(no subject)
It always comes back to this. To a woman. Always about a girl. It doesn’t matter, he could justify himself six ways to Sunday, and it would always come back to a girl. Everything he’s ever done, everything he is, could all be traced back to one of those bloody women. They’ll be the death of him, one of these days. Had been the death of him, more than once.
It’s pathetic, really.
Oh, and of course Angel is there, and they’re locked in the same bout of pointless, masculine foreplay they’ve been at for a hundred and thirty years, still fighting over a girl and which one of them she loves best. Side by side, beating on a bunch of low-level lackeys, but they don’t mean a damned thing.
Why the hell are they even fighting? Oh, right. He doesn’t care. A dried up, squishy prune of a head in a bowling bag, and he’s forgotten why they’d even flown all the way out to this decaying shithole of a country to retrieve it. One of Angel’s clients, and Spike had tagged along, because of a girl. The girl, with a capital B, ends in y, and the sound of it cuts his heart out every time.
He’s not stupid. He’s got no expectations, no illusions, not any more, but he’ll still do anything for the bitch, which is why he’s gotten himself in the middle of this fight with a bunch of knuckle-headed meatheads, in a club blasting German techno loud enough to make his ears bleed.
All about a girl, who’ll never love him. Never will, no matter what he does to prove himself. He’s jumped through burning hoops like a bloody prized poodle, and while he knows now that there’s more in the world than just one girl, he’s always willing to jump through just a few more.
So, he’ll fight, because it’s what he’s good it. It feels good, right down to his bones, and he’s really getting into it, giving it all his got, really showing off because there’s still a chance she might be looking, but then he maybe gets a little confused in all that chaos because suddenly there’s Angel face and there’s Spike’s fist slamming right into it. There’s one gleeful moment where Angel’s standing there all stunned, rubbing his jaw and blinking like the great buffoon he really is, and underneath that slight twinge of Oopsie, sorry, big fella, Spike feels better than he has in ages. But unfortunately, Angel’s going to give it right back, big meaty fist colliding with a crack across Spike’s jaw, and everything goes white.
It’s just a tap, really, but the world tilts sideways, and there’s so much light. Blinding, just like it had been down in the caves, and he thinks maybe this is it. LA was just a nightmare, and he’s finally going to get some bloody peace.
But then his boot hits the sand and he goes down, tumbling arse over tit and landing in a tangled heap of denim and leather. “Oh, bloody hell…” he mutters, lifting a hand to prod at his tender head, when he sees it… Shining bright across the back of his pale hand.
Sunlight.
He’s frozen for half a second, more, then he lets out a roar, scrambling to his feet and throwing his coat over his bleached blonde head. And just like that, a lump of screaming black leather with legs, he goes running blindly for cover, trees and people and God even knows what in his path.
This probably isn’t going to end well for ol’ Spike.
[[Standard debut. Feel free to have him run into your pup, into a tree, or whatever else you can think of. Open to all, and see this slated post if you've got any questions.]]
It’s pathetic, really.
Oh, and of course Angel is there, and they’re locked in the same bout of pointless, masculine foreplay they’ve been at for a hundred and thirty years, still fighting over a girl and which one of them she loves best. Side by side, beating on a bunch of low-level lackeys, but they don’t mean a damned thing.
Why the hell are they even fighting? Oh, right. He doesn’t care. A dried up, squishy prune of a head in a bowling bag, and he’s forgotten why they’d even flown all the way out to this decaying shithole of a country to retrieve it. One of Angel’s clients, and Spike had tagged along, because of a girl. The girl, with a capital B, ends in y, and the sound of it cuts his heart out every time.
He’s not stupid. He’s got no expectations, no illusions, not any more, but he’ll still do anything for the bitch, which is why he’s gotten himself in the middle of this fight with a bunch of knuckle-headed meatheads, in a club blasting German techno loud enough to make his ears bleed.
All about a girl, who’ll never love him. Never will, no matter what he does to prove himself. He’s jumped through burning hoops like a bloody prized poodle, and while he knows now that there’s more in the world than just one girl, he’s always willing to jump through just a few more.
So, he’ll fight, because it’s what he’s good it. It feels good, right down to his bones, and he’s really getting into it, giving it all his got, really showing off because there’s still a chance she might be looking, but then he maybe gets a little confused in all that chaos because suddenly there’s Angel face and there’s Spike’s fist slamming right into it. There’s one gleeful moment where Angel’s standing there all stunned, rubbing his jaw and blinking like the great buffoon he really is, and underneath that slight twinge of Oopsie, sorry, big fella, Spike feels better than he has in ages. But unfortunately, Angel’s going to give it right back, big meaty fist colliding with a crack across Spike’s jaw, and everything goes white.
It’s just a tap, really, but the world tilts sideways, and there’s so much light. Blinding, just like it had been down in the caves, and he thinks maybe this is it. LA was just a nightmare, and he’s finally going to get some bloody peace.
But then his boot hits the sand and he goes down, tumbling arse over tit and landing in a tangled heap of denim and leather. “Oh, bloody hell…” he mutters, lifting a hand to prod at his tender head, when he sees it… Shining bright across the back of his pale hand.
Sunlight.
He’s frozen for half a second, more, then he lets out a roar, scrambling to his feet and throwing his coat over his bleached blonde head. And just like that, a lump of screaming black leather with legs, he goes running blindly for cover, trees and people and God even knows what in his path.
This probably isn’t going to end well for ol’ Spike.
[[Standard debut. Feel free to have him run into your pup, into a tree, or whatever else you can think of. Open to all, and see this slated post if you've got any questions.]]