Fic: This Is How It Works
Title: This Is How It Works
Creator: drizzlydaze
Rating: PG
Setting: Post-series
Word count: 204
Prompt: A Paean
A/N: Sequel to Awake. It’s pretty crucial that you read that first. After this - The Occupant; Deep in Earth; Me, By Myself.
“You what?”
“I demand exultation. You will compose a paean in my name,” he said.
“You want me to pee on your name?” she said.
“Insolence,” Illyria said, eyes flashing, “or stupidity. From what I have seen of you, I believe it is both-only a fool would show such disrespect.”
“Well, you’ve done zilch about it,” she said.
He said, “If you plan to have me keep you, then I suggest you get started.”
Buffy took a moment to parse this. “Tell you what,” she said, “you write me one and I’ll do yours. That’s how this works.”
“No,” he said.
“Listen, Old One. You told Wesley you were coming with me. You told me you were coming with me-it would’ve been nice if you’d asked, but hey. I’ll deal. So we’re doing this my way.”
“I am not writing poetry,” he said in a sudden, vicious mutter. Buffy imagined the blue of his eyes melted just a little. But then he seemed to recover himself. “I am not writing poetry. I am not helping you ‘patrol’. I am not an idiotic, lovesick half-breed panting for your attention. I am not Spike.”
She said, “He wouldn’t write either.”
“He’s gone,” Illyria said.
Creator: drizzlydaze
Rating: PG
Setting: Post-series
Word count: 204
Prompt: A Paean
A/N: Sequel to Awake. It’s pretty crucial that you read that first. After this - The Occupant; Deep in Earth; Me, By Myself.
“You what?”
“I demand exultation. You will compose a paean in my name,” he said.
“You want me to pee on your name?” she said.
“Insolence,” Illyria said, eyes flashing, “or stupidity. From what I have seen of you, I believe it is both-only a fool would show such disrespect.”
“Well, you’ve done zilch about it,” she said.
He said, “If you plan to have me keep you, then I suggest you get started.”
Buffy took a moment to parse this. “Tell you what,” she said, “you write me one and I’ll do yours. That’s how this works.”
“No,” he said.
“Listen, Old One. You told Wesley you were coming with me. You told me you were coming with me-it would’ve been nice if you’d asked, but hey. I’ll deal. So we’re doing this my way.”
“I am not writing poetry,” he said in a sudden, vicious mutter. Buffy imagined the blue of his eyes melted just a little. But then he seemed to recover himself. “I am not writing poetry. I am not helping you ‘patrol’. I am not an idiotic, lovesick half-breed panting for your attention. I am not Spike.”
She said, “He wouldn’t write either.”
“He’s gone,” Illyria said.