(Untitled)

[nobler_things]

Standing on Union Street in the chill darkness of a December's eve in London, he was only a few blocks from where the home he and his mother had shared had been. On the third day, he'd gone to look, finding that the buildings weren't quite what he remembered. In place of their brownstone was a candlemaker's shoppe, and he'd gone inside, coming out

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[shewaswarned]

The cold winter in the city is enough to remind her of New York, brutal and unrepentant, and it's with a strange sense of deja vu that she bundles up in order to prepare for her walk back from the Compound, having stopped to grab a new book or two from the shelf and a cup of hot cocoa from a kind stranger in the kitchen. Decembers in New York aren't even the harshest month, if memory serves. It's February that one often has to deal with ice and slightly more dangerous conditions. But somehow, Ellen gets the feeling that the snow won't be lasting that long. It's possible, and the island's proven her wrong in more ways than one, but she doesn't see it happening

[nobler_things]

"I think the preferred term is lurking," Spike drawled, one corner of his lips upturned in a weak smile. He was trying, of course, but nonchalance was a bit beyond him, at the moment.

His eyes lifting to hers, his smile becoming something a bit warmer, he added, "Found something, is all. Think it might have belonged to someone I loved, in another lifetime."

[shewaswarned]

"I suppose, given that you're sitting in the dark and everything," Ellen says, taking a few steps closer until she's within solid earshot and doesn't have to resort to raising her voice.

She's heard about people stumbling across things, items from their past. It hasn't happened to her yet, but that doesn't mean it won't, and she doesn't like to rule out anything - well, as a rule. "Fond memories, or - ?" She leaves the other option hanging in the air, unspoken.

[nobler_things]

"Not exclusively," he muttered, because it was complicated. Always complicated. Memories of Mother were fond, of course, until they weren't. Until they were steeped in blood and humiliation.

"Belonged to me Mum," he admitted, his hand splayed across the top of the box, the wood grain fine to the touch and richly polished.

[pylean_cow]

As strange as the idea of it might be, one of Fred's favorite things to do since the island suddenly became a replica of Victorian London has been to use the spatial parameters of the dimension as shortcuts. It's often quicker to walk as far east as she can to end up in the west.

That's just what she's done today, coming out near the west side of London when she finds Spike sitting on a stoop with a a small box on his knee.

"Whatcha got there?" she asks him, "Early Christmas present?"

[nobler_things]

There was a moment where he seemed not to hear her, where he seemed oblivious to her presence. But finally he blinked, seemed to shake himself out of a deep, distant fog, and said, "Hello, luv."

His hand resting atop the music box, he thought for a moment and added, "Not quite. Though I suppose it is a gift, of sorts."

[pylean_cow]

It's the tone of his voice that clues Fred in, and her expression falls.

"Let me guess," she says, "it's direct from this dimension's Powers That Be, huh?"

[nobler_things]

"Got it in one, pet," he admitted, lifting the lid, the alcove where they sat filled suddenly with that familiar tune.

He handed it over to her, the box resting carefully on her knee. Inside, weren't jewels of an aristocrat. Mother kept her few valuable pieces locked away. Inside were cameo broaches, combs and pins inlaid with semi-precious stones. A heavy silver locket and a ring-- ruby, flanked by tiny diamonds. A few pairs of earrings, some of them mismatched.

[chasinghumanity]

Mitchell had said he would try, but trying was a long, extended process. It still left him with large gaps of time to fill with something that wasn't alcohol, self-loathing or bitterness. It was harder than he had thought it would be, on account of the fact that he was now thoroughly out of practice in being happy.

He almost sighed in relief when he caught sight of Spike, grateful for someone to hang out with that he didn't have to make amends to or talk about serious things. But then he saw the man's face, the set of his shoulders and knew that the conversation wouldn't be light and sharp.

Mitchell walked up to stand in front of him. "What've you got?"

[nobler_things]

"A box," Spike answered flatly, an answer that gave no information at all. "What are you doing, skulking about?"

Any other time, he would've been glad to see him. Now, there was too much going on in his head. Things he'd rather not share.

[chasinghumanity]

A box. Mitchell bit back the sarcastic comment in reply, though his head twitched fractionally to the side as he regarded Spike. He was making an effort. He was on his best behavior, or something like it without becoming an unstomachable twat.

"I'm not skulking," he answered instead. "I'm walking. I know it's not hiding in shadows on stoops, but it's interesting enough for me."

Alright, maybe not best behavior. It was Spike after all.

[nobler_things]

Letting out a dismissive snort, Spike left the box resting on his knee as he patted down his pockets in search of a cigarette.

"Belonged to me mum. Heard the bloody thing from a block away," he muttered, flipping open the lid just long enough for Mitchell to hear that familiar song.

[poison_lipstick]

For someone who was used to wearing quite a bit less than what she currently had on, Saffron was pretty pleased with the change in fashion. The many layers took a little getting used to, but she'd worn many a corset in her time, and it wasn't long before she'd gotten the hang of it. She'd found a little shop not close to her and Xander's home that had the most gorgeous things, and was planning on taking advantage of that all month.

He had a hat that obscured his face a bit, but Saffron recognized Spike by the set of his shoulders and the way he held himself, sitting on the stoop of some building she didn't take the time to identify. Gathering up her skirts, she sat down next to him. "Hi," she said softly, and she could tell by the look in his eyes that whatever he was holding - some sort of jewelry or knick-knack box, maybe, from the look of it - wasn't something he'd picked up from one of the local shops for a Christmas gift.

[nobler_things]

"Helen," he greeted, his shoulders tensing just slightly when she sat, but it passed, quickly enough.

"Before you ask, I'm fine. Don't need a heart-to-heart."

[poison_lipstick]

"Fine by me, I was never much of a fan of the whole pouring out your feelings thing anyhow," Saffron replied, her eyebrows lifting slightly, though she wasn't going to push the issue.

"So how old were you, when this time actually happened?" she asked, plucking at her skirts. "You must have been pretty young, unless you were already turned."

[nobler_things]

He thought for a moment, his jaw working, "About thirty."

Too old to be living at home with dear old Mum.

"Was a long time ago. Last I saw this was... three, maybe four days after I was turned."

[chose]

All that brilliant snow and novelty aside, this year's winter prank - and she hopes that's all it is - leaves Buffy feeling deeply unnerved every now and then. It sunk in within the first few days for her, that this is London as Spike knew it when he was alive, and briefly, that realization was accompanied by some excitement. But in the weeks since, she has been feeling a growing sense of déjà vu, and a few days ago, she finally realized why: she has been here before. Not in reality, and never in such lucid detail, but there were nights when she visited these times in dreams, reliving some of Angel's darkest moments at the First's behest. Even on the island, undisturbed sleep has always eluded her, but the nightmares of late have been particularly brutal

[nobler_things]

"Are you narrating?" he asked, amusement curling his lips. A bit of that weight, that darkness, seemed to life, simply from having her near.

Flipping open the box, the song began to play, a soft metallic clang as the little gears turned inside.

"Belonged to me Mum. She didn't have many pretty things, never had want of them, but these were her favorites."

[chose]

Continued here.