(Untitled)

[lornegreen]

I knew Angel and Spike had been looking at me strange since my egregious outburst and unwavering display of drunkedness, but I felt I needed to use it as an excuse to vent a brainful of craziness. I let it out when I burst out laughing. Then, after I began to feel slightly embarassed, I calmed myself and took another swig from the vodka bottle

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[lornegreen]

"Wagon's west," I muttered. I grabbed my fedora from off the table and plunked it on my head. I handed the bottle of vodka to Spike. "Lead the way, padre."

I followed him through a labrynth of office space, and then eventually out to the apartment complex where my newly awaiting abode was. When we arrived there, I was almost relieved. In some ways, I was hoping it was going to be a nice broodworthy space.

When we stepped inside however, I noticed Angelina had put some effort into decorating it with antiques and the usual Lorne style of mod/art-deco. I cringed on the inside. Not particularily what I wanted right now, but it'll have to do.

I tossed my hat on the chair and had a look around. There was a schwack of booze in the fridge, and that's all I needed. The apartment itself was fairly small, but it was liveable. I walked over to the bookcase and idly picked up a small wooden statuette that had been placed there. "Hmm, nice," I muttered, and set it back down.

I then walked over to the table, and pulled from the inside breast pocket of my blazer a small semi-automatic handgun. I uncocked it and pulled the clip out, and laid them on the table. I pulled a second handgun out of my other pocket and did the same.

I felt like the lost Resevoir Dog. I devious smirk came across my face. I looked over at Spike. "Didn't think I'm come into this unprepared, did you?" I asked him.

[mad_poet_spike]

His apartment was like the rest, so it's not like there was anything here I hadn't seen before. Except maybe the fridge full of alcohol. I gotta get me one of those.

I took a swig of the vodka I was holding, turned to look at Lorne and he's got two guns he had hidden away under his loud colored jacket. Bloody hell.

"Never thought of you as the hardware packing type. You got the bloody mafia after you or something? Good thing bullets can't kill me or I'd be in trouble. And no using me for target practice, no matter how bloody drunk I get."

I sat down in a chair, laid back. I was bothered by the fact that Lorne of all people was carrying not one, but two guns.

"How hard have things been for you?" I asked in a more sympathetic voice.

[lornegreen]

I looked down at the table where I had rested my choice of artillery. I sighed deeply and looked up at Spike.

"They haven't been easy, that's for sure," I conceded. I had gone into hiding after all. There was that inkling of paranoia that twinged upon my subconscious that someone was going to come after me for killing Lindsey. Hence why I was packing all the heat.

"I feel like a changed man," I told him quietly as I took off my stark black blazer and threw it on the chair beside me. I hadn't even been dressing the same, either. I had checked the lamé and sequins at the door when I bolted off to Nevada.

I flopped my sorry ass down on the couch after grabbing another bottle out of the fridge, and pulled my shaggy hair out of my eyes. I think I need to get a haircut. Then again, maybe not. New look for me. Hm.

"L-look, bro," I told him, "I'm kinda tired of talking about it, to be honest. Let's just mull it over with a drink. And then tell me what's going on with this trial. If I'm going to be sticking around, I need to be in the know."

[mad_poet_spike]

"Alright, then. The trial." I took another swig of vodka. Then I told him all I knew about the trial and what happened since I got here after the apocalypse. I told him about that too. All the while finishing the vodka bottle and getting more alcohol from Lorne.

"So you seeee. Been a lot of crap going dooooooooooooown." I laughed. Oh was I feeling good about now.

"Y'dint miss much, Lornikins." I laughed again, that name cracked me up. This was kind of fun. As long as he supplied the booze to me, we were good.

"So whatabout you? What the bloody HELL have you been gettin' up ta?"

[lornegreen]

I pulled a cigarette out of my shirt pocket, and gave Spike a flat stare overtop my cupped hands as I egnited the end. I shook the match out, took a long drag, and passed the butt over to him.

I leaned back into my chair exhaled a cloud of blue smoke.

"Nevada sucks," I told him pointedly. "W-well, not all of it, but the desert part anyways." My voice sounded scratchy. Too much smoking, not enough singing. Come to think of it, I hadn't sung a note in months..

I slugged back a gulp of scotch. "It gave me some time to re-evaluate myself, to take a step outside of the box and make some decisions. I thought about my lifestyle, my outlook, my personality. I thought about everything. What I had done, how I had lived."

I pulled my hair out of my eyes again.

"You know, the first thing I did when I got to Nevada was burn the suit I had. That was my favorite suit, I don't know if you remember. I had it imported from France, custom tailored, and it cost me a pretty penny. But I felt I had to do it. It was release. It was me letting go."

The thought of that suit got me a bit misty eyed. I was heartbroken, remembering it. Every other guy had his car. I had my suits. Damn.

I held up my glass to Spike. "Here's to moving on," I told him, and took a long swig.