Conversations About Dead People, Ch.9
Set after Buffy vs. Dracula. Spike goes after the eleven pounds.
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Sunnydale, 2000
By the time Spike arrived at the castle he’d affectionately nicknamed “Castle de la Wanker,” there was a moving van parked outside. He chuckled and, disregarding the ornate doorknocker, headed inside.
“Oi! Dracula! Got a score to settle with you!”
From the adjacent room came a voice, followed by the vampire himself. “There is no need to shout. We are not barbarians.” When he caught sight of Spike he paused. “Or perhaps we are. Do we know each other?”
Spike ceased his pacing. “Spike. We met once ‘bout a century back? In Ireland?” Dracula stared blankly. Spike sighed. “I was with Angelus.”
Recognition sparked. “Ah yes. I recall now. You were sloppy. Over-eager. Barely more than a fledgling. I was at a loss as to why Angelus and Darla allowed you to be their companion.” Spike glared. Dracula smirked. “I had no idea you were in Sunnydale.”
“Well I am. And I thought maybe you’d like to take this opportunity to make things nice and pay me that money you owe me.”
The smirk disappeared. “What money?”
Spike made an annoyed noise in the back of his throat, and resumed pacing. “You don’t remember? Darla caught wind of you trottin’ your story out for pay, and we were all set to take Stoker out, but you got to us first. Promised that you were giving him false information. Swore you weren’t selling out. And then you paid us off. Two hundred to each, except Dru, who said she didn’t need it. But you shorted me. Only got one eighty-nine. And by the way-“ he added, turning to face Dracula, “Who shorts a person eleven anyway? Why not ten? Or fifteen? Why eleven?” he was frowning again.
Dracula regarded him with a vaguely amused look. “I ran out. I had to give less to someone and you seemed the obvious choice. I did not believe you would survive long enough to use even the amount I gave you. Clearly I was wrong.”
“Clearly. So what of it? Do I get my money?”
Dracula swept him up and down with calculating eyes that saw far too much. “What do you want with eleven pounds?”
Spike glowered. “I’ve fallen on hard times as of late. But you’re the one with telepathy, so you already knew that. Even with the exchange rate, I figure I can get at least a pint.”
“How did you know I was here? I told no one I was coming.”
Spike blinked at the sudden change of topic. “Mind-reading on the fritz?’
He smiled slyly. “No. Sometimes I like to engage in an actual conversation. But be warned. I will know if you are lying.”
Spike swallowed. “Right. Slayer’s toy soldier told me.”
“The Slayer?”
He rolled his eyes. “‘Bout yay high, blonde, and, if the van full of dirt is any indication, just kicked your ass all over this castle?”
Dracula’s face lost all traces of amusement. He fixed Spike with a cold, unforgiving gaze. “I know who the Slayer is. But do you?”
He scoffed. “Course I do! Damn sight more than you, I’d wager!”
“Really? You think so?”
“I know so. You’ve been here what? Few days? I’ve been here years. No other demon’s ever known her so well.”
Dracula leaned against the mantle. “If you know her so well, why does she still live? I would have expected an Aurelian such as yourself would have disposed of her long before I’d even heard her name.”
“Because.” Spike ground out. “All down to luck. It was just one thing after another, and then, when I finally was in a position where I could fight her, I got this fucking chip shoved up into my grey matter. So now I can’t hurt anything. At all.” He stopped, chest heaving.
Dracula watched him for a moment before replying, “There are…other ways. Poison. Explosives. You could kill without touching her.”
“Oh, please! I have more integrity than that! Besides,” his voice softened and his eyes glazed. “I want her to know it’s me. My fists beating her down, my hands on her, my fangs slipping into her neck. And I’ll drain her dry. Consume her until there’s nothing left. Until I drown in her. And,” His eyes slid back to Dracula, “most importantly, I want her to know that I’m the one who finally won. All on my own. Without the help of bombs or cyanide.”
He watched as Dracula left his place by the mantle and advanced saying, “Then I feel sorry for you. If you wish to wait for a fight before drinking her, you will most likely be waiting a long time, and I can say with certainty you are truly missing out.”
Spike froze. A shiver of rage shot down his spine. “You tasted her?” his voice was steely, full of power he thought he’d lost along with the chip. How dare this sorry excuse for a monster roll into town and bite his slayer?
A lazy, satisfied smile stretched across Dracula’s face. “And she was exquisite.”
A moment later the smile was replaced by surprise. Spike’s face was inches away, fanged and yellow-eyed. “Touch her again and I will destroy you. Gypsy magic be damned.”
Dracula cocked his head. “Why do you care?”
He snarled. “Because she’s mine.”
Two blocks away, he remembered the eleven pounds and roared.
Fucking Slayer always ruined everything.
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Sunnydale, 2000
By the time Spike arrived at the castle he’d affectionately nicknamed “Castle de la Wanker,” there was a moving van parked outside. He chuckled and, disregarding the ornate doorknocker, headed inside.
“Oi! Dracula! Got a score to settle with you!”
From the adjacent room came a voice, followed by the vampire himself. “There is no need to shout. We are not barbarians.” When he caught sight of Spike he paused. “Or perhaps we are. Do we know each other?”
Spike ceased his pacing. “Spike. We met once ‘bout a century back? In Ireland?” Dracula stared blankly. Spike sighed. “I was with Angelus.”
Recognition sparked. “Ah yes. I recall now. You were sloppy. Over-eager. Barely more than a fledgling. I was at a loss as to why Angelus and Darla allowed you to be their companion.” Spike glared. Dracula smirked. “I had no idea you were in Sunnydale.”
“Well I am. And I thought maybe you’d like to take this opportunity to make things nice and pay me that money you owe me.”
The smirk disappeared. “What money?”
Spike made an annoyed noise in the back of his throat, and resumed pacing. “You don’t remember? Darla caught wind of you trottin’ your story out for pay, and we were all set to take Stoker out, but you got to us first. Promised that you were giving him false information. Swore you weren’t selling out. And then you paid us off. Two hundred to each, except Dru, who said she didn’t need it. But you shorted me. Only got one eighty-nine. And by the way-“ he added, turning to face Dracula, “Who shorts a person eleven anyway? Why not ten? Or fifteen? Why eleven?” he was frowning again.
Dracula regarded him with a vaguely amused look. “I ran out. I had to give less to someone and you seemed the obvious choice. I did not believe you would survive long enough to use even the amount I gave you. Clearly I was wrong.”
“Clearly. So what of it? Do I get my money?”
Dracula swept him up and down with calculating eyes that saw far too much. “What do you want with eleven pounds?”
Spike glowered. “I’ve fallen on hard times as of late. But you’re the one with telepathy, so you already knew that. Even with the exchange rate, I figure I can get at least a pint.”
“How did you know I was here? I told no one I was coming.”
Spike blinked at the sudden change of topic. “Mind-reading on the fritz?’
He smiled slyly. “No. Sometimes I like to engage in an actual conversation. But be warned. I will know if you are lying.”
Spike swallowed. “Right. Slayer’s toy soldier told me.”
“The Slayer?”
He rolled his eyes. “‘Bout yay high, blonde, and, if the van full of dirt is any indication, just kicked your ass all over this castle?”
Dracula’s face lost all traces of amusement. He fixed Spike with a cold, unforgiving gaze. “I know who the Slayer is. But do you?”
He scoffed. “Course I do! Damn sight more than you, I’d wager!”
“Really? You think so?”
“I know so. You’ve been here what? Few days? I’ve been here years. No other demon’s ever known her so well.”
Dracula leaned against the mantle. “If you know her so well, why does she still live? I would have expected an Aurelian such as yourself would have disposed of her long before I’d even heard her name.”
“Because.” Spike ground out. “All down to luck. It was just one thing after another, and then, when I finally was in a position where I could fight her, I got this fucking chip shoved up into my grey matter. So now I can’t hurt anything. At all.” He stopped, chest heaving.
Dracula watched him for a moment before replying, “There are…other ways. Poison. Explosives. You could kill without touching her.”
“Oh, please! I have more integrity than that! Besides,” his voice softened and his eyes glazed. “I want her to know it’s me. My fists beating her down, my hands on her, my fangs slipping into her neck. And I’ll drain her dry. Consume her until there’s nothing left. Until I drown in her. And,” His eyes slid back to Dracula, “most importantly, I want her to know that I’m the one who finally won. All on my own. Without the help of bombs or cyanide.”
He watched as Dracula left his place by the mantle and advanced saying, “Then I feel sorry for you. If you wish to wait for a fight before drinking her, you will most likely be waiting a long time, and I can say with certainty you are truly missing out.”
Spike froze. A shiver of rage shot down his spine. “You tasted her?” his voice was steely, full of power he thought he’d lost along with the chip. How dare this sorry excuse for a monster roll into town and bite his slayer?
A lazy, satisfied smile stretched across Dracula’s face. “And she was exquisite.”
A moment later the smile was replaced by surprise. Spike’s face was inches away, fanged and yellow-eyed. “Touch her again and I will destroy you. Gypsy magic be damned.”
Dracula cocked his head. “Why do you care?”
He snarled. “Because she’s mine.”
Two blocks away, he remembered the eleven pounds and roared.
Fucking Slayer always ruined everything.