right. I’ll go chat up Fred, then.”
Wesley flinched visibly and glared at Spike. He caught himself and tried to cover, but it was too late.
Spike’s grin was triumphant as he sat down beside Wesley. “Having no better luck with her than with yonder machine, are you?”
“We’re friends,” said Wesley dully.
That got a real laugh out of Spike. “Oldest line ever. Even Buffy and Angel tried it.”
“Please,” snorted Wesley. “I’m not at that level of pathetic yet.”
“Few ever reach such heights. Point is, long as you keep telling yourself you’re only her friend, that’s all you’ll be.” Spike stood. “Maybe if you start telling yourself the truth, accept that you’ll never do anything but love her, even if she never returns the feeling--maybe you’ll end up being just the man she needs.” He gave Wesley one last grin and walked off, through a wall.
Wesley had just started to brood on Spike’s meaning when the vending machine gave a clunk, and a Diet Coke fell out onto the floor.
Title: The Physics of Ghosts, the Metaphysics of Vending Machines, and Diet Coke as a Metaphor for Love
Rating: PG-13 for a little British swearing
Characters: Wesley, Spike
Evil was, of course, a constant, everyday concern at Wolfram & Hart, even under Angel’s semi-benevolent rule. Wesley had to keep an eye out for employees who didn’t realize that promotions no longer corresponded to one’s body count. Then there was the demon clientele, who might be under the mistaken impression that a blood sacrifice was on the agenda, and one of Angel’s crew had to take one for the team. All that didn’t even take into consideration the problems of detecting malevolent spirits, hexes, and all other manner of bad mojo.
This, though--this was just wrong. And Wesley was done playing around.
He bashed his fist into his glowing opponent. “Give it to me, you buggering piece of mechanical--”
“Got problems?” inquired Spike, walking through the wall.
Wesley gave his antagonist another good kick. “This bloody machine won’t give me the Diet Coke I bloody well paid for!”
“Well, I’d lend you a hand, but I am a bit insubstantial at the moment.” Spike leaned against the break room wall beside the Coke machine.
“If you’re so insubstantial,” Wesley asked, exasperated with pretty much the whole world, “how is it that you lean on walls, sit in chairs, and walk on floors?”
“Buggered if I know,” Spike said cheerfully. “You know, at first, I thought it all might be one big hallucination, this ghost bit. Reminded me a bit of the time I went tripping on acid.”
“You took acid?” Wesley asked, rattling the machine again.
“No. Caught this bloke dropping acid, got curious. So I ate ‘im. Spent the next few hours trying to fight off a flock of mini-Supermen.”
“I’m sure it couldn’t have happened to anyone nicer.” Wesley gave the machine one last, futile thump. “I give up.” He heaved himself into one of the break room chairs.
“Good idea. Always helps.” Spike smiled at Wesley’s glare. “You know, I’d have thought you’d be the one to figure out why I can walk on floors I should fall through. You’re a Giles type; he’d have it by now.”
“I’m not Giles,” snapped Wesley. “Besides, it’s not my area. I understand the metaphysics of spirits and ghosts; it’s the physics that you want explained.”
Spike snapped his fingers. “Exactly right. I’ll go chat up Fred, then.”
Wesley flinched visibly and glared at Spike. He caught himself and tried to cover, but it was too late.
Spike’s grin was triumphant as he sat down beside Wesley. “Having no better luck with her than with yonder machine, are you?”
“We’re friends,” said Wesley dully.
That got a real laugh out of Spike. “Oldest line ever. Even Buffy and Angel tried it.”
“Please,” snorted Wesley. “I’m not at that level of pathetic yet.”
“Few ever reach such heights. Point is, long as you keep telling yourself you’re only her friend, that’s all you’ll be.” Spike stood. “Maybe if you start telling yourself the truth, accept that you’ll never do anything but love her, even if she never returns the feeling--maybe you’ll end up being just the man she needs.” He gave Wesley one last grin and walked off, through a wall.
Wesley had just started to brood on Spike’s meaning when the vending machine gave a clunk, and a Diet Coke fell out onto the floor.