deird1
in
still_grrr
162 fic - Poker Face
Title: Poker Face
Author: deird1
Rating: PG
Word Count: 853
Prompt: 162 (Leaving Las Vegas - 1995)
Characters: Spike, Dawn
Poker Face
It was his fault, in a way.
For going soft. And for teaching her how to play bloody poker in the first place.
But when Dawn had come in and seen him holding a kitten, he hadn’t had the heart to tell her he was just about to eat the sodding thing. So instead, he’d mentioned the poker game - keeping vague about why the kitten was needed, so as not to upset her.
Dawn’s eyes narrowed, and she asked, “What do you do with the kittens at the game? Aren’t the rest of the group demons? What do they do with kittens, exactly?”
She was smart, he’d give her that.
And when Spike conceded that, whatever the demons had in mind, it probably wasn’t all that fun for the kittens, she sat down and said firmly, “You can’t give it to them. Demons aren’t pet-compatible.”
“It’s not a pet. It’s part of tonight’s jackpot.”
“I’ll play you for it.”
So, yeah. His fault. Even if it was her idea.
He just couldn’t think of a good argument against it. He’d pointed out that she needed something to bet herself, and she’d promptly suggested Miss Kitty Fantastico. He’d told her it was getting too late for her to be out, and she’d told him to piss off. And when he reprimanded her for swearing, she pointed out that he was the one who’d taught her most of the swear words she knew, and if he didn’t let her stay, she’d use her full vocabulary in front of Buffy - and also, he was just trying to get out of playing because he knew she’d win.
What was he supposed to say to that? Apart from “start dealing, already”?
Until two minutes ago, it’d been a good game, too. The Niblet was brilliant at bluffing, but on the other hand he’d taught her every trick she knew, so he could usually pick what she was trying. And he was cheating as much as possible - but then, so was she. They were fairly evenly matched.
He’d tried distracting her with comments about her hair, she’d tried throwing him off by coming up with increasingly odd names for the kitten, the stakes had gotten higher and higher, the play had gotten more and more interesting…
Until, like he said, two minutes ago. That was when he’d glanced up and seen the Slayer standing in the doorway.
She was slightly flushed, in the usual just-finished-patrol-really-need-a-shag-thanks way, but after all, she couldn’t just march into the crypt, pull him onto the bed, and start going for it - not with her sister sitting right there. She couldn’t even join their game, or Dawn might ask why she’d come. So she simply stood there and looked at him.
Dawn was in the middle of staking her Discman against his black nailpolish, and didn’t notice.
He was going to get in trouble for keeping Dawn out late, for teaching her to gamble, and for depriving Buffy of much-needed sex. Bollocks.
Buffy seemed on the verge of saying something and coming in anyway - but apparently she thought better of it, because she shut her mouth, glared at him in a mildly frustrated way, and left, shutting the door silently behind her.
Spike folded. And then realised he’d had a full-house.
Dawn dealt again, and said thoughtfully, “Maybe Snowball.”
Two sevens. “Snowball? Really?”
“What, you liked Princess Fluff of Purrington better? Because I could go back to that. Hmm… Discman again.”
“Bottle of whisky. Snow is white, and this cat is grey. It wouldn’t fit.”
“You can’t bet whisky. I’m fifteen.”
“So?”
“So you can’t let me win something that would get confiscated the moment I walked in the door. It’s not fair.”
And the Slayer would kick his arse for giving her alcohol. Still, in for a penny…
“You’ll just have to find a way to hide it, then. Whisky or nothing.”
“Fine. My new shoes. And snow does get grey eventually, you know.”
“Oh, that’ll be perfect. Invite your friends home and say ‘Here’s my new cat. He’s named after the slush you get in winter after three days of car fumes and bird piss.’ That lamp.”
“My bedside lamp, then. And she’s not going to be at my house. She’s going to be here.”
“What?”
“We’ll put the food in that corner, and she can use the cemetery instead of a litter tray, and I can visit her every day after school.”
“You are not having that cat stay here. You win her, you take her.” Another full-house. Spike put his cards down in front of her, and said firmly, “Big sis wouldn’t want you coming here every day, anyway.”
“Why not? She didn’t seem to mind me being here when she came in just before.” Dawn laid her cards out. “Flush. You really are crap at bluffing, you know.”
Oh bollocks. Shit shagging bollocks on a stick. Buffy was going to kill him.
Dawn raised her eyebrows, and Spike took the deck and silently began dealing a new hand.
In retrospect, he should have just eaten the bloody kitten.
Author: deird1
Rating: PG
Word Count: 853
Prompt: 162 (Leaving Las Vegas - 1995)
Characters: Spike, Dawn
Poker Face
It was his fault, in a way.
For going soft. And for teaching her how to play bloody poker in the first place.
But when Dawn had come in and seen him holding a kitten, he hadn’t had the heart to tell her he was just about to eat the sodding thing. So instead, he’d mentioned the poker game - keeping vague about why the kitten was needed, so as not to upset her.
Dawn’s eyes narrowed, and she asked, “What do you do with the kittens at the game? Aren’t the rest of the group demons? What do they do with kittens, exactly?”
She was smart, he’d give her that.
And when Spike conceded that, whatever the demons had in mind, it probably wasn’t all that fun for the kittens, she sat down and said firmly, “You can’t give it to them. Demons aren’t pet-compatible.”
“It’s not a pet. It’s part of tonight’s jackpot.”
“I’ll play you for it.”
So, yeah. His fault. Even if it was her idea.
He just couldn’t think of a good argument against it. He’d pointed out that she needed something to bet herself, and she’d promptly suggested Miss Kitty Fantastico. He’d told her it was getting too late for her to be out, and she’d told him to piss off. And when he reprimanded her for swearing, she pointed out that he was the one who’d taught her most of the swear words she knew, and if he didn’t let her stay, she’d use her full vocabulary in front of Buffy - and also, he was just trying to get out of playing because he knew she’d win.
What was he supposed to say to that? Apart from “start dealing, already”?
Until two minutes ago, it’d been a good game, too. The Niblet was brilliant at bluffing, but on the other hand he’d taught her every trick she knew, so he could usually pick what she was trying. And he was cheating as much as possible - but then, so was she. They were fairly evenly matched.
He’d tried distracting her with comments about her hair, she’d tried throwing him off by coming up with increasingly odd names for the kitten, the stakes had gotten higher and higher, the play had gotten more and more interesting…
Until, like he said, two minutes ago. That was when he’d glanced up and seen the Slayer standing in the doorway.
She was slightly flushed, in the usual just-finished-patrol-really-need-a-shag-thanks way, but after all, she couldn’t just march into the crypt, pull him onto the bed, and start going for it - not with her sister sitting right there. She couldn’t even join their game, or Dawn might ask why she’d come. So she simply stood there and looked at him.
Dawn was in the middle of staking her Discman against his black nailpolish, and didn’t notice.
He was going to get in trouble for keeping Dawn out late, for teaching her to gamble, and for depriving Buffy of much-needed sex. Bollocks.
Buffy seemed on the verge of saying something and coming in anyway - but apparently she thought better of it, because she shut her mouth, glared at him in a mildly frustrated way, and left, shutting the door silently behind her.
Spike folded. And then realised he’d had a full-house.
Dawn dealt again, and said thoughtfully, “Maybe Snowball.”
Two sevens. “Snowball? Really?”
“What, you liked Princess Fluff of Purrington better? Because I could go back to that. Hmm… Discman again.”
“Bottle of whisky. Snow is white, and this cat is grey. It wouldn’t fit.”
“You can’t bet whisky. I’m fifteen.”
“So?”
“So you can’t let me win something that would get confiscated the moment I walked in the door. It’s not fair.”
And the Slayer would kick his arse for giving her alcohol. Still, in for a penny…
“You’ll just have to find a way to hide it, then. Whisky or nothing.”
“Fine. My new shoes. And snow does get grey eventually, you know.”
“Oh, that’ll be perfect. Invite your friends home and say ‘Here’s my new cat. He’s named after the slush you get in winter after three days of car fumes and bird piss.’ That lamp.”
“My bedside lamp, then. And she’s not going to be at my house. She’s going to be here.”
“What?”
“We’ll put the food in that corner, and she can use the cemetery instead of a litter tray, and I can visit her every day after school.”
“You are not having that cat stay here. You win her, you take her.” Another full-house. Spike put his cards down in front of her, and said firmly, “Big sis wouldn’t want you coming here every day, anyway.”
“Why not? She didn’t seem to mind me being here when she came in just before.” Dawn laid her cards out. “Flush. You really are crap at bluffing, you know.”
Oh bollocks. Shit shagging bollocks on a stick. Buffy was going to kill him.
Dawn raised her eyebrows, and Spike took the deck and silently began dealing a new hand.
In retrospect, he should have just eaten the bloody kitten.