Who:
univalent &
a_slayer_slaysWhat: Can't find one punching bag? Go knock ondown the door of another.
When: Backdated to a few hours after
thisWhere: Spike's apartment.
Summary: When conversation with a certain pirate dredges up all kinds of bad for Buffy, she decides to play the aggro card and look for justice.
Rating: PG13ish
(
there is lighting in this room -- above our heads, waiting to strike )
Comments 30
He eyed the hat. It smelled a bit familiar. Not like a person he'd encountered, but more like the lingering scent of something he'd found on or near someone. Oh, he had a few ideas as to who the hat belonged to and one of them was attached to the fellow who he'd been talking to on the journal. And yet, while he was thinking the hat belonged to that man, he neglected to pay mind to the conversation at hand and set the book down on the couch beside him, still open to that very page, and stood up to not go put on a shirt - you barged in on him, Buffy, you can't expect him to be dressed all the way - but to go retrieve the cup of blood that he'd left in the microwave in favor of clucking his tongue, so to speak, at the wordy pirate ( ... )
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What would normally be to her credit but what is now just an indicator of Buffy's distraction levels, she did not comment on bare skin or blood. Instead she paced the initial few feet of apartment and, with eyes sharp and flighty due to tightly chambered inaction, burned holes in every available surface except for him.
"Sparrow, that's who. He thinks he's dead, but he's not. Only the joke's right back on him because he soon will be." It was, of course, all talk. Buffy would no sooner cut down an innocent (albeit, dastardly) human than ( ... )
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"Would help if I knew what this 'thing' was. Could be a variety of things and I've got quite the imagination." A beat as he took another sip. "As you well know."
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The pain wasn't much. Stubbed toes smarted, but she has certainly felt worse. It was more like a bad habit or a left over learned behaviour from being a five-year-old and watching everyone else make the same shallow, squeaking sound when tender little parts were brutally smashed into chair legs. Or table legs. Or anything else. But habit gave her enough time to apply some breaks to the Overreaction Express and things hit her in waves after that. A ripple of amusement at his imagination quip -- something left ( ... )
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