Spike was bored and pissed off. He'd been stuck in a wheelchair for weeks, ever since that shampoo commercial cutie of a Slayer dropped a fucking great organ on his legs. His dark princess had saved him, that much was true, but ever since the return of his great poof of a grandsire she barely remembered he was there - let alone remembered to feed him. A vampire in a wheelchair was at a major disadvantage, this no one could deny. What chance did he have trying to sneak up on someone at 2 miles an hour in a squeaky old relic? Spike couldn't even scare anyone, let alone catch a meal. He felt well and truly sorry for himself.
He'd been left to his own devices in his ground floor room at the mansion, Drusilla visiting him less and less regularly. She was forever devoted to daddy dearest, he guessed he should be used to that by now. It was something Spike knew really, deep down; he was always second best to Angelus. Dru had never loved Spike quite like he loved her. Maybe it was something to do with the way he had been turned by the mad vampiress, maybe he wasn't quite right - felt too much, was too human. That was another thought that cropped up in the back of his mind from time to time, one he'd had to learn to quash through his 120+ years of being undead - in particular in the early days around Angelus who would pounce on any perceived weakness. His thoughts drifted to those times more frequently now, he had all the time in the world to sit around thinking it seemed. Good times and bad times, both at the same time; the rush of having his new vampiric strength, the lust for blood, the chaos and passion alongside his ripe, wicked plum - but also being ordered around, tortured and scorned in turn by Angelus and his ruthless old bitch of a sire, Darla. She had the face of an angel but inside was as black and twisted as they come. He was never good enough for them, too much humanity, maybe. He lived for the fight, the challenge, not for cruelty and torture just for the sake of it.
In his mind, he was exactly what a vampire should be; Predator, top of the food chain, chaotic and destructive maybe but also having a damn good time of it. Drinking, fighting, fucking - those things were the icing on the cake. The world was just as he would have it, or so he thought. Never one for fighting for a cause or having an evil master plan, he liked living in this world - he even liked the danger of knowing a Slayer was out there hunting his kind, hunting him. It made him feel alive, as ironic as he knew that sounded. The sooner he was out of this chair and back to full strength the better; then he would let Angelus know he was nobodies whipping boy, and let Drusilla know he was no ones second choice.
Spikes's musings were interrupted by the sound of the mansions front door banging open, Drusilla's off kilter laugh and the cooing murmur of her voice. Was she talking to herself or someone else? It was often hard to tell with Dru. He wasn't sure if he heard the whimpers or smelt the blood first, but he quickly became aware that Drusilla was not alone, she had someone with her - an alive someone. Spike tried not to get his hopes up too much for a hot meal on legs, both Dru and Angelus sometimes liked to play with their food.