My goodness! It's Herself's birthday!
Today is the birthday of a person without whom I would not be sitting here composing yet another journal entry: the incomparable herself_nyc. Discovering her fic on archive sites and following the trail of breadcrumbs to LJ has changed my life in many wonderful ways, not the least of which has been getting to know her better and meeting so many other amazing people in the process. And so, as a token of appreciation for her awe-and-guh-inspiring talent as well as her tolerance and encouragement, I was planning on writing a few Spaiku based on one of her stories as a birthday gift. However, as I stood on my stepstool and rifled through the many binders on the Shelf o' Herself (which is in severe need of labeling and organization), I encountered an obstacle to my goal: every time I hauled down a binder and opened it to search for the fic in question, I found myself inexorably drawn into the stories contained therein. Two hours later, I roused from my fic-induced fugue state to find myself sitting on the floor of the closet in the rubble of said binders; I had partially read at least eight longish stories. (I'll leave it to y'all to guess which parts.) It was a very pleasant pasttime, to be sure, but not particularly productive of haiku. Forgive me, NK, but my lack of a suitable birthday present is, quite frankly, your own fault for being so damned gifted with the words. *sigh* Maybe next year, darlin'.
Having failed utterly at delivering the intended goods, I decided to go with what I know; I hauled out the camera and retrieved doll!Spike from the spice cupboard. (He'd been drinking rice wine vinegar in there for three days straight, and lemme tell you, the phrase "pickled vampire" isn't nearly as funny to me as it once was; the smell was unbelievable.) Upon hearing that his, um, services would be required for yet another photo shoot, the talent became belligerent and started agitating for unionization and his own storage drawer. (Ha! When vampires who aren't Dracula fly, my little plastic friend.) As if his contrariness weren't enough to contend with, once doll!Spike learned the purpose of this very special session, he came completely unglued. I looked on in horror as he scaled a lamp and held a stake to his wee breast:
It took a while to figure out what the hell he was so upset about, and I had quite a time wrestling talking him down. An excerpt of our conversation follows:
doll!Spike: (between sobs) I can't believe you'd ask me to . . . and after what she's done to me! I'd rather be dust if it's really all over.
Mere: What are you talking about? Nothing's "over." NK's crazy about you! She's written almost forty stories about you, you stupid vampire.
d!S: Are you completely blind, woman? That's the bloody problem!
M: Honey, you're going to have to start making sense now.
d!S: (hysterical) Don't you see? She hasn't written a syllable about me in nine days, Mere. Nine! (weeping in abject misery) It's over. She's had her fun with me, and now she's going to chuck me out on my perfectly-formed arse!
M: Ohh, sweetpea. I think I see what's going on here. Look. (lifting his little plastic chin) Didn't anybody ever have The Talk with you?
d!S: (sniffles) What talk?
M: Well, sometimes when a man and a woman love each other very much. . .wait. *frowns* Wrong talk.
d!S: (eyeroll) Oh for fuck's sake!
M: Sorry. Too soon for humor, huh? (a pause in which thoughts are gathered) Okay, here's how it is: sometimes grown-up writer ladies need to spend time with other characters, even if they love Spike very, very much. (exasperated) Aw geez. Would you please put that stake down and quit being such an enormous baby for half a second? (waits) Thank you. Think about it: even you and Buffy need, like, five minutes apart sometimes to get your blood sugar back up again and pee and stuff, right?
d!S: (suspicious) Where are you goin' with this?
M: And you always feel better for it afterwards. Yes?
d!S: (slowly) Yeah. . .
M: Well, Herself just needs to take Herself a little break every now and then. Flex those lovely writing muscles. And she'll be all the stronger for it when she comes back to you.
d!S: (hopeful) Really?
M: (sotto voce) Play your cards right, little mister, and she might even make Buffy cry.
d!S: Huh. (a beat) Right then, where do you want me?
M: That's the stuff. (seizes him) Let's find that flask, Big Bad.
--
Whew! I'm happy to report that once doll!Spike entered into the proper spirit of the thing, we had a lovely time decorating and creating an appropriately festive mood. See?
I should probably warn you that a few of Spike's suggestions were somewhat off-color, but I was so relieved to see him in a better mood that I just went with it. (Honestly? I was afraid to say anything that might damage his ridiculously outsized ego fragile trust in me and, more importantly, in himself. Also, the vinegar hadn't worn off and he was still a little combative.) Please forgive his boldness.
*headdesk* Vampires. Why did I have to pick vampires as subjects? At this point, I'll just be glad if I can produce a birthday greeting that won't lead to a) litigation or b) a restraining order.
Oh, what the hell. Who am I kidding? *cackles* I love taking pictures of vampires!
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, NANCYKAY!!
And, because a girl can never really have too many crotch shots of Spike, click here for a few more.
Hope you've had a wonderful day and that your evening is even more fantabulous, dear. *hugs* I wish you all good things in the coming year. Rawk on!!
Having failed utterly at delivering the intended goods, I decided to go with what I know; I hauled out the camera and retrieved doll!Spike from the spice cupboard. (He'd been drinking rice wine vinegar in there for three days straight, and lemme tell you, the phrase "pickled vampire" isn't nearly as funny to me as it once was; the smell was unbelievable.) Upon hearing that his, um, services would be required for yet another photo shoot, the talent became belligerent and started agitating for unionization and his own storage drawer. (Ha! When vampires who aren't Dracula fly, my little plastic friend.) As if his contrariness weren't enough to contend with, once doll!Spike learned the purpose of this very special session, he came completely unglued. I looked on in horror as he scaled a lamp and held a stake to his wee breast:
It took a while to figure out what the hell he was so upset about, and I had quite a time wrestling talking him down. An excerpt of our conversation follows:
doll!Spike: (between sobs) I can't believe you'd ask me to . . . and after what she's done to me! I'd rather be dust if it's really all over.
Mere: What are you talking about? Nothing's "over." NK's crazy about you! She's written almost forty stories about you, you stupid vampire.
d!S: Are you completely blind, woman? That's the bloody problem!
M: Honey, you're going to have to start making sense now.
d!S: (hysterical) Don't you see? She hasn't written a syllable about me in nine days, Mere. Nine! (weeping in abject misery) It's over. She's had her fun with me, and now she's going to chuck me out on my perfectly-formed arse!
M: Ohh, sweetpea. I think I see what's going on here. Look. (lifting his little plastic chin) Didn't anybody ever have The Talk with you?
d!S: (sniffles) What talk?
M: Well, sometimes when a man and a woman love each other very much. . .wait. *frowns* Wrong talk.
d!S: (eyeroll) Oh for fuck's sake!
M: Sorry. Too soon for humor, huh? (a pause in which thoughts are gathered) Okay, here's how it is: sometimes grown-up writer ladies need to spend time with other characters, even if they love Spike very, very much. (exasperated) Aw geez. Would you please put that stake down and quit being such an enormous baby for half a second? (waits) Thank you. Think about it: even you and Buffy need, like, five minutes apart sometimes to get your blood sugar back up again and pee and stuff, right?
d!S: (suspicious) Where are you goin' with this?
M: And you always feel better for it afterwards. Yes?
d!S: (slowly) Yeah. . .
M: Well, Herself just needs to take Herself a little break every now and then. Flex those lovely writing muscles. And she'll be all the stronger for it when she comes back to you.
d!S: (hopeful) Really?
M: (sotto voce) Play your cards right, little mister, and she might even make Buffy cry.
d!S: Huh. (a beat) Right then, where do you want me?
M: That's the stuff. (seizes him) Let's find that flask, Big Bad.
--
Whew! I'm happy to report that once doll!Spike entered into the proper spirit of the thing, we had a lovely time decorating and creating an appropriately festive mood. See?
I should probably warn you that a few of Spike's suggestions were somewhat off-color, but I was so relieved to see him in a better mood that I just went with it. (Honestly? I was afraid to say anything that might damage his ridiculously outsized ego fragile trust in me and, more importantly, in himself. Also, the vinegar hadn't worn off and he was still a little combative.) Please forgive his boldness.
*headdesk* Vampires. Why did I have to pick vampires as subjects? At this point, I'll just be glad if I can produce a birthday greeting that won't lead to a) litigation or b) a restraining order.
Oh, what the hell. Who am I kidding? *cackles* I love taking pictures of vampires!
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, NANCYKAY!!
And, because a girl can never really have too many crotch shots of Spike, click here for a few more.
Hope you've had a wonderful day and that your evening is even more fantabulous, dear. *hugs* I wish you all good things in the coming year. Rawk on!!