gillo
in
still_grrr
Fic - prompt 178, Queen.: "Another One Bites the Dust"
Inspired not just by the prompt, but by a shop I saw in Italy. Picture below the fic.
Title: Another One Bites the Dust
Author: gillo
Rating: G
Word Count: 950
Prompt: 178 Music by Queen
Characters/Pairing Spike and Dawn
A/N: Spike went to Italy once more.
It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Most things did to Spike, to be fair, and fewer of them came good than he’d have liked. Still, a little town in Italy, warm enough to keep him near to blood temperature in summer at least, interesting architecture but off the tourist route, easy enough access to Rome if, perhaps, a call should come, but far enough away so he didn’t look too desperate.
Who was he kidding? She knew he was desperate. He knew he was desperate. Who else mattered?
Still, for a while, it made sense. With the remaining contacts through Wolfram and Hart Italia he’d collected enough leather ware to appeal to the locals, and sorted out a load of American-looking gear to go with it, enough to impress the local kids anyway. OK, there was a cathedral across the square and he’d learnt the hard way not to shake hands with people straight from mass and holy water, but there were arcades around the piazza, giving shade, and a nice little back room where he could host the local demon population and introduce them to kitten poker - house rules. His house.
He was actually well-off enough not to need to nick stuff these days, though it was a matter of honour to lift a few things from time to time. It was important for the local forces of evil to recognise who was the real Big Bad round here. The local sausages and uncooked meats were rich in blood, and the local ospedale provided the good stuff from time to time, past its use-by date but tasty enough.
None of which explained his general sense of unease. His contacts in Rome had come up with nothing in the year since he’d moved to Italy, almost as if the bint wasn’t there any more. The pretty little town was too bloody hot in the summer, and arcades or no arcades, long hours of sun made him feel trapped.
That Wednesday afternoon he lounged against the doorway, waiting for the blistering heat to subside and the other shops to open. Giovanna across the way had had a delivery of decent whisky, and was willing to barter some for a repair to her leather jacket. Once the sun was low enough for him to cut across the road without too obviously smoking, the deal was done, and his evening comfort assured. He stared at the carved animals and stone columns. Again.
A stupid little scooter came putt-putting around the corner. Its rider had glossy long hair and sunglasses in the very latest style. You didn’t live in this country for long without recognising quality eyewear.
The Vespa stopped in the square. The girl dismounted and looked at a scrap of paper in her hand, then strode across. Towards his shop.
It’s not possible for a vampire to blench, but Spike felt like he was doing a good impression of it. He ducked behind the display, trying to keep the emaciated mannequin between him and his visitor.
No such luck. A small, firm hand snaked out and grasped his wrist. “Spike! So it was true! What in hell are you doing here?”
“Oh, hello, Bit. Never thought I’d see you here. Just keeping myself busy, y’know,” desperate now,. “So, how’ve you been?”
“How have I been? How have I been?” the voice got louder and higher till it threatened to break several records, and his expensive plate glass windowns, at once. “We thought you were dead! Do you have any idea how long we’ve been mourning you? And that is all you can say?”
“Sorta figured out you were best off without me, pet. Or that you’d’ve had ways of finding me if you’d wanted. After all, you’re here now.” He attempted a smirk. It fell flat.
“Yes, I’m here. Because Stupid Andrew let fall something you had told him not to say anything about. Over a year ago. That’s when he let it fall. It’s taken Willow and me that long to track you down.”
“Just you and the witch, then?” his face fell just a trifle, the carefully-schooled expression failing under pressure. “Not the Slayer?”
Dawn stamped a foot. “You don’t think I’d let her know and come all this way if you were going to ignore her do you? She has no idea yet. But, Spike, how could you do that to her?”
“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her. She can make her own life now. No point in having needy vamps around now.”
He hadn’t realised the Bit had so much strength. She grabbed both lapels and rammed him hard against the model, which teetered and fell to the floor. “Hey, Dawn! Those things cost money! Watch what you’re doing!”
She ignored him and shoved harder. He collapsed on his merchandise, the “Vera Pelle” coat crushed into the sharp plastic. From the floor he looked up at her. She glared.
“You, Mister, are coming with me, the minute it’s dark. There’s an overnight train at ten. And you’d better have some damned good excuses, I can tell you! Pack your things.”
Spike pulled himself upright and looked ruefully at his latest model display. He had no excuses left. No window display either. And Giovanna was going to have to wait for her jacket. The pose of respectable shop-owning vamp was vanished, as if it had never existed. Ah well.
As he grabbed a bag and locked up, a rhythmic beat pounded through his head. “Another one bites the dust” Another excuse, another façade, another year of weary pretence that he wasn’t waiting. All bit the dust at once. And a bloody good thing too.
This fic was inspired by a shop I discovered two days ago, in the Italian town of Piacenza. Who could resist something like this?
Title: Another One Bites the Dust
Author: gillo
Rating: G
Word Count: 950
Prompt: 178 Music by Queen
Characters/Pairing Spike and Dawn
A/N: Spike went to Italy once more.
It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Most things did to Spike, to be fair, and fewer of them came good than he’d have liked. Still, a little town in Italy, warm enough to keep him near to blood temperature in summer at least, interesting architecture but off the tourist route, easy enough access to Rome if, perhaps, a call should come, but far enough away so he didn’t look too desperate.
Who was he kidding? She knew he was desperate. He knew he was desperate. Who else mattered?
Still, for a while, it made sense. With the remaining contacts through Wolfram and Hart Italia he’d collected enough leather ware to appeal to the locals, and sorted out a load of American-looking gear to go with it, enough to impress the local kids anyway. OK, there was a cathedral across the square and he’d learnt the hard way not to shake hands with people straight from mass and holy water, but there were arcades around the piazza, giving shade, and a nice little back room where he could host the local demon population and introduce them to kitten poker - house rules. His house.
He was actually well-off enough not to need to nick stuff these days, though it was a matter of honour to lift a few things from time to time. It was important for the local forces of evil to recognise who was the real Big Bad round here. The local sausages and uncooked meats were rich in blood, and the local ospedale provided the good stuff from time to time, past its use-by date but tasty enough.
None of which explained his general sense of unease. His contacts in Rome had come up with nothing in the year since he’d moved to Italy, almost as if the bint wasn’t there any more. The pretty little town was too bloody hot in the summer, and arcades or no arcades, long hours of sun made him feel trapped.
That Wednesday afternoon he lounged against the doorway, waiting for the blistering heat to subside and the other shops to open. Giovanna across the way had had a delivery of decent whisky, and was willing to barter some for a repair to her leather jacket. Once the sun was low enough for him to cut across the road without too obviously smoking, the deal was done, and his evening comfort assured. He stared at the carved animals and stone columns. Again.
A stupid little scooter came putt-putting around the corner. Its rider had glossy long hair and sunglasses in the very latest style. You didn’t live in this country for long without recognising quality eyewear.
The Vespa stopped in the square. The girl dismounted and looked at a scrap of paper in her hand, then strode across. Towards his shop.
It’s not possible for a vampire to blench, but Spike felt like he was doing a good impression of it. He ducked behind the display, trying to keep the emaciated mannequin between him and his visitor.
No such luck. A small, firm hand snaked out and grasped his wrist. “Spike! So it was true! What in hell are you doing here?”
“Oh, hello, Bit. Never thought I’d see you here. Just keeping myself busy, y’know,” desperate now,. “So, how’ve you been?”
“How have I been? How have I been?” the voice got louder and higher till it threatened to break several records, and his expensive plate glass windowns, at once. “We thought you were dead! Do you have any idea how long we’ve been mourning you? And that is all you can say?”
“Sorta figured out you were best off without me, pet. Or that you’d’ve had ways of finding me if you’d wanted. After all, you’re here now.” He attempted a smirk. It fell flat.
“Yes, I’m here. Because Stupid Andrew let fall something you had told him not to say anything about. Over a year ago. That’s when he let it fall. It’s taken Willow and me that long to track you down.”
“Just you and the witch, then?” his face fell just a trifle, the carefully-schooled expression failing under pressure. “Not the Slayer?”
Dawn stamped a foot. “You don’t think I’d let her know and come all this way if you were going to ignore her do you? She has no idea yet. But, Spike, how could you do that to her?”
“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her. She can make her own life now. No point in having needy vamps around now.”
He hadn’t realised the Bit had so much strength. She grabbed both lapels and rammed him hard against the model, which teetered and fell to the floor. “Hey, Dawn! Those things cost money! Watch what you’re doing!”
She ignored him and shoved harder. He collapsed on his merchandise, the “Vera Pelle” coat crushed into the sharp plastic. From the floor he looked up at her. She glared.
“You, Mister, are coming with me, the minute it’s dark. There’s an overnight train at ten. And you’d better have some damned good excuses, I can tell you! Pack your things.”
Spike pulled himself upright and looked ruefully at his latest model display. He had no excuses left. No window display either. And Giovanna was going to have to wait for her jacket. The pose of respectable shop-owning vamp was vanished, as if it had never existed. Ah well.
As he grabbed a bag and locked up, a rhythmic beat pounded through his head. “Another one bites the dust” Another excuse, another façade, another year of weary pretence that he wasn’t waiting. All bit the dust at once. And a bloody good thing too.
This fic was inspired by a shop I discovered two days ago, in the Italian town of Piacenza. Who could resist something like this?