Comments | lucetilogs: if your colours have started to run -- let them all run, run away from you

slaying in lucetilogs

if your colours have started to run -- let them all run, run away from you

Jul 05, 2010 02:10

Who: univalent & a_slayer_slays
What: Can't find one punching bag? Go knock ondown the door of another.
When: Backdated to a few hours after this
Where: 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

univalent July 5 2010, 05:32:16 UTC

"If I have to stand around and wait to be invited in to places, the least you could do is knock," Spike remarked from the couch where he was seated, journal open in his lap.

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 ( ... )

slaying July 5 2010, 05:42:50 UTC

Buffy remained oblivious to the way in which Spike had stepped up to the plate for her. The sliver of unfiltered conversation had been ignored in favour of squeezing a pillow to her chest, as well as in the service of the great inner debate. To chase, or not to chase? That had been the conundrum. Hunting down Jack Sparrow would've meant...what? Dealing with the L word--a word she barely believed the pirate had actually meant--or using violence to cover up just how ashamed he managed to make her feel.

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 ( ... )

univalent July 5 2010, 06:01:28 UTC

Spike pretended not to know why she was so cross with Jack Sparrow, when in reality he was rather well aware of why her anger had been sparked. Did he blame her? No. Did he care what happened to Sparrow? Yes and no - more so for her being than his, that was for sure. Anyone else surely would've pointed out that she'd be spilling human blood, but seeing as Spike doubted she'd actually see through the to the killing part that was past the beating one senseless part, he didn't feel the need to bring that up.

"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."

slaying July 5 2010, 06:18:23 UTC

"Well--okay, who leaves ferns in a will, right?" Never mind that it was pretty much the least successful will ever, considering the non-deadness of its writer. "And then there's the part where he leaves them to me because apparently that's important. But what's even more important is how I'm supposedly thick as thieves with the bad guys just because of a little potential draft action, and--" Thud. There she went, stubbing her toes on his furniture. She hissed a breath inward, sucking air against her tongue and between her teeth.

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 ( ... )

Thread 30