Author's Note: What I thought would happen in Africa
DISCLAIMER: All characters herein are owned by Joss, ME, and whoever pays him for it. Not mine, not mine, not mine.
RATING: PG
FEEDBACK: Sure, ya, you betcha.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ AfricaSpike is sitting underneath a giant tree in front of a bonfire and chanting.
I call upon the Weidla
Heed my cry and hear my plea
I call upon the Umbarra
Open my skull and see my thought
I ask for the Shinna
Use the flame and grant my desire.
We see the flame begin to dance and take a faint form with ghost-like shape and blazing eyes. A hissing, crackling voice utters, *Speak your desire.*
Shrugging, "Well, I've got this bloody computer chip in my head that keeps me from harming humans. I want it out."
The fire pops and sparks, *You shall have your desire, when you fulfill your task.*
"The shaman didn't say rot about a task. What task?"
The air around Spike shimmers with intense heat and an image appears: a village of 15 or so huts, cattle around the perimeter, a few tribesmen wandering here and there. *Find the first and kill her*, hisses the voice.
"The first? The first what? Bloody guessing game is what this is. And, hello? I can't hurt humans. That's why I'm here."
*The first slayer. You will be allowed to do what is necessary to complete the task.*
Furrowed brow, Spike contemplates. "Yah, why not. Third one's a charm, right?"
Rising from his seat, Spike walks into the shimmering portal and finds himself standing just outside the illusory village, where it's conveniently night. Scanning the area, he spots a large outcropping of rock and makes his way behind it to survey the scene. He counts 12 huts, 30 cattle, 5 men and 2 women in the immediate area. The men appear to be setting up for a bonfire in the center of the village. The women hurry into nearby huts, emerging with more women with various containers and textiles.
"A regular festival by the looks of things," Spike mutters to himself, "how the hell am I supposed to find the bloody baggage?"
Spike continues to watch as more villagers join those in the center, bringing additional supplies, some dressed in masks and more fanciful costumes, emulating the wildlife of the region. Soon, a drumbeat starts and most of the villagers have seated themselves in a circle around the fire as those in costume begin to dance. Occasionally the drumming is joined by keening wails, or masculine shouts, with the dancing becoming more frenetic with each passing minute. Soon, the villagers are swaying in rhythm with the drumming, each crying out when the mood strikes them when suddenly it all stops. A young girl stands as if in a trance and walks to the bonfire, all the other dancers making way for her. She begins to undulate her body in sultry, slow movements, twirling her way around the fire. She has long, ragged hair, dark eyes that open and close with her occasional cries and moans that match with the slow beating of her feet.
Spike watches, fascinated and curious, becoming more entranced by the young girl and her movements with each passing minute. Keeping his eyes on her face, he is shocked when she stops, opens her eyes and appears to look straight at him, even though he is a good 100 feet away and hidden. A crack of thunder splits the air, and a stray bolt of lightning strikes the ground directly in front of the young girl's feet. The girl stands defiant in the face of Mother Nature and begins to walk directly towards Spike's hiding place.
Realizing she knows he is watching, and is obviously coming to him, Spike rises and stands defiant. "Well, at least I didn't have to sleuth her out. Funny how they seem to come right to me."
Running, the girl lets loose a cry that shatters the now still night and leaps like a cat onto to Spike sending him onto his back with her on top. "What is it with you Slayers? You all have to be on top." Rolling, he straddles her, pinning her arms above her head. "Me, I prefer to be in control at first." Flexing her lower body up, the girl hooks her heels in front of Spike's shoulders and pushes him off her. Jumping to her feet, she begins to circle him crouched and primed for action.
Unbidden, thoughts of Buffy sprang to Spike's mind. The battles, the bruises, the burns, the threats, the teasing, the torture, and not all of it painful, some of it actually quite pleasurable. His throat began to constrict as his mind raced through the consequences of what he was to do here: kill the first. Possibly stop them all. Stop her. Stop Buffy.
Spike drops his hands out of fighting posture and curses under his breath, "Bloody bitch. Stole my heart and my guts. Left me a shell of a vamp. Made me wish to be a man again. Made me realize I could be more. Can't even fulfill one little task to be a whole demon again, bugger all." Shaking his head, he says to the first, "Looks like you win. Not that you'll understand anything that's coming out of my mouth, but I won't be killing you tonight. Run along now pet."
Slitting her eyes, the first spits at Spikes feet and with a screech flies at him again. Spike backhands her then kicks her straight in the chest, sending her body back into the hard rock. Turning, he runs into the night.
Reaching a stand of trees. He pulls a cigarette from his duster and wonders, _How the bloody hell do I get back now? Didn't fulfill my "task". Have no idea when or where the hell I am._ The air in front of him begins to shimmer as it did when the Weidla showed him the first's village. An image of a bonfire by a lone tree appeared. Stepping into the shimmer he found himself back where he started.
"Well, I didn't succeed. Couldn't find the stones to kill the first slayer. I'll just be going now, with the chip still intact." He said the last with bitterness.
*Your desire has been granted.*
Perplexed, Spike stared into the fire, "But, I failed. I didn't complete the sodding task."
*The task is not always as it seems. Your task was to choose and reveal your true desire, which has been granted.*
"I don't…" Spike stopped as the bonfire sputtered and went out.
"Bleeding desire demons. Never dependable. Never putting their intentions plain. Thought I was clear enough, 'I want it out.' Bloody simple, straightforward, and to the point." Spike continued to mumble as he left in search of a cow or warthog to drain.
Reaching a cattle pen, Spike grimaced at the strong stench of manure, but his hunger was insistent and even more so once prey came into sight. Slipping in between the barbed wire, he sauntered over to one of the docile animals. "Hey Bessie, let's open a vein shall we?" Spike tilted his head back in preparation for the change, but nothing happened. He shook his head as if trying to clear it and tried again, still nothing. He ran his tongue along his teeth, all even, nothing preternaturally pointy. He touched his face, no ridges no toughening of the skin. Nothing remotely vampirish. He looked at the cow again. Ran his hand along its neck, found its pulse and felt, nothing. No raging desire for the heated liquid that ran through that vein, no burning ache for the acrid, faintly metallic flavor to coat his tongue. What the hell was wrong with him?