Community Service
A ficlet for this month's prompts. Not very good. Better than nothing. ;)
Setting: A somewhat eccentric BtVS Never-NeverLand (as seen here, here, and here - let's call it the Heraldverse) in which Buffy and Spike are a married/cohabiting couple.
Rating: PG
For the prompt: Pub signs - The Pyrotechnicist's Arms.
300 words
Community Service
Buffy looked up from her copy of the Sunnydale Herald (headline: Top tip on how to avoid barbecue fork accidents: never go out after dark) to beam an approving smile at Spike.
"Great job you're doing there, honey."
Spike paused just long enough to give her a sour look, then went back to sweeping.
"Dunno why I have to do the clean-up," he muttered. "Wasn't me chopped the pyrotechnicist's arms off."
"And its head," he added, after a moment. "Not to mention all its other bits."
"No, but you were thinking about it," Buffy said, sweetly. "And it's not like there was another way to stop a demon that can blow stuff up just by clapping its hands. I mean, who knew applause could be so dangerous?"
"There is that," Spike sighed. "An' at least with ignis demons, there's no blood, just lots of cinders and ashes." He coughed. "S'goin' on my chest, though."
"Poor baby," Buffy said, absent-mindedly, now back deep in her newspaper.
Spike coughed again, louder this time. "Still not gettin' why I'm on clean-up duty all by myself."
"That's simple." Buffy smiled at him again. "You owe me for that business with the Judge. Having to collect up his body parts was very traumatising."
"But I wasn't even there," Spike protested, indignantly. "Was in a wheelchair at the time, remember? Dru an' Angelus were the ones took him to that shopping mall."
Buffy wagged her finger at him. "But who collected him together in the first place, huh? Also, when you're part of an evil triumvirate, you just have to take your punishment on the chin, that's all."
Spike opened his mouth to protest, but then his shoulders slumped. "You got a point, I spose."
Buffy nodded. "I so do. Think of it as community service."
Setting: A somewhat eccentric BtVS Never-NeverLand (as seen here, here, and here - let's call it the Heraldverse) in which Buffy and Spike are a married/cohabiting couple.
Rating: PG
For the prompt: Pub signs - The Pyrotechnicist's Arms.
300 words
Community Service
Buffy looked up from her copy of the Sunnydale Herald (headline: Top tip on how to avoid barbecue fork accidents: never go out after dark) to beam an approving smile at Spike.
"Great job you're doing there, honey."
Spike paused just long enough to give her a sour look, then went back to sweeping.
"Dunno why I have to do the clean-up," he muttered. "Wasn't me chopped the pyrotechnicist's arms off."
"And its head," he added, after a moment. "Not to mention all its other bits."
"No, but you were thinking about it," Buffy said, sweetly. "And it's not like there was another way to stop a demon that can blow stuff up just by clapping its hands. I mean, who knew applause could be so dangerous?"
"There is that," Spike sighed. "An' at least with ignis demons, there's no blood, just lots of cinders and ashes." He coughed. "S'goin' on my chest, though."
"Poor baby," Buffy said, absent-mindedly, now back deep in her newspaper.
Spike coughed again, louder this time. "Still not gettin' why I'm on clean-up duty all by myself."
"That's simple." Buffy smiled at him again. "You owe me for that business with the Judge. Having to collect up his body parts was very traumatising."
"But I wasn't even there," Spike protested, indignantly. "Was in a wheelchair at the time, remember? Dru an' Angelus were the ones took him to that shopping mall."
Buffy wagged her finger at him. "But who collected him together in the first place, huh? Also, when you're part of an evil triumvirate, you just have to take your punishment on the chin, that's all."
Spike opened his mouth to protest, but then his shoulders slumped. "You got a point, I spose."
Buffy nodded. "I so do. Think of it as community service."