Title: Poetry and Teardrops
Author: LittleWills
Rated: PG
Disclaimer: I own nothing but what came out of my head. Please don't sue…
Dedication: Ask and thy shall receive (email at capnnemo_and_rubberducky@yahoo.com)
Summery: Like the title says- canters around Spike/William and Willy. This is not a relationship thing. Maybe a friendship, but it's a tear-jerker at most.
Feedback: Has anyone ever said they *don't* want feedback? I doubt that many have. I crave it!
Notes: I was in a sad sort of mood when I wrote this. I had read a fic about William and I couldn't help but write a little about his poetry too.
It had been a long night and Spike was- to say the least- pooped. He could barley haul himself over to Willy's to drink his miserable night away. Sitting at the stool he ordered his drink and looked up at a small platform at the left side of the room. He wasn't drunk yet so he couldn't be seeing things. But he knew that there was never a stage at Willy's. A few moments later, Willy came back with his drink and a napkin. Fortunately, Spike didn't see the worried expression on the bartender/ owner's face. Willy had been pretty worried about Spike lately, something that not everyone who should be, hasn't.
But before Willy could tell Spike anything he was interrupted, "Oi, what's that? You finally getting something pricey in here Willy? About bloody time, this place is a dump. You know, it wouldn't hurt you any to clean it up every century or two."
Dismissing the master vampire's crude comments he answered, "Yeah, thought I'd try something different. It's only temporary though- like I could afford to keep up with the electricity charges and such." He was about to continue and explain what it was for at the questioning look in Spike's eyes, when a young fellow- looking in his mid-twenties- walked up the steps and onto the stage. "Just see for yourself…"
Spike turned around in his stool to listen to what the fellow had to stay. In the boys hands he held a small journal. It was brown and looked to be well-used. Spike could feel a lump in his throat when the nervous lad started sifting through the pages. After choosing one, he looked into the, oddly enough, large crowd that was now staring at him. Spike was obviously not the only one who needed liquor.
As the man- more a boy than a man- walked slowly up to the mic at the front of the small stage, he gulped and wiped away the small sweat droplets that had been forming on his forehead. Then he began…
Almost every patron in the bar laughed themselves silly. Almost- Spike and Willy stayed put while they listened to the boy speak poetry. In their opinion, it was quite wonderful. Unfortunately, they were the only ones who thought so.
Willy knew all about Spike's past. How William was so devoted to his writings. And how everyone had been so cruel to him. You learn things when you when run a bar when, after about an hour after sunset, there are dozens of drunken demons on your hands. Spike was usually one of them. And boy did he like to talk. Willy couldn't remember the last time Spike rambled about anything pleasant. Except maybe that witch- what's her name, Oak, Cedar, some type of tree. He looked over to the bleached blonde in front of him. He couldn't see all of his face on account that Spike was looking at the stage, but he saw a single teardrop fall from demon's eyes. And it was the most moving, yet depressing thing, he had ever witnessed in his life. That one teardrop from a creature of the night.
Author: LittleWills
Rated: PG
Disclaimer: I own nothing but what came out of my head. Please don't sue…
Dedication: Ask and thy shall receive (email at capnnemo_and_rubberducky@yahoo.com)
Summery: Like the title says- canters around Spike/William and Willy. This is not a relationship thing. Maybe a friendship, but it's a tear-jerker at most.
Feedback: Has anyone ever said they *don't* want feedback? I doubt that many have. I crave it!
Notes: I was in a sad sort of mood when I wrote this. I had read a fic about William and I couldn't help but write a little about his poetry too.
It had been a long night and Spike was- to say the least- pooped. He could barley haul himself over to Willy's to drink his miserable night away. Sitting at the stool he ordered his drink and looked up at a small platform at the left side of the room. He wasn't drunk yet so he couldn't be seeing things. But he knew that there was never a stage at Willy's. A few moments later, Willy came back with his drink and a napkin. Fortunately, Spike didn't see the worried expression on the bartender/ owner's face. Willy had been pretty worried about Spike lately, something that not everyone who should be, hasn't.
But before Willy could tell Spike anything he was interrupted, "Oi, what's that? You finally getting something pricey in here Willy? About bloody time, this place is a dump. You know, it wouldn't hurt you any to clean it up every century or two."
Dismissing the master vampire's crude comments he answered, "Yeah, thought I'd try something different. It's only temporary though- like I could afford to keep up with the electricity charges and such." He was about to continue and explain what it was for at the questioning look in Spike's eyes, when a young fellow- looking in his mid-twenties- walked up the steps and onto the stage. "Just see for yourself…"
Spike turned around in his stool to listen to what the fellow had to stay. In the boys hands he held a small journal. It was brown and looked to be well-used. Spike could feel a lump in his throat when the nervous lad started sifting through the pages. After choosing one, he looked into the, oddly enough, large crowd that was now staring at him. Spike was obviously not the only one who needed liquor.
As the man- more a boy than a man- walked slowly up to the mic at the front of the small stage, he gulped and wiped away the small sweat droplets that had been forming on his forehead. Then he began…
Almost every patron in the bar laughed themselves silly. Almost- Spike and Willy stayed put while they listened to the boy speak poetry. In their opinion, it was quite wonderful. Unfortunately, they were the only ones who thought so.
Willy knew all about Spike's past. How William was so devoted to his writings. And how everyone had been so cruel to him. You learn things when you when run a bar when, after about an hour after sunset, there are dozens of drunken demons on your hands. Spike was usually one of them. And boy did he like to talk. Willy couldn't remember the last time Spike rambled about anything pleasant. Except maybe that witch- what's her name, Oak, Cedar, some type of tree. He looked over to the bleached blonde in front of him. He couldn't see all of his face on account that Spike was looking at the stage, but he saw a single teardrop fall from demon's eyes. And it was the most moving, yet depressing thing, he had ever witnessed in his life. That one teardrop from a creature of the night.