Drabble Responses, Round 1
Prepare for the onslaught, my friends. ;) I've got something for everyone except the lovely louise39. She got her request in first, but now I'm thinking series for her prompt, which means a which bit of research to make sure I get all of the details just right. I promise, I am hard at work! :)
jamalov29 wanted fluffy S7 or post-Chosen Spuffy bliss. You, my dear, get a two-parter of foolish followed by schmoop.
Title: Class of 1999: Ten-Year Reunion
“Owen Thurman?”
“Yeah?”
“So you’re one of the wankers who blew it with Buffy during her dewy high school days, eh?”
“Huh? Buffy who?”
“Summers. Tiny? Blond? Magnificent? I reckon you’re a tall, beefy brooder, right? Thankfully she’s over that type.”
“Who is this?”
“Glad you asked. I’m the guy who benefited from your stupidity. I’m Buffy’s life partner. She’s the life part; I’m actually undead.” Spike growled menacingly. “If I see you at this reunion-”
He heard a yelp, then dial tone.
“Honey?” Buffy called. “Still on the phone?”
“Just one more sec, love.”
Spike dialed.
“Scott Hope?”
***
“After graduation and the whole sinkhole thing, I knew class reunions were going to be sparsely attended, but this is ridiculous.” Buffy leaned into Spike as they swayed together on the dance floor. “Aside from Xander and those guys from Chess Club, there’s, like, no men.”
“Mmm.”
She pulled back, studied him. “I sense this estrogen party is somehow your doing.” She smiled. “What, I’m not enough woman for you?”
He skimmed his fingertips down her back. “I only have eyes for you.”
“Eyes and everything else, right?”
Saucy minx. “Right. Shall we?”
She grinned. “Race you to the room.”
snickfic requested a Spike and Dawn conversation about one of her pre-S5 monk-formulated memories, so I set this piece in the post-S5 summer of grief. Who knew the monks were so blatantly Team Spuffy?
Title: Something of Hers
Without preamble Dawn handed Spike a folded piece of paper.
He remembered it, of course. He fingered the creamy white sheet, traced the flowers he’d drawn next to the draft text of their wedding invitation.
“The night of the spell, Buffy put this in a book of poetry. I asked her how come, if she was all offended. She laughed and said, ‘Still something to remember my first fiancé by, Dawnie.’” Dawn bit her lip. “This helps, right? Having something of hers to keep, I mean? Something she treasured?”
He closed his fingers on hers for a moment. “It helps.”
readerjane wanted a Spike and Joyce conversation about Dawn, so I put them back in Spike's crypt during their "Checkpoint" watching of Passions.
Title: Promise to a Lady
“Spike?”
“Hmm?”
“Spike.”
He glanced away from the television.
“I’m not sure what to make of you, exactly. I know you’re not good, but you have helped Buffy before…”
He waited.
“You know about Dawn. Could you maybe look out for her? It’s a lot for Buffy-” She broke off, reached into her pocket. “Is this enough?”
He looked at the bills in her hand, thought of the blood and fags and whiskey it would buy.
Didn’t really need it, he supposed. He did have the five-fingered discount.
He shrugged. “Keep it. I’ll help.”
Payment was in her smile.
deborahw37 requested some Spike and Giles bonding over British traditions during "Pangs." For you, dear, a little
Title: Gunpowder Treason and Plot
“Oh, dear Lord.” Giles sat down with a sigh and picked up a glass of scotch.
“Knew you were miserable with that lot of pilgrims having descended upon your kitchen,” Spike crowed. “Something faintly galling about the celebration, you ask me.”
“I don’t recall having asked you, actually.”
Spike continued, undeterred. “As if getting to the New World is something to get excited about. Piffle. You know what November’s good for? Effigies and bonfires, mate.”
Giles thought of his youth and smiled. “‘We gather together’ doesn’t quite have the same ring as ‘Remember, remember, the fifth of November,’” he agreed.
And finally cowboyangel pushed me outside my comfort zone with a Supernatural request. For you, a three-part bit of idiocy entitled,
Title: A Very Winchester Thanksgiving
“Son of a bitch!”
“Need some help?” Sam called, putting down his beer.
“No, just a minor setback.” Dean appeared in the doorway, a plate in each hand. “Dinner is served. Happy Thanksgiving, Sammy.”
Sam regarded the brown lump in front of him. “Umm, wow?”
“Dude, how about some enthusiasm? That is my patented turkey panini spectacular.”
“I didn’t know you could even define panini, Dean.”
“What, I don’t watch Food Network?”
Sam stared.
Dean shrugged. “It was late, and I couldn’t get porn. I figured watching that hot Italian chick make a sandwich would be the next best thing.”
***
“Dig in.” Dean tucked a napkin into his collar and leaned forward expectantly.
How bad could it be? Sam held the dripping sandwich between his hands gingerly.
“It’s no fun unless you get some on ya, right?” Dean smiled. “Go ahead. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”
Sam bit in, chewed. “I’m not sure ‘pleasantly’ is the right word.” He coughed and took a long drink. “What is that, anchovies?”
Dean nodded. “Yeah, mixed in with the cranberry layer, under the gravy. Giada said to try going for something sweet and savory. Really gives it a little something extra, eh?”
***
“Where’d you get the panini press?”
“The what?”
“Press? Gives the bread the grill marks?”
“Yeah, I didn’t have one. Bobby had this spare vise he gave me? Just wedged these bad boys in there, fired up the blowtorch, and browned ‘em that way.”
“Ah.”
“What? They use ‘em on Food Network. Like on that burnt cream stuff?”
“Not blowtorches.”
Dean’s eyes narrowed. “This is what I get for slaving over a hot…power tool all day?”
“Sorry, Dean.” Sam was contrite. “It’s just…I mean, there is tradition to consider.”
“Fine, Sammy. Next year, TV dinners.” He paused. “Gonna eat yours?”
jamalov29 wanted fluffy S7 or post-Chosen Spuffy bliss. You, my dear, get a two-parter of foolish followed by schmoop.
Title: Class of 1999: Ten-Year Reunion
“Owen Thurman?”
“Yeah?”
“So you’re one of the wankers who blew it with Buffy during her dewy high school days, eh?”
“Huh? Buffy who?”
“Summers. Tiny? Blond? Magnificent? I reckon you’re a tall, beefy brooder, right? Thankfully she’s over that type.”
“Who is this?”
“Glad you asked. I’m the guy who benefited from your stupidity. I’m Buffy’s life partner. She’s the life part; I’m actually undead.” Spike growled menacingly. “If I see you at this reunion-”
He heard a yelp, then dial tone.
“Honey?” Buffy called. “Still on the phone?”
“Just one more sec, love.”
Spike dialed.
“Scott Hope?”
***
“After graduation and the whole sinkhole thing, I knew class reunions were going to be sparsely attended, but this is ridiculous.” Buffy leaned into Spike as they swayed together on the dance floor. “Aside from Xander and those guys from Chess Club, there’s, like, no men.”
“Mmm.”
She pulled back, studied him. “I sense this estrogen party is somehow your doing.” She smiled. “What, I’m not enough woman for you?”
He skimmed his fingertips down her back. “I only have eyes for you.”
“Eyes and everything else, right?”
Saucy minx. “Right. Shall we?”
She grinned. “Race you to the room.”
snickfic requested a Spike and Dawn conversation about one of her pre-S5 monk-formulated memories, so I set this piece in the post-S5 summer of grief. Who knew the monks were so blatantly Team Spuffy?
Title: Something of Hers
Without preamble Dawn handed Spike a folded piece of paper.
He remembered it, of course. He fingered the creamy white sheet, traced the flowers he’d drawn next to the draft text of their wedding invitation.
“The night of the spell, Buffy put this in a book of poetry. I asked her how come, if she was all offended. She laughed and said, ‘Still something to remember my first fiancé by, Dawnie.’” Dawn bit her lip. “This helps, right? Having something of hers to keep, I mean? Something she treasured?”
He closed his fingers on hers for a moment. “It helps.”
readerjane wanted a Spike and Joyce conversation about Dawn, so I put them back in Spike's crypt during their "Checkpoint" watching of Passions.
Title: Promise to a Lady
“Spike?”
“Hmm?”
“Spike.”
He glanced away from the television.
“I’m not sure what to make of you, exactly. I know you’re not good, but you have helped Buffy before…”
He waited.
“You know about Dawn. Could you maybe look out for her? It’s a lot for Buffy-” She broke off, reached into her pocket. “Is this enough?”
He looked at the bills in her hand, thought of the blood and fags and whiskey it would buy.
Didn’t really need it, he supposed. He did have the five-fingered discount.
He shrugged. “Keep it. I’ll help.”
Payment was in her smile.
deborahw37 requested some Spike and Giles bonding over British traditions during "Pangs." For you, dear, a little
Title: Gunpowder Treason and Plot
“Oh, dear Lord.” Giles sat down with a sigh and picked up a glass of scotch.
“Knew you were miserable with that lot of pilgrims having descended upon your kitchen,” Spike crowed. “Something faintly galling about the celebration, you ask me.”
“I don’t recall having asked you, actually.”
Spike continued, undeterred. “As if getting to the New World is something to get excited about. Piffle. You know what November’s good for? Effigies and bonfires, mate.”
Giles thought of his youth and smiled. “‘We gather together’ doesn’t quite have the same ring as ‘Remember, remember, the fifth of November,’” he agreed.
And finally cowboyangel pushed me outside my comfort zone with a Supernatural request. For you, a three-part bit of idiocy entitled,
Title: A Very Winchester Thanksgiving
“Son of a bitch!”
“Need some help?” Sam called, putting down his beer.
“No, just a minor setback.” Dean appeared in the doorway, a plate in each hand. “Dinner is served. Happy Thanksgiving, Sammy.”
Sam regarded the brown lump in front of him. “Umm, wow?”
“Dude, how about some enthusiasm? That is my patented turkey panini spectacular.”
“I didn’t know you could even define panini, Dean.”
“What, I don’t watch Food Network?”
Sam stared.
Dean shrugged. “It was late, and I couldn’t get porn. I figured watching that hot Italian chick make a sandwich would be the next best thing.”
***
“Dig in.” Dean tucked a napkin into his collar and leaned forward expectantly.
How bad could it be? Sam held the dripping sandwich between his hands gingerly.
“It’s no fun unless you get some on ya, right?” Dean smiled. “Go ahead. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”
Sam bit in, chewed. “I’m not sure ‘pleasantly’ is the right word.” He coughed and took a long drink. “What is that, anchovies?”
Dean nodded. “Yeah, mixed in with the cranberry layer, under the gravy. Giada said to try going for something sweet and savory. Really gives it a little something extra, eh?”
***
“Where’d you get the panini press?”
“The what?”
“Press? Gives the bread the grill marks?”
“Yeah, I didn’t have one. Bobby had this spare vise he gave me? Just wedged these bad boys in there, fired up the blowtorch, and browned ‘em that way.”
“Ah.”
“What? They use ‘em on Food Network. Like on that burnt cream stuff?”
“Not blowtorches.”
Dean’s eyes narrowed. “This is what I get for slaving over a hot…power tool all day?”
“Sorry, Dean.” Sam was contrite. “It’s just…I mean, there is tradition to consider.”
“Fine, Sammy. Next year, TV dinners.” He paused. “Gonna eat yours?”