Title: Condolences
Author: Primadonna
Rating: Let's go with R- As my story progresses and Spike gets exceedingly drunk his verbal skills deteriorate. There also may be some really bloody and violent referneces for fun, and Dru snogging because that always seemed to put Spike in a good mood.
Summary: The Slayer before Buffy dies (this would be when Buffy's called, except of course Spike doesn't know). Spike's reaction- not what you'd expect, eh?
Pairings: I am 100% a Buffy-Spike 'shipper, believe me, but we need to remember that he was with Drusilla for what, a 100 years? And, he didn't even know Buffy (also, take into consideration that whole period where he tried to kill her and her friends…)
Comment: I just realized this: Why is Spike always picked on? First he was a total (endearing) nerd, then he was pretty much used by Dru, then he was in a wheelchair ("Sit-'n'-Spin", Angelus called him) and then he got the chip!!!! Poor luv.
WRITE AND REVIEW!!!!!!! If you read it and don't like it, at least tell me so that I can improve, k? And if you do like it, shower me with praise. I'm not Primadonna simply because I like the name. Thanks. Now, enjoy.
October 1994
"Bloody Hell!!" I moaned painfully. I looked at the cards that lay on the table in front of Drusilla, and frowned to myself. So, the rumours were true, said so as plainly. Strength, Death, and the High Priestess, staring back at me, mocking me.
The Slayer was dead. I closed my eyes, taking deep breaths my lungs couldn't feel.
Drake- possibly Dan, or Dean, or some other poofter name- came down into the cellar just then. "M-Master Spike?" He stammered, remaining halfway up the stairs between the door and me, as if afraid to come any closer.
I impatiently waved him down, already knowing what he was going to tell me.
"Just Spike, mate, for the last-" I picked up a chair and slammed it against the heavy oak table, "bleedin' time. All right?" He nodded, then swallowed, eyeing the stake I had fashioned in my hand. He was so scared I'm sure he was going to wet his pants. But he didn't, the boy had a little dignity left in him. He was a total ball-less wanker, but that was the way you get some minions. Smart ones that can help you out, but with no dreams in their head of knocking you out. Ones who did stand up, you had to kill as an example, no matter how much you admire them.
I waited for him to continue, already knowing what this was about. "The Slayer, she- she was killed by a M'Fashnik demon in Barcelona this morning. Probably around 2 or 3, the time of Drusilla's vision." Dru looked up just then, her eyes glassy after reading her tarots as they always were. Like a drug trip, except stronger.
She trained her stare on the boy. "Darry." The minion, presumably Darry, shifted on the balls of his feet. Dru scared him more than me. Smart lad.
"Come here." She beckoned him forward with an elegant stir of her wrist. She continued the motion until he was beside her, within a few inches. He was completely charmed, and only half was magic. The rest was her.
"Now," she began in a prim voice, "you've made my Spike sad." Darry nodded. "Say you're sorry." I gave a tight-lipped smile, just waiting to pounce. Dru was setting me up to let go of a little of my frustration.
Darry knew he was in the middle of a trap. He looked from me to her, his eyes darting back and forth as if in a game of tennis. Or Pong. I always fancied that game.
"I-I- M-mas- Spike!! Just Spike!!!- I am ter-ter-very sorry, I…" He grimaced, at a loss for words. I couldn't do it. I raised my hand to stop him. "Get the hell out. Now." I spoke quietly, and wasn't sure he heard me as he stayed rooted onto place, then suddenly he was halfway up the stairs. I gave a low chuckle after him; Darry wouldn't be back.
I kept my eyes trained on the stairs, and heard Drusilla get up from the table. Her dress rustled around her, silk whispering over the concrete floor as she danced lazily towards me.
"She didn't even have a chance to scream," she sing-songed, "And now the ground is going to eat her up." I knew who she was talking about.
"Ducks, I'm going out for a bite to eat. I'll bring you back someone." I spoke tenderly to her, running my fingers across her temples. She nodded, then went to play with Miss Edith. Her favourite doll, and her only reminder of life before becoming a vampire. Most changed found it disturbing, but I understood the importance of her connection.
I made my way up the staircase and through the empty manor. We could have lived in the house- we had even bought it legitimately, this time- but Dru hated being out in the open, or what she considered unprotected, ever since Prague. I always tried to convince her that we were safe, moving her to gorgeous houses with rooms I just knew she would want to inhabit, but she insisted. So the two of us lived in the cellar.
I walked out the open door (I really did put the fear of God into Darry) and out into the early New Orleans evening. There was light over the horizon, a soft glow light enough to be called late afternoon but still safe for me to enjoy it in indirect sunlight. I stepped over a pile of ashes just outside of the garden's gate.
***
I made my way towards the demon district, not surprised to hear loud carousing, vampires and chaos demons celebrating in harmony over the death of their comon enemy. A Vantlar demon patted me good naturedly on the shoulder and I turned back to him, vamping out. I growled low in my throat. He gave me an odd look, then seemed to have realized who I was because his expression sobered.
"Hey, I'm sorry man, better luck next time," he shook his head. He then turned from me, yelling across the street to a M'Fashnik demon, "Hey!! I heard the guy was your cousin!! Say congrats for me!"
Moodily I reached my favourite bar, a place that was usually that showed some class. Karloff's. I sat at the end of the bar, farthest from the door. The jukebox in the centre of the room was playing some crappy Beatles hit. Nope, then it changed to "Copacabana". Like I bleedin' well needed this.
I glared in the direction of the music, where a small slimy demon was feeding the jukebox with what must have been a dozen quarters.
"D'you think you could turn off the FUCKIN' BARRY MANILOW?!?!!?" The demon must have been of the exceptionally dim variety, as he did little more than blink at me. His companion, a Fyarl demon, must have known I was about ready to resort to violence as he reached behind the machine and unplugged it. He quickly ushered his friend outside. Dammit. I needed blood.
Fine, I thought to myself, with everyone doing all they could to bne on my best side or ignoring me all together, I'd just drink myself into a stupor wallow in a little self pity about the one that got away, and then drag my sorry ass home to Dru before I fried.
A vamp came up behind me, clamping his hand on my shoulder. Before I could make a snarky comment, he yelled to the bartender "Can we get William the Bloody whatever he wants down here? On me." More than a few heads turned in my direction, just realizing who I was. A moment of silence seemed to hang in the air for the slayer of two slayers, especially appropriate this particular evening.
The vampire sat down beside me and introduced himself as Michael. "A pleasure to meet you, sir," he stated as he shook my hand vigorously.
I raised my eyebrow in surprise. "You can't be turned more than three years. How d'you know who I am?"
He shrugged slightly, "I was turned two years ago. My sire was a big, big fan of yours, sir. He kept newspapers and clippings on your signature work."
"Is that so?" The bartender slapped down two shot glasses and a bottle of Jack Daniel's. A good man, that Boris. I've frequented many a bar, Human and otherwise, and Krloff's was by far my favourite. And yes, it is Boris Karloff, for those of the informed, the star of the original Mummy. He's actually a vampire, one of the oldest I've met at 800 years old. He used to be known for one of the most violent bloodlusts in demon history, until he fell in love with a human girl and mellowed out about a 150 years ago. He loved acting, he told me once, because that was what his love had done. He was on a 75 year hiatus because he figured people would become suspicious if their favourite actor never aged. I told him he gave people too much credit. Anyway, that hiatus was why he opened many a business venture, and why he ran this bar. Sort of a hobby of sorts for him.
"And where's the lovely Drusilla this evening?" Boris asked as he poured two shots, sliding one in front of both myself and my new chum Michael.
I downed my shot. "She had a nasty vision, decided to stay at home and play with Ms. Edith." Boris gave a short barking laugh as he began to pour Jack Daniels.
"I knew if it pertained to the Slayer you'd hear about it first." He left the bottle with me as he moved on to another customer. This was a signal that he wasn't finished talking. I rolled my eyes despite the fact (or maybe because) I couldn't help smiling. As the eldest of all who ever entered his bar, Boris felt it was his duty to bestow advice on us as greatly and as frequently possible. Wonder what little gem he'd pass along today?
TBC- More written, just testing out my audience…. Either that, or I'm too lazy to type. REVIEW if you want more.
Author: Primadonna
Rating: Let's go with R- As my story progresses and Spike gets exceedingly drunk his verbal skills deteriorate. There also may be some really bloody and violent referneces for fun, and Dru snogging because that always seemed to put Spike in a good mood.
Summary: The Slayer before Buffy dies (this would be when Buffy's called, except of course Spike doesn't know). Spike's reaction- not what you'd expect, eh?
Pairings: I am 100% a Buffy-Spike 'shipper, believe me, but we need to remember that he was with Drusilla for what, a 100 years? And, he didn't even know Buffy (also, take into consideration that whole period where he tried to kill her and her friends…)
Comment: I just realized this: Why is Spike always picked on? First he was a total (endearing) nerd, then he was pretty much used by Dru, then he was in a wheelchair ("Sit-'n'-Spin", Angelus called him) and then he got the chip!!!! Poor luv.
WRITE AND REVIEW!!!!!!! If you read it and don't like it, at least tell me so that I can improve, k? And if you do like it, shower me with praise. I'm not Primadonna simply because I like the name. Thanks. Now, enjoy.
October 1994
"Bloody Hell!!" I moaned painfully. I looked at the cards that lay on the table in front of Drusilla, and frowned to myself. So, the rumours were true, said so as plainly. Strength, Death, and the High Priestess, staring back at me, mocking me.
The Slayer was dead. I closed my eyes, taking deep breaths my lungs couldn't feel.
Drake- possibly Dan, or Dean, or some other poofter name- came down into the cellar just then. "M-Master Spike?" He stammered, remaining halfway up the stairs between the door and me, as if afraid to come any closer.
I impatiently waved him down, already knowing what he was going to tell me.
"Just Spike, mate, for the last-" I picked up a chair and slammed it against the heavy oak table, "bleedin' time. All right?" He nodded, then swallowed, eyeing the stake I had fashioned in my hand. He was so scared I'm sure he was going to wet his pants. But he didn't, the boy had a little dignity left in him. He was a total ball-less wanker, but that was the way you get some minions. Smart ones that can help you out, but with no dreams in their head of knocking you out. Ones who did stand up, you had to kill as an example, no matter how much you admire them.
I waited for him to continue, already knowing what this was about. "The Slayer, she- she was killed by a M'Fashnik demon in Barcelona this morning. Probably around 2 or 3, the time of Drusilla's vision." Dru looked up just then, her eyes glassy after reading her tarots as they always were. Like a drug trip, except stronger.
She trained her stare on the boy. "Darry." The minion, presumably Darry, shifted on the balls of his feet. Dru scared him more than me. Smart lad.
"Come here." She beckoned him forward with an elegant stir of her wrist. She continued the motion until he was beside her, within a few inches. He was completely charmed, and only half was magic. The rest was her.
"Now," she began in a prim voice, "you've made my Spike sad." Darry nodded. "Say you're sorry." I gave a tight-lipped smile, just waiting to pounce. Dru was setting me up to let go of a little of my frustration.
Darry knew he was in the middle of a trap. He looked from me to her, his eyes darting back and forth as if in a game of tennis. Or Pong. I always fancied that game.
"I-I- M-mas- Spike!! Just Spike!!!- I am ter-ter-very sorry, I…" He grimaced, at a loss for words. I couldn't do it. I raised my hand to stop him. "Get the hell out. Now." I spoke quietly, and wasn't sure he heard me as he stayed rooted onto place, then suddenly he was halfway up the stairs. I gave a low chuckle after him; Darry wouldn't be back.
I kept my eyes trained on the stairs, and heard Drusilla get up from the table. Her dress rustled around her, silk whispering over the concrete floor as she danced lazily towards me.
"She didn't even have a chance to scream," she sing-songed, "And now the ground is going to eat her up." I knew who she was talking about.
"Ducks, I'm going out for a bite to eat. I'll bring you back someone." I spoke tenderly to her, running my fingers across her temples. She nodded, then went to play with Miss Edith. Her favourite doll, and her only reminder of life before becoming a vampire. Most changed found it disturbing, but I understood the importance of her connection.
I made my way up the staircase and through the empty manor. We could have lived in the house- we had even bought it legitimately, this time- but Dru hated being out in the open, or what she considered unprotected, ever since Prague. I always tried to convince her that we were safe, moving her to gorgeous houses with rooms I just knew she would want to inhabit, but she insisted. So the two of us lived in the cellar.
I walked out the open door (I really did put the fear of God into Darry) and out into the early New Orleans evening. There was light over the horizon, a soft glow light enough to be called late afternoon but still safe for me to enjoy it in indirect sunlight. I stepped over a pile of ashes just outside of the garden's gate.
***
I made my way towards the demon district, not surprised to hear loud carousing, vampires and chaos demons celebrating in harmony over the death of their comon enemy. A Vantlar demon patted me good naturedly on the shoulder and I turned back to him, vamping out. I growled low in my throat. He gave me an odd look, then seemed to have realized who I was because his expression sobered.
"Hey, I'm sorry man, better luck next time," he shook his head. He then turned from me, yelling across the street to a M'Fashnik demon, "Hey!! I heard the guy was your cousin!! Say congrats for me!"
Moodily I reached my favourite bar, a place that was usually that showed some class. Karloff's. I sat at the end of the bar, farthest from the door. The jukebox in the centre of the room was playing some crappy Beatles hit. Nope, then it changed to "Copacabana". Like I bleedin' well needed this.
I glared in the direction of the music, where a small slimy demon was feeding the jukebox with what must have been a dozen quarters.
"D'you think you could turn off the FUCKIN' BARRY MANILOW?!?!!?" The demon must have been of the exceptionally dim variety, as he did little more than blink at me. His companion, a Fyarl demon, must have known I was about ready to resort to violence as he reached behind the machine and unplugged it. He quickly ushered his friend outside. Dammit. I needed blood.
Fine, I thought to myself, with everyone doing all they could to bne on my best side or ignoring me all together, I'd just drink myself into a stupor wallow in a little self pity about the one that got away, and then drag my sorry ass home to Dru before I fried.
A vamp came up behind me, clamping his hand on my shoulder. Before I could make a snarky comment, he yelled to the bartender "Can we get William the Bloody whatever he wants down here? On me." More than a few heads turned in my direction, just realizing who I was. A moment of silence seemed to hang in the air for the slayer of two slayers, especially appropriate this particular evening.
The vampire sat down beside me and introduced himself as Michael. "A pleasure to meet you, sir," he stated as he shook my hand vigorously.
I raised my eyebrow in surprise. "You can't be turned more than three years. How d'you know who I am?"
He shrugged slightly, "I was turned two years ago. My sire was a big, big fan of yours, sir. He kept newspapers and clippings on your signature work."
"Is that so?" The bartender slapped down two shot glasses and a bottle of Jack Daniel's. A good man, that Boris. I've frequented many a bar, Human and otherwise, and Krloff's was by far my favourite. And yes, it is Boris Karloff, for those of the informed, the star of the original Mummy. He's actually a vampire, one of the oldest I've met at 800 years old. He used to be known for one of the most violent bloodlusts in demon history, until he fell in love with a human girl and mellowed out about a 150 years ago. He loved acting, he told me once, because that was what his love had done. He was on a 75 year hiatus because he figured people would become suspicious if their favourite actor never aged. I told him he gave people too much credit. Anyway, that hiatus was why he opened many a business venture, and why he ran this bar. Sort of a hobby of sorts for him.
"And where's the lovely Drusilla this evening?" Boris asked as he poured two shots, sliding one in front of both myself and my new chum Michael.
I downed my shot. "She had a nasty vision, decided to stay at home and play with Ms. Edith." Boris gave a short barking laugh as he began to pour Jack Daniels.
"I knew if it pertained to the Slayer you'd hear about it first." He left the bottle with me as he moved on to another customer. This was a signal that he wasn't finished talking. I rolled my eyes despite the fact (or maybe because) I couldn't help smiling. As the eldest of all who ever entered his bar, Boris felt it was his duty to bestow advice on us as greatly and as frequently possible. Wonder what little gem he'd pass along today?
TBC- More written, just testing out my audience…. Either that, or I'm too lazy to type. REVIEW if you want more.