~Star Mouse
Night fell. And two groups took their rightful places in the shadows:
Those of darkness, and those that hunt them.
Buffy pulled on her coat and headed out into the night. Her predatory stalk and general 'mess with me and die' demeanor made it pretty obvious which one she was. Time to go do her duty to society.
Spike roused himself, and checked the clock. Night. Time for some fun. He pulled on his jacket, and grabbed a few stakes, slipping them into the deep pocket. Better safe than sorry, in this trecherous town.
Two hunters; a vampire and a slayer; yen, yang, night, day, death, death. And, oddly, both blonde.
Many creatures wandered the streets at night, but they were small fish. Only two elements really mattered. The Master and the Master's match.
A vampire that lives to 100 tends to be a fighter. A Slayer that survives a few years on the job tends to be a killer. And, in all honesty, that's the closest to an equal either will ever see.
. . .Enough with the mood~establishing. I think you get the point.
. . . . . . . . . . . . .damn. I think I just ruined the mood.
Buffy's eyes darted right and left, looking for quarry. It was unbelievable how many idiotic people visited the graves after dark. You'd think Natural Selection would have weeded out all the residents with those sucicidal tendacies by now. But no. They were always easy pickings for the vampires inhabiting the place. Good bait.
But tonight seemed to be a Moron Holiday, or something. Not a peep. Well, except for that cracking twig over there.
Superhuman strength saved her as the dark figure rushed, head shining white in the night. She flipped him, tripped him, kicked him in the gut and hopped back, waiting.
Spike sprung up, growled, and drew a stake.
Buffy froze, her duster still billowing from the flipping movements of the last few seconds. She swallowed, and took in the figure before her. Black clothes, white hair, dead hot.
...Wearing a crucifix, wielding a stake. His hand reached into his charcoal grey coat, and she saw the top of a bottle of clear liquid emerge from his pocket.
She forced sarcasm into her voice. "Oh, I see. A professional." She danced back on the balls of her feet, a bit, just short of shadowboxing, ready to bolt at any moment if she got out of her league. It wouldn't do to die right now.
Spike's heart beat faster. She was hot. It was harder to kill the hot ones. Easier to forget that they killed to live. Don't look. Don't look.... Damn. He'd looked. What was that song... 'I wanna girl with a short skirt and a looong jacket.'? And what a nice jacket it was. Too bad it obscured her ass. Huh? What?
Oh. Right. This was a banter moment.
"Professional. Except I get paid in dust. Wanna send me to college?" Dammit. That was
so lame, you utter utter idiot. Don't be distracted by the very nice legs. . .
. . . Dammit!
The vampire in front of him snorted. But she didn't move, still eyeing the stake. "College? You won't live to see college."
Spike shrugged. "Ah well, I hear the workload's a bitch anyway."
The vampire cocked her head and raised an eyebrow. "Who are you? You sure don't act like any vigilante demon~hunter I've ever kill~I mean met." She smirked when her 'slip' contributed to a slight speed in the guy's tripping heart. He covered well, though. Nothing but the slightest of furrows warked his expression as anything but perfect calm. Until he smirked back at her. Ooo. Nice face.
"Not a vigilante, then, am I?" he shot back. "'M the Slayer. Tell your friends. Oh. Wait. You won't be able too." he whapped himself lightly on the forehead. "Piles of dust don't talk."
The female vampire before him brought her head straight, both eyebrows up, now. "A Slayer! Well well well... Haven't seen one of you people since ...have to be Paris. 1957." She smirked. "Best fight I've ever had. Best blood..." She rubbed her tummy, exposing taut abs as her top rode up.
Spike ran and kicked at her, but she deflected it with an arm, sending him stumbling. She returned with a quick jab and vaulted up a tall memorial obelisk. She perched on the peak, her leather duster underneath her.
"I'm not a fledgling, Slayer. I'm a Master. A hundred~fifty years worth of Slayers couldn't kill me. I'm Elizabeth the Black. Tell your friends."
She smiled cruelly as Spike picked himself up off the ground, cradling a bruised arm. "Oh, wait," She added. "Slayers don't have friends."
She sent him an impish grin and shot off the marker, landing on the far side and running into the deep dark night.
He didn't even bother to follow.
"...And you say she called herself Elizabeth?"
"'The Black'," Spike nodded. He was sitting in the library, fingering the spiral of his notebook. Filled with doodles, not schoolwork. His dad would have a fit when the grades came in. Of course, his dad had a fit when anything happened.
Spike's Watcher frowned thoughtfully. "Huh. This could be very bad." Trotted off. In search of a book, no doubt. Watchers always liked big dusty books in dead languages. He and his friends had formulated a complex theory about why. They made them feel secure, like a teddy bear.
"Bad? As in, 'danger' bad?" One of the table's other occupants caught the important part.
"Do you really need to ask?" Faith rolled her eyes at the tall young man.
Angel shrugged. "Just thought we should clear it up."
"Hey, Spike-- You ever do the rest of that Chemistry assignment after you got home last night?" Faith flicked a braid off her shoulder and bit her pencil. Spike managed to look sheepish.
"Of course he didn't. He was too busy fantasizing about this Liz Black person. She was hot, right?" Angel looked to his friend for confirmation.
Spike nodded. "Hoo, yeah. Uh. I mean. No. Bad. Very bad vampire. Not hot at all. ...Especially not in that coat..." he muttered.
"Ah, here. I found it." Jenny Calendar clomped out of her office, reading from a page in, surprise, a big dusty book. How did the books stay so dusty? It seemed like half of them were in use at any given time. Maybe it was special dust. She laid it down on the library table, and pointed.
"Was that her, Spike?"
Spike looked at the black and white photo affixed to the page. Obviously old, all yellow and crinkly.
"Yeah, that's her." The same vamp from last night. She wasn't smiling, but most people weren't, in old photos. Usually 'cause of the lack of dentists. She looked exactly the same, except with obvious differences in fashion, and what not.
Jenny looked pleased for a moment. "Good. I couldn't find anything at first because after about..." she checked a page in a smaller book she was holding, "Eighteen~ninety, she started going by 'Buffy' most of the time." Reading on, she bit her lip. "This could be very bad, indeed. Elizabeth the Black. Buffy. Whoever she is, is a vicious beast."
"Aren't they all?" Angel asked. "I mean, that is the crux of the vampire concept, right? Irredemable monsters?"
Jenny shot him a look, and continued speaking. "Elizabeth is no laughing matter. She's a master. Over one~hundred twenty years old." As she talked, Spike stared at the picture, trying to connect this woman to the monster, the fact that, according to said beast, his Watcher was off by at least thirty years bugging him a bit. Jenny Calendar rubbed the charm around her neck. "In that time, she has come up against three Slayers. She killed them all."
Spike looked up. "So? They weren't me."
Jenny sighed. "Spike, I don't think you're taking this seriously enough. You should be careful. You're really lucky you aren't as dead as the others."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Jenny."
Faith spoke up, still fiddling nervously with the pencil. "Yeah. Whoever this chick is, I'm sure Spike~man can take care of it."
Angel nodded agreement. "She's right. It's not like he hasn't faced tougher ones, right? I mean, the Master--"
"Ugh. Sorry if I don't sound thrilled at this new threat, but Buffy is not to be taken lightly. Spike, promise me; If you come up against her again, exercise caution. You're strong, yes. But you aren't unkillable."
"No," he said. "But neither is she."
"Spike? Spike, is that you?"
"Yeah, it's me, Da."
Rupert Giles appeared in the doorframe leading to the living room, Wall Street Journal in hand. The glasses were off. Bad sign.
Spike wanted to tell his dad about the 'destined to fight evil' thing. He really did. But he also didn't want to be locked in a hamster~ball for the rest of his life, which would probably be his father's reaction.
He kept his father in the dark for his own good. The divorce had been hard on both of them, and Spike decided that thinking he had a juvenile delinquent for a son would be better for Rupert Giles than knowing his son spent his 'free' time risking death, saving the world being a secondary issue.
"Your principal called. He said you'd been skipping class again."
--#%^. Most of the time.
"Angel! How're you doing? Is Spike here yet?" Faith looked around the Bronze, seeking the familiar white blonde head.
"He's not coming. His dad grounded him. Apparently Snyder called him and told him about Spike's attendance.." he took a sip of coke. "As in, the lack thereof."
"Oh." Faith tried not to seem too disappointed. But it was a new outfit and everything. She slumped into a high chair next to Angel.
Angel noticed the damper in her mood. It wasn't like her crush on Spike was any big secret. Like Angel's crush on Faith apparently was. He drank some more coke.
They sat there in silence for a while, not really having to say anything. It wasn't like they didn't talk all day in school. Sometimes they just ran out. It happened. No biggie. Angel felt a hand on his shoulder.
"Hey. You... um ... Wanna dance?"
He turned to look at the girl smiling shyly at him. She looked vaguely familiar. Oh, wait.
"Are you in my math class?"
"Uh, yeah. Okay. Sure. I'm Annie. I'm, uh, really quiet." She smiled, obviously a little embarrassed, and scratched her eyebrow. "I --uh-- never asked anyone to dance with me before. Oh, it's okay for you to say no! I'd totally get it."
Angel smiled. "A dance would be great."
Annie blinked, like she was genuinely surprised she hadn't been turned down. "Really? Wow! I mean, cool!" She smiled. Woah. Great smile.
Angel waved a hand in front of Faith's face. "I'll be back." She nodded a little, and dragged his abandoned coke in front of her to finish.
He led Annie to the dance floor.
There was a song already going. Sort of medium tempo. Annie seemed kind of awkward, like she wasn't really sure how to move. Angel took her arms and started swaying. She got the beat and he let go, but stayed close.
"So, you come here a lot?" he shouted in her ear.
She stood on he toes to answer. "No! It's too smoky! If I breath in too much smoke, I *coughcough*"
He pulled back when she coughed in his ear, waiting for her to stop. But she didn't. She half~doubled at the waist, one hand over her mouth, coughing loudly.
Angel took her by the arm. He should probably get her out of here, before she choked.
He got her, coughing, out the exit door and into the alley right outside. She leaned against the wall, head bowed, coughing violently.
He hovered, unsure what to do.
"Uh, you want me to get you some water, or something?"
"No," she said. "I'm fine." She turned her head up, and the light caught on brow ridges a Klingon would envy.
Angel barely had time to think Oh, shit. Before deceptively strong arms grabbed him, pulling his head down where she could reach it.
"So tall..." she lisped. "More for me."
Angel felt the fangs pierce his neck, and he thought about Faith. She wouldn't even know he'd died loving her. He couldn't even struggle, really. No fight. The hold was too tight, too careful. His blood being drained. He'd die, in an alley, without a fight.
"Gahh!" The fangs ripped --painfully-- from his throat. The hold suddenly disappeared. Realizing he'd been saved --again, thank God-- he backed up quickly, away from the vamp.
"For goodness' sake, Angel! I thought you knew better!" There was the sound of a punch, and a little 'oof!'. Angel's vision was kind of blurry. But, hey, blind panic wasn't named for nothing.
"Yeah, well. Gotta keep you on your toes," Angel answered, fingering the welling cuts on his neck. Should that much blood be coming out?
"Go wash that out! Get Faith to take you to the hospital, or something." Spike shouted. "I can take it from here." There was a karate noise in the shadows, and another gasp of expelled air. Angel stumbled to the door, and retreated, all thoughts of heroism forgotten.
Leaving Spike and the vampire alone in the alley.
"Slayer! Lovely to see you again so soon! So, do you want to die now, or wait for some ritualistic sacrifice in the future?"
A few blows were exchanged. Spike got a stake in his hand. If only he could see her properly... "Dunno, pet. Which'd be more fun, you think?"
"Oh, definitely the rituals. Some require tattoos."
Spike lunged at the voice, and got a jab to the ribs for his trouble.
"Ah ah ah! Bad Slayer. No pie for you!"
"What the hell are you talking about?" he growled.
Elizabeth paused. Woah. Nice noise. And she could see him in the dark, even if he couldn't see her. Way hot. The last Slayer had been short. This one was too, sort of. But not when compared to her 5'2. He was the perfect height for her to look up into his eyes, and they would probably fit just perfect if she leaned up, and he leaned down...
"WhumF!" She flew backwards into the wall, all inner musings forgotten except the one that went, 'ouchouchouchouch'.
"Bloody--" she started. And suddenly the Slayer was right in front of her, stake in hand. She was pinned by his other arm, her hands caught in front of her.
She couldn't even fight back. She was going to die tonight, in this alley, without a fight.
Spike glared at the vampire he had pinned. Time to end it--
Before he could do anything, her face shot up, suddenly human, and ravaged his. In a good way.
Spike just stood there startled for a second, before he realized he was kissing the
blood~sucking fiend right back. What the hell--
"Oof!" Spike's grip loosened, and he sunk to his knees. Buffy yanked her arms free and
grabbed the stake from his loose hand before he recovered from the blow to his pride
and manhood.
She skipped lightly off into the darkness, her cry of, "See you around, Slayer!" echoing down the street.
Spike knelt, blinking for a few minutes.
"ow."
I honestly don't know whether I should continue this, or just leave Spike all falsetto in
the alley. Reviews will sway my decision, big time. That's not a threat, or anything.
Merely a request for a bribe. I'm a dirty politician. Without the politics. Or the dirt.
Read my other story, "Irony Becomes Her." It rocks [said the shameless self~promoter.]
~Star Mouse