( Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer or any of Mr Whedon's characters. I do not own Labyrinth or its inhabitants. I DO own me and I hope what I've slapped together for fun makes everyone else happy too! Enjoy!)
The door creaked slowly open, the shop bell muffled with a cold hand. Soft footfalls stalked the shadows, creeping cautiously towards the only illuminated place in the room - a round, wooden table stacked with papers where an unsuspecting figure sat, poring over a heavy book. Darkness concealed the shape prowling amongst the cluttered shelves, closing in on its victim, bright yellow eyes glowing like unnatural fires. Lightly dusted shelves cluttered with curious paraphernalia cowered into the deeper recesses of the store as though they lived and shirked the presence that had entered. Two ashen arms emerged from the black and clawing fingers reached to grasp the human's neck with all the intent of snapping it in two.
"Go home, Spike," sighed the bespectacled man, not bothering to observe the intruder's surprise.
The would-be attacker stalked out of the gloom and slumped into one of the chairs nearby, the light picking out the furrows in his horribly contorted and sulking face.
"You always have to spoil it, don't you?" he grumbled in California-tainted Cockney. "Every tiny bleeding thing I do around here to amuse myself-."
"You could be useful for a change. I'm sure you know how to read. There's plenty you could be doing to help the rest of us, but I doubt that a single atom in your body would have enough decency to try."
Spike sneered.
"I'm bored, old man!"
"Then for goodness sake stop blathering on about it and go do something," the shopkeeper snapped, removing his glasses and finally looking up from his book. "And before you call me 'old man' again, you might want to think. Your considerable count of years is enough to be twice my grandfather."
The sallow-faced vampire swung his booted feet onto the table and folded his arms behind his head. The molten tint to his irises faded and his monstrous visage smoothed out into the complexion of a youthful man.
"Yeah, but I'm a hell of a lot more handsome for my age," he gloated. "Anyway, where've those little demon-slaying junkies of yours buggered off to? Aren't you supposed to be doing mentor stuff, teaching 'em how not to get their lungs ripped out? That's what you Watcher's do, innit?"
The Watcher, or Rupert Giles as he was more familiarly known, had returned his attention to the book he was engrossed in. He groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose in a weary manner.
"Spike, it's three a.m., they're all dreaming about university finals or whatever else is fluttering about in their heads at this time." He wasn't about to correct the fact that he was actually an 'ex-Watcher', dismissed by a council that issued orders to their vampire slayers - women destined to destroy evil from the moment they are chosen. Regardless of whether Spike knew this position or not, he was not in the mood for bickering about it.
The vampire considered making some cynical reply but slid his feet back to the floor and leaned across the spread of books to see what Giles found so intriguing. Without a thought as to the Watcher's privacy, he lifted the tome to inspect the cover.
He gave an unintelligible grunt.
"Well?" asked Giles.
"Well what?"
"I assume your guttural noise meant something to do with this text?"
"No."
The Watcher stared at the vampire for some time who eventually sank back into his chair with his hands clasped, rolling his eyes.
"All right," Spike said, sniffing with disinterest. "Some kids' story. Been around for years. Heard people talk about some ponceing old faerie king that snatches babes from cradles and some bird running through a maze to get 'er brother back. Total bollocks if you ask me."
"Quite," said Giles after some time. "If it's that much of a bore to you, then you won't mind me telling you to go away and let me read in peace."
The vampire sighed and stood up as though needing to stretch his legs. He strutted around the shop for a few moments, browsing the shelves; his hands plunged deep into the pockets of his long, black leather coat. Then, regardless of the large printed sign reading 'Do Not Lean On The Counter' that was pasted on the glass, he seated himself next to the till.
"How can you stand it in here?" he asked. "Shouldn't you be out fighting my friends or bringing up some family? Whatever happened to that black damsel that used to hang about your pretty little homestead?"
This sparked something in the listener. Giles slammed the book closed and proceeded to glare menacingly.
"Remind me to take you for a brisk walk in the sunlight tomorrow morning," he growled.
Spike sucked his teeth smugly, springing lightly from the counter.
"See, this is what I love about you people. You're all so damn nervy." He slinked closer to the Watcher. "One teensy little poke and you're wailing into your bed-pillows. Bloody lark is what it is."
Giles inhaled slowly, ignoring the inane grin pasted on the vampire's face, and began to search again for his place in his book. After a few moments of flicking pages, his shoulders ceased to be tense and he huddled over the text.
Eyes flitting from tome to human, Spike became increasingly jaded at the silence. Unable to stand it, he plucked the book from under the Watcher's nose and darted to the back of the shop. He chuckled like a child and scrambled up the ladder to the forbidden section of the Magic Box.
"Spike, I am warning you!" Giles bellowed from below. "As Buffy's Watcher I am perfectly capable of having you eradicated, with or without her permission."
The vampire's head peered over the top of the ladder. He smirked at the mention of the Slayer's name. She wouldn't kill him, he sniggered to himself, she was too kind, no, complicated for that - too humane to destroy a creature that could not harm her. Not since those old friends of her late soldier-boy planted this infernal chip in my brain, sending electrical impulses of unadulterated pain surging through my head whenever I attempt to snack on someone...
Giles had started to ascend the ladder, but crashed back down to the shop floor having been bombarded with a series of heavy spell books. Spike's voice resonated from the balcony.
"Now let's see..." he paused to browse where the angry Watcher had read up to. "Bloody hell. Is there anywhere you haven't spilled coffee on? Ah, right, here we go." The vampire beamed and put on a booming show speech. "'Goblin King, wherever you may be, take this child of mine far away from me!'"
He laughed.
"She really had it in for her brother, didn't she?"
"Give me that book, right now!" Giles demanded, rubbing his head.
"Ooh that's a toughie," replied Spike. Then, after a few moments of thought, "No."
The Watcher seethed behind his steaming-up glasses.
"Now you listen to me! If you think that you can just-."
The vampire leapt to his feet, the book balanced open in one hand. His eyes were closed and his free palm outward as though he were about to read an incantation. So what if it's just a story, Spike thought, the look on his face is entertainment enough.
"Do you know what I wish?" he asked, his eyes brimming with power as Giles raced again to the ladder. "I wish that prancing, namby-pamby, stinking Goblin King would come and whisk your arse out of Sunnydale, right now!"
Silence fell once more. The vampire lowered his arms and sighed, tossing the book behind him. Its moment of interest had passed.
"All right, grumpy," he said, peering down to the ground floor. "You can have your sodding boo-."
The Watcher was nowhere to be seen.
"-k."
Spike placed two hands on the balcony rail and leaned to scour the shop, his scarred brow furrowing in confusion.
"Right, funny. Ha, ha, Giles. Joke's on old Spike. You got me! I'll play nice, just don't go jumpin' out and staking anybody."
The sound of breaking glass caught the vampire's attention. His face contorted instinctively; the eyes flashing yellow; fangs protruding behind his upper lip. He growled softly, staring at the shop below, waiting for something to cross the floor.
Chattering sounds, fluttering, shuffling, filled his senses and painted the walls with dancing shadows. It was impossible to hone in on any one noise, for where it had been a second before was lost amongst the fray. Tiny, possibly clawed feet skittered in hearing distance; something that was no more than two feet tall vanished with a 'whoop' behind the cash register; items tumbled off shelves or rocked dangerously.
Spike was too occupied with the clamour to notice the creature behind him; keen, discordant eyes, vicious curved beak. Only at the moment that it rose to take the form of a man did he turn his head. He was greeted with a glancing blow across his face that cleared him from the balcony.
The vampire crashed through the table, sending papers and books spilling amongst the splintered debris. He looked up, dazed, from the Magic Box floor at the imposing figure that stood shrouded in darkness.
A black cloak that glittered as stardust seemed to pour obediently around the body of its master, pinned at a silken throat that hosted a glimmering pendant. White-blonde hair struck out wildly, creating, along with sweeping blue tints to the eyebrows, the impression of an owl. A company of ugly little creatures gathered around a pair of leather boots and joined the mysterious intruder in watching their summoner.
"Well," said Spike. "This was unexpected."
The door creaked slowly open, the shop bell muffled with a cold hand. Soft footfalls stalked the shadows, creeping cautiously towards the only illuminated place in the room - a round, wooden table stacked with papers where an unsuspecting figure sat, poring over a heavy book. Darkness concealed the shape prowling amongst the cluttered shelves, closing in on its victim, bright yellow eyes glowing like unnatural fires. Lightly dusted shelves cluttered with curious paraphernalia cowered into the deeper recesses of the store as though they lived and shirked the presence that had entered. Two ashen arms emerged from the black and clawing fingers reached to grasp the human's neck with all the intent of snapping it in two.
"Go home, Spike," sighed the bespectacled man, not bothering to observe the intruder's surprise.
The would-be attacker stalked out of the gloom and slumped into one of the chairs nearby, the light picking out the furrows in his horribly contorted and sulking face.
"You always have to spoil it, don't you?" he grumbled in California-tainted Cockney. "Every tiny bleeding thing I do around here to amuse myself-."
"You could be useful for a change. I'm sure you know how to read. There's plenty you could be doing to help the rest of us, but I doubt that a single atom in your body would have enough decency to try."
Spike sneered.
"I'm bored, old man!"
"Then for goodness sake stop blathering on about it and go do something," the shopkeeper snapped, removing his glasses and finally looking up from his book. "And before you call me 'old man' again, you might want to think. Your considerable count of years is enough to be twice my grandfather."
The sallow-faced vampire swung his booted feet onto the table and folded his arms behind his head. The molten tint to his irises faded and his monstrous visage smoothed out into the complexion of a youthful man.
"Yeah, but I'm a hell of a lot more handsome for my age," he gloated. "Anyway, where've those little demon-slaying junkies of yours buggered off to? Aren't you supposed to be doing mentor stuff, teaching 'em how not to get their lungs ripped out? That's what you Watcher's do, innit?"
The Watcher, or Rupert Giles as he was more familiarly known, had returned his attention to the book he was engrossed in. He groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose in a weary manner.
"Spike, it's three a.m., they're all dreaming about university finals or whatever else is fluttering about in their heads at this time." He wasn't about to correct the fact that he was actually an 'ex-Watcher', dismissed by a council that issued orders to their vampire slayers - women destined to destroy evil from the moment they are chosen. Regardless of whether Spike knew this position or not, he was not in the mood for bickering about it.
The vampire considered making some cynical reply but slid his feet back to the floor and leaned across the spread of books to see what Giles found so intriguing. Without a thought as to the Watcher's privacy, he lifted the tome to inspect the cover.
He gave an unintelligible grunt.
"Well?" asked Giles.
"Well what?"
"I assume your guttural noise meant something to do with this text?"
"No."
The Watcher stared at the vampire for some time who eventually sank back into his chair with his hands clasped, rolling his eyes.
"All right," Spike said, sniffing with disinterest. "Some kids' story. Been around for years. Heard people talk about some ponceing old faerie king that snatches babes from cradles and some bird running through a maze to get 'er brother back. Total bollocks if you ask me."
"Quite," said Giles after some time. "If it's that much of a bore to you, then you won't mind me telling you to go away and let me read in peace."
The vampire sighed and stood up as though needing to stretch his legs. He strutted around the shop for a few moments, browsing the shelves; his hands plunged deep into the pockets of his long, black leather coat. Then, regardless of the large printed sign reading 'Do Not Lean On The Counter' that was pasted on the glass, he seated himself next to the till.
"How can you stand it in here?" he asked. "Shouldn't you be out fighting my friends or bringing up some family? Whatever happened to that black damsel that used to hang about your pretty little homestead?"
This sparked something in the listener. Giles slammed the book closed and proceeded to glare menacingly.
"Remind me to take you for a brisk walk in the sunlight tomorrow morning," he growled.
Spike sucked his teeth smugly, springing lightly from the counter.
"See, this is what I love about you people. You're all so damn nervy." He slinked closer to the Watcher. "One teensy little poke and you're wailing into your bed-pillows. Bloody lark is what it is."
Giles inhaled slowly, ignoring the inane grin pasted on the vampire's face, and began to search again for his place in his book. After a few moments of flicking pages, his shoulders ceased to be tense and he huddled over the text.
Eyes flitting from tome to human, Spike became increasingly jaded at the silence. Unable to stand it, he plucked the book from under the Watcher's nose and darted to the back of the shop. He chuckled like a child and scrambled up the ladder to the forbidden section of the Magic Box.
"Spike, I am warning you!" Giles bellowed from below. "As Buffy's Watcher I am perfectly capable of having you eradicated, with or without her permission."
The vampire's head peered over the top of the ladder. He smirked at the mention of the Slayer's name. She wouldn't kill him, he sniggered to himself, she was too kind, no, complicated for that - too humane to destroy a creature that could not harm her. Not since those old friends of her late soldier-boy planted this infernal chip in my brain, sending electrical impulses of unadulterated pain surging through my head whenever I attempt to snack on someone...
Giles had started to ascend the ladder, but crashed back down to the shop floor having been bombarded with a series of heavy spell books. Spike's voice resonated from the balcony.
"Now let's see..." he paused to browse where the angry Watcher had read up to. "Bloody hell. Is there anywhere you haven't spilled coffee on? Ah, right, here we go." The vampire beamed and put on a booming show speech. "'Goblin King, wherever you may be, take this child of mine far away from me!'"
He laughed.
"She really had it in for her brother, didn't she?"
"Give me that book, right now!" Giles demanded, rubbing his head.
"Ooh that's a toughie," replied Spike. Then, after a few moments of thought, "No."
The Watcher seethed behind his steaming-up glasses.
"Now you listen to me! If you think that you can just-."
The vampire leapt to his feet, the book balanced open in one hand. His eyes were closed and his free palm outward as though he were about to read an incantation. So what if it's just a story, Spike thought, the look on his face is entertainment enough.
"Do you know what I wish?" he asked, his eyes brimming with power as Giles raced again to the ladder. "I wish that prancing, namby-pamby, stinking Goblin King would come and whisk your arse out of Sunnydale, right now!"
Silence fell once more. The vampire lowered his arms and sighed, tossing the book behind him. Its moment of interest had passed.
"All right, grumpy," he said, peering down to the ground floor. "You can have your sodding boo-."
The Watcher was nowhere to be seen.
"-k."
Spike placed two hands on the balcony rail and leaned to scour the shop, his scarred brow furrowing in confusion.
"Right, funny. Ha, ha, Giles. Joke's on old Spike. You got me! I'll play nice, just don't go jumpin' out and staking anybody."
The sound of breaking glass caught the vampire's attention. His face contorted instinctively; the eyes flashing yellow; fangs protruding behind his upper lip. He growled softly, staring at the shop below, waiting for something to cross the floor.
Chattering sounds, fluttering, shuffling, filled his senses and painted the walls with dancing shadows. It was impossible to hone in on any one noise, for where it had been a second before was lost amongst the fray. Tiny, possibly clawed feet skittered in hearing distance; something that was no more than two feet tall vanished with a 'whoop' behind the cash register; items tumbled off shelves or rocked dangerously.
Spike was too occupied with the clamour to notice the creature behind him; keen, discordant eyes, vicious curved beak. Only at the moment that it rose to take the form of a man did he turn his head. He was greeted with a glancing blow across his face that cleared him from the balcony.
The vampire crashed through the table, sending papers and books spilling amongst the splintered debris. He looked up, dazed, from the Magic Box floor at the imposing figure that stood shrouded in darkness.
A black cloak that glittered as stardust seemed to pour obediently around the body of its master, pinned at a silken throat that hosted a glimmering pendant. White-blonde hair struck out wildly, creating, along with sweeping blue tints to the eyebrows, the impression of an owl. A company of ugly little creatures gathered around a pair of leather boots and joined the mysterious intruder in watching their summoner.
"Well," said Spike. "This was unexpected."