Well... I Sing (PG)
Title Well… I Sing
Author Brutti ma buoni
Words 650
Rating PG
Characters Darla, Buffy, Oz, Spike
Setting Alternate BtVS season 2
Prompt For the image of Macbeth drinking milk that turns to blood, and also for my trope bingo prompt AU: band. This is *not* an all-human AU. Not at all. But it is a) very weirdly AU crammed into a small space and b) inspired by a couple of lines from becoming. ("Yeah, she's hell on the old skins.") What if....?
"But she's, like, twelve," said Darla, pouting.
"She's seventeen," Spike replied, evenly. "And she's good." He wasn't kidding. Had surprised him, near knocked him flat, when he first heard her, and she deserved better than the kiddie band she played with or to be bloody Angel's dumped groupie forever.
"Angel won't like it."
"Angel can go swivel." This had been Spike's standard answer to pretty much everything since 1900, if not slightly before. Right now, it was said with extra feeling. What business did the fucker have, going off on some poncey nervo just when they were going to make it big? There was a reason why he'd shown an inconvenient romantic interest in the blonde teeny-bopper, and it had a hell of a lot more to do with her drumming skills than her fashion sense or her manifest destiny. Bloody drummers were nothing but trouble anyway.
Of course, the fact Angel's evil breakdown had come with a side of Drusilla seduction didn't help. Not only was she Spike's girl, nobody played bass like Dru. Nobody. Spike swigged moodily at his milk. (Same bloody proteins, sure, but not much of a substitute. But Spike'd scoffed his entire weekly blood ration in a fit of fury when Dru walked out on the band, and this was all he had till Wednesday. Fucking Angel. He tried to imagine the milk into blood as he swallowed, without notable success.)
"Hello?" At that point, Buffy Summers walked cautiously into the band practice room. Okay, Spike and Darla's house. What used to be the heart of their non-evil vampire clan. Whatever. Spike was pleased to see her. Less so, that she'd brought a groupie.
"Um, Slayer? Who's the tagalong?"
"Wolf," said Darla, distastefully sniffing the air.
"Oz," said the blue-haired male, remaining calm.
"Bassist," said Buffy, shrugging. "You said you were lacking in that department, I thought Oz could try out."
Blue haired Oz nodded. "Dingoes ate my baby are going nowhere, man. Also, they weren't sensitive to my personal scheduling issues. Last week, I almost ate the drummer. We're calling it artistic differences."
"Fine. Fine," Spike near-shouted, throwing up his hands. Bloody girl, turning his world upside down all round. Though as Oz started tuning up, he reckoned it was pretty decent of her to have bothered with all this. Wasn't really her fault Angel had gone tonto, even if sneaking around with blondie behind Darla's back had been the start of losing his soul. "You want to bring a werewolf into a den of semi-reformed vamps, you do that, kiddo. You do that."
Oz said, "I have no problem with vampires." Good deadpan, that kid. Or else news of the historic feud of various forms of biting predator hadn't made it to the California teen set. But when the kid continued, Spike had to admit he had a grasp of the situation. "The way I understand it, you're a bunch of cursed, re-ensouled vampires, whiling away eternity with rock music. Which I can respect."
"Erm." Spike blinked. "Yeah. That about covers it."
Not only did he have a pithy way with exposition, warming up, wolf boy wasn't half bad on the bass. Knew more than one track from before 1990. Whole bunch of them, actually. And Spike already knew Buffy was okay.
Now, if Darla could wipe the sneer off her face long enough to play lead, and if Spike could loosen his milk-tightened vocals enough to do the songs justice, and yes, if they could only stop Angel from ending the world in a crazed exhibition of ultimate evil violence, this might even work.
***
Author Brutti ma buoni
Words 650
Rating PG
Characters Darla, Buffy, Oz, Spike
Setting Alternate BtVS season 2
Prompt For the image of Macbeth drinking milk that turns to blood, and also for my trope bingo prompt AU: band. This is *not* an all-human AU. Not at all. But it is a) very weirdly AU crammed into a small space and b) inspired by a couple of lines from becoming. ("Yeah, she's hell on the old skins.") What if....?
"But she's, like, twelve," said Darla, pouting.
"She's seventeen," Spike replied, evenly. "And she's good." He wasn't kidding. Had surprised him, near knocked him flat, when he first heard her, and she deserved better than the kiddie band she played with or to be bloody Angel's dumped groupie forever.
"Angel won't like it."
"Angel can go swivel." This had been Spike's standard answer to pretty much everything since 1900, if not slightly before. Right now, it was said with extra feeling. What business did the fucker have, going off on some poncey nervo just when they were going to make it big? There was a reason why he'd shown an inconvenient romantic interest in the blonde teeny-bopper, and it had a hell of a lot more to do with her drumming skills than her fashion sense or her manifest destiny. Bloody drummers were nothing but trouble anyway.
Of course, the fact Angel's evil breakdown had come with a side of Drusilla seduction didn't help. Not only was she Spike's girl, nobody played bass like Dru. Nobody. Spike swigged moodily at his milk. (Same bloody proteins, sure, but not much of a substitute. But Spike'd scoffed his entire weekly blood ration in a fit of fury when Dru walked out on the band, and this was all he had till Wednesday. Fucking Angel. He tried to imagine the milk into blood as he swallowed, without notable success.)
"Hello?" At that point, Buffy Summers walked cautiously into the band practice room. Okay, Spike and Darla's house. What used to be the heart of their non-evil vampire clan. Whatever. Spike was pleased to see her. Less so, that she'd brought a groupie.
"Um, Slayer? Who's the tagalong?"
"Wolf," said Darla, distastefully sniffing the air.
"Oz," said the blue-haired male, remaining calm.
"Bassist," said Buffy, shrugging. "You said you were lacking in that department, I thought Oz could try out."
Blue haired Oz nodded. "Dingoes ate my baby are going nowhere, man. Also, they weren't sensitive to my personal scheduling issues. Last week, I almost ate the drummer. We're calling it artistic differences."
"Fine. Fine," Spike near-shouted, throwing up his hands. Bloody girl, turning his world upside down all round. Though as Oz started tuning up, he reckoned it was pretty decent of her to have bothered with all this. Wasn't really her fault Angel had gone tonto, even if sneaking around with blondie behind Darla's back had been the start of losing his soul. "You want to bring a werewolf into a den of semi-reformed vamps, you do that, kiddo. You do that."
Oz said, "I have no problem with vampires." Good deadpan, that kid. Or else news of the historic feud of various forms of biting predator hadn't made it to the California teen set. But when the kid continued, Spike had to admit he had a grasp of the situation. "The way I understand it, you're a bunch of cursed, re-ensouled vampires, whiling away eternity with rock music. Which I can respect."
"Erm." Spike blinked. "Yeah. That about covers it."
Not only did he have a pithy way with exposition, warming up, wolf boy wasn't half bad on the bass. Knew more than one track from before 1990. Whole bunch of them, actually. And Spike already knew Buffy was okay.
Now, if Darla could wipe the sneer off her face long enough to play lead, and if Spike could loosen his milk-tightened vocals enough to do the songs justice, and yes, if they could only stop Angel from ending the world in a crazed exhibition of ultimate evil violence, this might even work.
***