Fanfiction - Spikes, Sparrows and Scoundrels [Oneshot]
Title - Spikes, Sparrows and Scoundrels
Author - Lightning_Skies
Rating - FR15 (Some British swearing, alcohol)
Fandoms - BtVS/PoTC
Words - 849
Notes - August Challenge at twistedshorts (Entry #1)
Disclaimer - I checked my pockets and I don’t own a single vampire or pirate. I am so jealous of Joss and Disney. -Pouts-
Summary - Chipped Spike is drinking his troubles away and makes friends with a mysterious stranger with a love of rum.
Spike was well on his way to the bottom of his second - or was it third (it was so hard to count with the containers dancing all over the table) bottle of the finest Tennessee whiskey when his melancholy was interrupted by some git who decided to sit on the barstool right next to him. That wasn't right. There were rules about these things. Pub rules that stated that maudlin drunks always got a personal bubble of at least one seat in every direction. Unless they needed a comforting ear, in which case the drunk in question would carefully select a seating partner - by grabbing the nearest warm (or room-temp, or cool or in some cases ichor dripping) body and dragging them into one of the empty seats to dump their life's story on them. Spike wasn't quite at that stage yet, so he fully expected to be left alone till he finished off his... he squinted, sec- third bottle.
"Y'r breakin' th'rules." He slurred as he turned his squint onto his unwelcome guest. It took him a moment to refocus his eyes and realize that he was not in fact sitting next to a living version of a censored and blurry-faced perp from COPS. And how painful was it that he'd spent so much time watching telly with the whelp lately that the oh-so-poetic metaphor was the first thing to come to mind. Sodding chip. Slowly, a scruffy brunette man's bemused face took shape before Spike's attention strayed elsewhere. Were those bloody beads and feathers in his hair?
"And what rules, pray tell, might those be now, mate?" Dark eyes framed with heavily smudged kohl regarded him with a twinkle of amusement.
“THE rules. Ev’rybuddy knows bout th’ rules.” Spike eyed his companion in disbelief.
“Can’t say as I’m cognitive o’ the rules. So, what say you that, seeing as there are rules to be broken and I, by definition as a scoundrel of the lowest order, am a law and oath breaker. I am thusly bound by my own very lack of honor and decency to break those same rules that honest folk wouldn’t be breaking. Savvy?”
The blonde just stared. He was too far gone to even attempt to unravel the drivel that could rival Scooby-babble on any more sober day of the week.
A scarred brow wrinkled in consternation for a moment before the vampire gave up and clutched his bottle tight, announcing with a growl, "Y'stay 'way from m’Jack n' we’ll get on jus’fine.”
“Your Jack?” If anything the stranger seemed even more amused, Spike couldn’t think of anything he’d said that would be funny, so he immediately took offense.
“Whatter ya bloody deaf? My Jack. M’ver-ry own. M’only friend n’the sodd’n world, Jack is. E’s th’only one I got, wi’ m’Dru gone walkabout an’ th’ chipn’ m’head. E’ al’ays lis’ns ta me, ne’r let m’ down yet. E’s be’n m’best-est… b-best friend f’r y’rs-”
The bartender interrupted his stuttering tirade by putting a decanter in front of Spike’s mystery guest. “Captain’s for the Captain.”
With a grin full of dirty teeth and a nod the stranger accepted the rum and the bartender disappeared again. He popped it open and ignoring the supplied glass took a slug directly from the bottle. He sighed contentedly and turned back to Spike, who was watching him a little less defensively now that they each had their own drink. “Sounds like you’ve had a rough go of it, mate. Take a bit o’advice from an old hand, time heals all wounds- or some rot. So long as a man’s got a loyal friend at his side, that is.”
“C’n hear y’r heartbeat, mate. Y’r jus’a human, whadda’ya know about time? M’ov’r a’hun’rd y’rs ol’. Y’r mebbe thir’y tops. Du’n’o nuthin’ bout f’rev’r.” As the night and alcohol wore on Spike’s cockney accent was getting even more incomprehensibly slurred.
Rather than taking offense (or being surprised by his drinking partner’s undead state of being) the human just smiled enigmatically, “As you say.”
Several hours of small talk and heavy drinking later, Spike managed to spill his whole life’s story (as per his rules) and had drunk himself into unconsciousness. His companion talked at him for another few minutes before realizing the blonde was down for the count. The stranger verified the vampire’s oblivious state with a series of forceful pokes before fishing in his pocket a bit and withdrawing a battered looking compass.
“Seeing as you’re such good friends with Jack and all, I think I can part with this. It’s never worked for me anyways and you seem just the poor bugger to need it.” With an almost fond look at the vampire, the brunette started to stagger away, stopped, looked down at the compass still clutched in his hand, sighed and returned to the table. He put the compass on the bar next to Spike’s head and carefully pried reluctant fingers off of it. His hand hovered for a moment before patting the compass’s worn case once, and he drunkenly staggered away into the night.
A/N:
In the event that you aren’t a drinker, and so don’t get the jokes here - Spike’s drink of choice in the series was always Jack Daniel’s Tennessee Whiskey. ‘Captain’ Jack Sparrow loved rum and was always reminding people to call him captain, so I figure he’d only ever drink Captain Morgan’s Rum.
Also, assume that Jack found the fountain of youth after the 3rd movie.
Author - Lightning_Skies
Rating - FR15 (Some British swearing, alcohol)
Fandoms - BtVS/PoTC
Words - 849
Notes - August Challenge at twistedshorts (Entry #1)
Disclaimer - I checked my pockets and I don’t own a single vampire or pirate. I am so jealous of Joss and Disney. -Pouts-
Summary - Chipped Spike is drinking his troubles away and makes friends with a mysterious stranger with a love of rum.
Spike was well on his way to the bottom of his second - or was it third (it was so hard to count with the containers dancing all over the table) bottle of the finest Tennessee whiskey when his melancholy was interrupted by some git who decided to sit on the barstool right next to him. That wasn't right. There were rules about these things. Pub rules that stated that maudlin drunks always got a personal bubble of at least one seat in every direction. Unless they needed a comforting ear, in which case the drunk in question would carefully select a seating partner - by grabbing the nearest warm (or room-temp, or cool or in some cases ichor dripping) body and dragging them into one of the empty seats to dump their life's story on them. Spike wasn't quite at that stage yet, so he fully expected to be left alone till he finished off his... he squinted, sec- third bottle.
"Y'r breakin' th'rules." He slurred as he turned his squint onto his unwelcome guest. It took him a moment to refocus his eyes and realize that he was not in fact sitting next to a living version of a censored and blurry-faced perp from COPS. And how painful was it that he'd spent so much time watching telly with the whelp lately that the oh-so-poetic metaphor was the first thing to come to mind. Sodding chip. Slowly, a scruffy brunette man's bemused face took shape before Spike's attention strayed elsewhere. Were those bloody beads and feathers in his hair?
"And what rules, pray tell, might those be now, mate?" Dark eyes framed with heavily smudged kohl regarded him with a twinkle of amusement.
“THE rules. Ev’rybuddy knows bout th’ rules.” Spike eyed his companion in disbelief.
“Can’t say as I’m cognitive o’ the rules. So, what say you that, seeing as there are rules to be broken and I, by definition as a scoundrel of the lowest order, am a law and oath breaker. I am thusly bound by my own very lack of honor and decency to break those same rules that honest folk wouldn’t be breaking. Savvy?”
The blonde just stared. He was too far gone to even attempt to unravel the drivel that could rival Scooby-babble on any more sober day of the week.
A scarred brow wrinkled in consternation for a moment before the vampire gave up and clutched his bottle tight, announcing with a growl, "Y'stay 'way from m’Jack n' we’ll get on jus’fine.”
“Your Jack?” If anything the stranger seemed even more amused, Spike couldn’t think of anything he’d said that would be funny, so he immediately took offense.
“Whatter ya bloody deaf? My Jack. M’ver-ry own. M’only friend n’the sodd’n world, Jack is. E’s th’only one I got, wi’ m’Dru gone walkabout an’ th’ chipn’ m’head. E’ al’ays lis’ns ta me, ne’r let m’ down yet. E’s be’n m’best-est… b-best friend f’r y’rs-”
The bartender interrupted his stuttering tirade by putting a decanter in front of Spike’s mystery guest. “Captain’s for the Captain.”
With a grin full of dirty teeth and a nod the stranger accepted the rum and the bartender disappeared again. He popped it open and ignoring the supplied glass took a slug directly from the bottle. He sighed contentedly and turned back to Spike, who was watching him a little less defensively now that they each had their own drink. “Sounds like you’ve had a rough go of it, mate. Take a bit o’advice from an old hand, time heals all wounds- or some rot. So long as a man’s got a loyal friend at his side, that is.”
“C’n hear y’r heartbeat, mate. Y’r jus’a human, whadda’ya know about time? M’ov’r a’hun’rd y’rs ol’. Y’r mebbe thir’y tops. Du’n’o nuthin’ bout f’rev’r.” As the night and alcohol wore on Spike’s cockney accent was getting even more incomprehensibly slurred.
Rather than taking offense (or being surprised by his drinking partner’s undead state of being) the human just smiled enigmatically, “As you say.”
Several hours of small talk and heavy drinking later, Spike managed to spill his whole life’s story (as per his rules) and had drunk himself into unconsciousness. His companion talked at him for another few minutes before realizing the blonde was down for the count. The stranger verified the vampire’s oblivious state with a series of forceful pokes before fishing in his pocket a bit and withdrawing a battered looking compass.
“Seeing as you’re such good friends with Jack and all, I think I can part with this. It’s never worked for me anyways and you seem just the poor bugger to need it.” With an almost fond look at the vampire, the brunette started to stagger away, stopped, looked down at the compass still clutched in his hand, sighed and returned to the table. He put the compass on the bar next to Spike’s head and carefully pried reluctant fingers off of it. His hand hovered for a moment before patting the compass’s worn case once, and he drunkenly staggered away into the night.
A/N:
In the event that you aren’t a drinker, and so don’t get the jokes here - Spike’s drink of choice in the series was always Jack Daniel’s Tennessee Whiskey. ‘Captain’ Jack Sparrow loved rum and was always reminding people to call him captain, so I figure he’d only ever drink Captain Morgan’s Rum.
Also, assume that Jack found the fountain of youth after the 3rd movie.