A Spot of Fun and Torture
A Buffy fan-fic
Summer of Violence series, part 1
Spoiler Alert: I consider all material up to the first episode of season 6 fair game.
Author: CaBil@aol.com
Feel free to contact me if you have any feedback or questions.
As the first thing whipped around the corner, fully expecting to have to move to catch up with him, its eyes passed right over him and inertia carried the rest of its body past before it realized that its prey slouched against the wall was enjoying a cigarette.
Of course, by then it was too late.
First one of its legs was smashed, breaking the quadruple joint before it could even pivot. It managed to extend its barbs before it went down, but without the time to aim properly it merely took off a piece of bloodless flesh.
"Well, that wasn't very friendly of you, now was it," the supposed victim asked as he grasped the barb-bearing prong, placed his boot on the scrabbling body and pulled. The prong, connective tissue and an off-blue piece of viscera that served as its inoculation against this harmful reality ripped off and splattered against the wall.
"And they said I had no talent." Spike managed a moment or two of appreciation of the mess before turning back to the pursuit Klene of the brood that had currently decided that he just had to go due to his traitorous ways.
Plus, he had 'borrowed' all of their imported tobacco products (and how imported they were could be determined by their luminescent blueness) as they just happened to fall off the delivery truck.
Of the Klene, the pursuits were the fastest, intended to harry the prey until the brood could catch up. Of course, that meant if you turned around and beat the snot out of them, you had a few minutes to enjoy yourself before the rest showed. Most of his favorite diversions, however, took time to savor, so he merely reached down, stuck his hand into the open wound, picked out the apple-sized brains spread throughout the interior of the Klene and amused himself by seeing if he could throw the brains through various windows on the street.
As the Klene's consciousness flickered and reduced with every crash of a broken window, it felt its control slip, and forced its blood to thicken with reductive ointments.
Spike felt his hand begin to burn as he was burrowing around for interesting bits. He grabbed a crystalline structure, ripped it out, thought about giving it as a Christmas ornament for a moment or two, then decided it was a little too pretty. He stuffed into his pocket for a bit of hooliganism later, and then stared at the Klene for a moment. Its buddies were sure to come around the corner in a few, and no doubt would wish to have some few words, or rather sub-harmonic screeches, with him.
Fortunately, the perpetually abandoned Sunnydale street gave him all the material he would need for that occasion. But first things first. He picked up the now comatose Klene's oblong body, multi-jointed legs and barbed prongs trailing, the flow of reductive fluids only accelerating out of its wounds. The fluid was so vile that it caused patches of reality to compress, ripping and tearing material apart on the micro level as it dripped. So Spike of course was careful not get any on his coat. After all, he had no idea who the tailor was. And it wasn't like he could ask.
Still, the bastard stung as the fluids coated his hands, which was why he impaled it on a handy fire hydrant. It took a few good kicks to drive the Klene halfway onto the hydrant. As he heard the galumphing of the rest of the Klene brood, he positioned himself on the far side of the body, and kicked the last barrier to his plan aside.
The other four Klene did not even bother screeching when they turned the corner and went directly into full-throated rumbling when they saw him nonchalantly resting on the far side of the still-leaking body of their brood brother. So straightforwardly enough, they all launched their barbed prongs at him.
If Spike had been human, he would have been dead the moment the first one buried himself in his leg. Poisonous and all that. Fortunately, he did not have, well, any of the normal human processes to be stopped.
Still, it smarted. Especially when the other three also sunk their prongs into him. He managed to grab one before it had fully tautened, and managed to loop it around the body of the Klene on the hydrant in front of him, so as they tried to retract them he could resist being dragged back towards them, especially since he had his foot hooked properly.
He could feel himself being stretched and pulled. Some of his tendons strained and snapped. He felt some of bones begin to shift out of his sockets. The barbs began vibrating and seeking more uncontaminated flesh to putrefy.
It reminded him of the good times with Drusilla.
Spike was oddly disappointed that what he was planning for then happened. The fire hydrant finally gave under the strain of the corrosive effect of the Klene's fluids and the pressure of the prong. The corpse held a few seconds under the blasting pressure of the freed water before finally breaking up, spraying its now fully activated fluids all over the street and the other Klene.
But not him. Once he felt the tension give on the prongs as the fire hydrant gave, he unhooked his foot from the top rung of the ladder leading down from the manhole he had uncovered, and let himself fall into it as the wash went over his head.
He stopped after a few feet down, as the tethers didn't have any more give. The rumblings above him turned to sounds reminiscent of rocks tumbling. He had plenty of time to grab onto the rungs of the ladder as one by one the prongs went slack. He waited another minute, enough time to savor some of his swiped faux-tobacco before climbing back up.
Normally, he would have been pleased. Water geysering into the sky, pockmarks from the fluids spread across the streets, brick facades and the remaining corpses of the Klene. Only one was left even vaguely moving, and Spike had the admire the stubbornness of that eye-stalk. Of course the real source of his disquiet could be heard coming from the opposite direction that the Klene came.
Giles, Willow, Tara and... Buffy came into sight, at first running toward him, then realized that he had taken care of the Klene slowed down a bit. Except Buffy of course, which charged right past him and began happily chopping up the remaining bits of the Klene with an axe.
Giles got to him next, stammering his apologies for taking so long to find the Axe of Nivbar, the only weapon known to be impervious to Klene fluids. Spike tuned him out as he got to the funny bit of the story where it turned out the Axe was actually hidden underneath the bed, along with certain other supplies he had not used since the last time Olivia had been over, and was very embarrassed to have Willow and Tara see.
He pretended a vague interest, trying not to look at the enthusiastic chopping, and so was mildly surprised when Tara stopped in front of him, kneeled, and began to gently work out the barb and the attached prong end in his lower leg, sprinkling some crushed up herbs to help ease it out.
"Grabbed some of the ovem powder just in case one of us got stabbed," was her only comment as she focused on the task, Willow hovering protectively near her in case she got lost in horror. He half looked towards Buffy, which had reduced all of the pieces of the Klene down fist sized chunks and now seemed determined to get them down to finger length.
"Red, you'd better tell her to knock it off, or she'll blunt the edge of the axe trying to kill the blood on the streets." Willow merely nodded and went to Buffy. He could have overheard the conversation with ease, but really, he wasn't all that interested. He didn't want to be interested.
Tara got up after throwing away the last of the barbs, so he turned away from her before he would see her concerned look. Which, of course, brought him face to face with Buffy and Willow.
"Spike, you are covered in wounds that are sexy you are, but also are grievous. You should seek immediate medical attention. Would you like me to call 911 for you?" Spike turned away from his not-Buffy's cheerfully blank expression, wondering for the hundredth time what ever possessed him to think it would be a good idea.
Then he remembered. Sexual frustration. Still had that.
"I'll be back tomorrow night to keep an eye on Dawn." And with that he turned away and began determinedly walking in the direction of his cemetery.
Giles called after him, "Xander and Anya can spend a few more nights with her so you can heal up."
He didn't even turn around, "Ah, nothing but the summer reruns on the telly, might as well head over." And with that he gave an indistinct wave with his hand before turning a corner, out of sight.
Spike tried to look at the bright side.
His coat still looked damn fine. Not a single hole in it.
Unlike his heart.
A Buffy fan-fic
Summer of Violence series, part 1
Spoiler Alert: I consider all material up to the first episode of season 6 fair game.
Author: CaBil@aol.com
Feel free to contact me if you have any feedback or questions.
As the first thing whipped around the corner, fully expecting to have to move to catch up with him, its eyes passed right over him and inertia carried the rest of its body past before it realized that its prey slouched against the wall was enjoying a cigarette.
Of course, by then it was too late.
First one of its legs was smashed, breaking the quadruple joint before it could even pivot. It managed to extend its barbs before it went down, but without the time to aim properly it merely took off a piece of bloodless flesh.
"Well, that wasn't very friendly of you, now was it," the supposed victim asked as he grasped the barb-bearing prong, placed his boot on the scrabbling body and pulled. The prong, connective tissue and an off-blue piece of viscera that served as its inoculation against this harmful reality ripped off and splattered against the wall.
"And they said I had no talent." Spike managed a moment or two of appreciation of the mess before turning back to the pursuit Klene of the brood that had currently decided that he just had to go due to his traitorous ways.
Plus, he had 'borrowed' all of their imported tobacco products (and how imported they were could be determined by their luminescent blueness) as they just happened to fall off the delivery truck.
Of the Klene, the pursuits were the fastest, intended to harry the prey until the brood could catch up. Of course, that meant if you turned around and beat the snot out of them, you had a few minutes to enjoy yourself before the rest showed. Most of his favorite diversions, however, took time to savor, so he merely reached down, stuck his hand into the open wound, picked out the apple-sized brains spread throughout the interior of the Klene and amused himself by seeing if he could throw the brains through various windows on the street.
As the Klene's consciousness flickered and reduced with every crash of a broken window, it felt its control slip, and forced its blood to thicken with reductive ointments.
Spike felt his hand begin to burn as he was burrowing around for interesting bits. He grabbed a crystalline structure, ripped it out, thought about giving it as a Christmas ornament for a moment or two, then decided it was a little too pretty. He stuffed into his pocket for a bit of hooliganism later, and then stared at the Klene for a moment. Its buddies were sure to come around the corner in a few, and no doubt would wish to have some few words, or rather sub-harmonic screeches, with him.
Fortunately, the perpetually abandoned Sunnydale street gave him all the material he would need for that occasion. But first things first. He picked up the now comatose Klene's oblong body, multi-jointed legs and barbed prongs trailing, the flow of reductive fluids only accelerating out of its wounds. The fluid was so vile that it caused patches of reality to compress, ripping and tearing material apart on the micro level as it dripped. So Spike of course was careful not get any on his coat. After all, he had no idea who the tailor was. And it wasn't like he could ask.
Still, the bastard stung as the fluids coated his hands, which was why he impaled it on a handy fire hydrant. It took a few good kicks to drive the Klene halfway onto the hydrant. As he heard the galumphing of the rest of the Klene brood, he positioned himself on the far side of the body, and kicked the last barrier to his plan aside.
The other four Klene did not even bother screeching when they turned the corner and went directly into full-throated rumbling when they saw him nonchalantly resting on the far side of the still-leaking body of their brood brother. So straightforwardly enough, they all launched their barbed prongs at him.
If Spike had been human, he would have been dead the moment the first one buried himself in his leg. Poisonous and all that. Fortunately, he did not have, well, any of the normal human processes to be stopped.
Still, it smarted. Especially when the other three also sunk their prongs into him. He managed to grab one before it had fully tautened, and managed to loop it around the body of the Klene on the hydrant in front of him, so as they tried to retract them he could resist being dragged back towards them, especially since he had his foot hooked properly.
He could feel himself being stretched and pulled. Some of his tendons strained and snapped. He felt some of bones begin to shift out of his sockets. The barbs began vibrating and seeking more uncontaminated flesh to putrefy.
It reminded him of the good times with Drusilla.
Spike was oddly disappointed that what he was planning for then happened. The fire hydrant finally gave under the strain of the corrosive effect of the Klene's fluids and the pressure of the prong. The corpse held a few seconds under the blasting pressure of the freed water before finally breaking up, spraying its now fully activated fluids all over the street and the other Klene.
But not him. Once he felt the tension give on the prongs as the fire hydrant gave, he unhooked his foot from the top rung of the ladder leading down from the manhole he had uncovered, and let himself fall into it as the wash went over his head.
He stopped after a few feet down, as the tethers didn't have any more give. The rumblings above him turned to sounds reminiscent of rocks tumbling. He had plenty of time to grab onto the rungs of the ladder as one by one the prongs went slack. He waited another minute, enough time to savor some of his swiped faux-tobacco before climbing back up.
Normally, he would have been pleased. Water geysering into the sky, pockmarks from the fluids spread across the streets, brick facades and the remaining corpses of the Klene. Only one was left even vaguely moving, and Spike had the admire the stubbornness of that eye-stalk. Of course the real source of his disquiet could be heard coming from the opposite direction that the Klene came.
Giles, Willow, Tara and... Buffy came into sight, at first running toward him, then realized that he had taken care of the Klene slowed down a bit. Except Buffy of course, which charged right past him and began happily chopping up the remaining bits of the Klene with an axe.
Giles got to him next, stammering his apologies for taking so long to find the Axe of Nivbar, the only weapon known to be impervious to Klene fluids. Spike tuned him out as he got to the funny bit of the story where it turned out the Axe was actually hidden underneath the bed, along with certain other supplies he had not used since the last time Olivia had been over, and was very embarrassed to have Willow and Tara see.
He pretended a vague interest, trying not to look at the enthusiastic chopping, and so was mildly surprised when Tara stopped in front of him, kneeled, and began to gently work out the barb and the attached prong end in his lower leg, sprinkling some crushed up herbs to help ease it out.
"Grabbed some of the ovem powder just in case one of us got stabbed," was her only comment as she focused on the task, Willow hovering protectively near her in case she got lost in horror. He half looked towards Buffy, which had reduced all of the pieces of the Klene down fist sized chunks and now seemed determined to get them down to finger length.
"Red, you'd better tell her to knock it off, or she'll blunt the edge of the axe trying to kill the blood on the streets." Willow merely nodded and went to Buffy. He could have overheard the conversation with ease, but really, he wasn't all that interested. He didn't want to be interested.
Tara got up after throwing away the last of the barbs, so he turned away from her before he would see her concerned look. Which, of course, brought him face to face with Buffy and Willow.
"Spike, you are covered in wounds that are sexy you are, but also are grievous. You should seek immediate medical attention. Would you like me to call 911 for you?" Spike turned away from his not-Buffy's cheerfully blank expression, wondering for the hundredth time what ever possessed him to think it would be a good idea.
Then he remembered. Sexual frustration. Still had that.
"I'll be back tomorrow night to keep an eye on Dawn." And with that he turned away and began determinedly walking in the direction of his cemetery.
Giles called after him, "Xander and Anya can spend a few more nights with her so you can heal up."
He didn't even turn around, "Ah, nothing but the summer reruns on the telly, might as well head over." And with that he gave an indistinct wave with his hand before turning a corner, out of sight.
Spike tried to look at the bright side.
His coat still looked damn fine. Not a single hole in it.
Unlike his heart.