Who's your daddy?
Spike wasn't looking for anything in particular as he approached the bookshelf that afternoon, which may have been his first mistake. Not that he'd had much luck with it even when he did want something, but giving the damn thing carte blanche to...riffle through his mind and pick what would most disturb him, if that was what it actually did, probably hadn't helped matters. Row after row of pregnancy and childcare books, From What to Expect When You're Expecting to Doctor Spock's Baby and Child Care met him as he faced it.
He let out an irritated growl and started pulling books from the shelf, slower at first, then faster and faster, sweeping an entire shelf to the floor with a grunt--only to see the books replaced with more of the same by the time he looked up again. He slammed his hands against the shelf, shouting in frustration and knocking a copy of Parenting for Dummies off of the top shelf, the spine landing squarely on his forehead before he caught it on the bounce, wincing in pain as he shuffled through the scattered books and slumped into a nearby chair. "Think you're funny, do you?" he muttered in the bookshelf's general direction, rubbing at his head with the book balanced on one thigh, all but forgotten. "It might not even be mine, you know." The bookshelf seemed almost smug somehow as it sat there, unresponsive.
He let out an irritated growl and started pulling books from the shelf, slower at first, then faster and faster, sweeping an entire shelf to the floor with a grunt--only to see the books replaced with more of the same by the time he looked up again. He slammed his hands against the shelf, shouting in frustration and knocking a copy of Parenting for Dummies off of the top shelf, the spine landing squarely on his forehead before he caught it on the bounce, wincing in pain as he shuffled through the scattered books and slumped into a nearby chair. "Think you're funny, do you?" he muttered in the bookshelf's general direction, rubbing at his head with the book balanced on one thigh, all but forgotten. "It might not even be mine, you know." The bookshelf seemed almost smug somehow as it sat there, unresponsive.