1 Riddles
Summary: Tired of his feelings for the Slayer, Spike ventures to Africa to seek help from a ancient demon, who forces him to take a trip down to memory lane. Feeding on the emotions Spike's memories evoke, the demon grows slowly stronger.
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy are the creators of the Buffy universe and Spike. Please stop using my pretty Spike as a bloody punching bag!
Rating: R, bad language, violence.
Note: based on spoilers - Spike goes to Africa to get his chip out, and probably doesn't return till next season. Just wanted to tell the tale of what happened to him in sunny Africa. Story told from his pov so it could be a bit confusing.
By Richard Bachman
Dedicated to all the Williams who are desperately trying to hold on to their Slayers.
2 Part 1; Trespassing
Have I ever told someone about my past, how my life was before I was turned? I'm sure I haven't. Not my totally dysfunctional vampire family from hell, not Angelus, my grandpoof Sire that I've detested and hated with every fibre of my being. He would have laughed at my weaknesses and ridiculed my insecurities, tortured me with it, increasing my anger, deepening my wounds. I've rather been skinned alive and or trusted my genitals in the hands of a Fyarl demon holding a nutcracker then tell him. It would probably have been bloody less painful as well.
I also have never told Dru anything. I loved Dru, my dark, dramatic queen of mad nightmare visions. But she wouldn't have understood any of it. Her mind was too clouded with her own madness of the girl she was once was and the lives that once were. I guess I didn't want to mess her up even more then she already was.
I didn't even tell the Slayer.
Though she had come to me one night, rushing into my humble little crypt with the determination of an attacking sheepdog. Before I could reply with a sharp remark, she was banging my head against the walls and twisting my arm with such force that I could almost feel the bones crack.
What do you want? I've asked her. Trying to sound as pissed off as possible, but failing, of course, pathetically since I secretly was too overjoyed to see her here, wanting something from me. Needing me.
Seeing me.
Her cold, harsh look softened slightly as she blinked with her eyes and responded.
"Slayers. You killed two of them."
"You re gonna show me how."
So I dragged her to the Bronze, telling her that I was feeling peckish and needed at least a pint to smooth down my throat before I was willing to tell the story. I made her buy me beer, fags and plates full of those bloody awful spicy buffalo wings. I smoked. I talked. I annoyed her till she gave me that killer look and trademark frown of hers and started talking in that nasal sounding nagging voice. I did everything to postpone the moment of actually giving her what she wanted. Holding her in my good company as long as possible.
I suppose, in my own sick and twisted mind, I kind off confused that cold and emotionless business transaction of us with our first proper date.
My Slayer, of course, did not suffer of this kind of delusions.
With hard words and empty threats I was urged to get on and start telling this story of my past, since the slayers I've slain were (may I say a proud) part of my history. She didn't particularly ask about how or when I was turned, or even who had sired me. Figured that at least she would be interested in where his nancy ex boyfriend knew me from, but she didn't even give me the slightest sign of interest. However, I've felt the urge to tell her anyway. I wanted her to know, I wanted her to get to know the man I was before I became the monster that she despised so deeply. The villain beyond redemption that she and her friends didn't even think worthy of dusting. I wanted her to meet William, the Bloody awful poet, the pathetic social reject, the man without a spine, a boy consumed by ridiculous hopes and dreams.
A good man.
God knows why but I needed her to at least know that he had ever existed, although the man I once was, is gone forever.
As I sat there at the other side of the table, staring into those mesmerizing blue eyes of hers. Judging eyes. Eyes full of expectations of the horrors my mouth and words would bring to her knowledge; stories of carnage, stories of death, stories of a demon wandering the earth without remorse. Her lips were already pulled in a sharp corner of disapproval, not the faintest of smiles glimmering through her cold hostility. As I sat there, I realized that I couldn't tell her the truth about my past. The truth was too far away from her reality. It wouldn't fit. She would never believe me.
That's why I lied to her instead.
I told her that William the Bloody was a murderer and a thief, exactly the type of monster she expected him to be. And as my story continued, describing one colourful and bloodstained lie after the other, her tense body relaxed a little. The harsh look and deep wrinkles in her pretty little face disappeared. She lowered her emotional defences, and all of her mistrust melted slowly away. I knew then, that she was very relieved, that she was content with the lies that I told her. She didn't need to know the truth about the monster, how human it once was and how it had equalled her in every sense of morality and kindness in the past. Her world had been black and white for a very long time and she didn't need, didn't want it to change, for change meant that she herself had to change. My Slayer lacked and still lacks the strength to do just that.
So you see, I really have never told anybody about my short and disappointing life as a mortal. That's why I was so pissed when you asked me to do just that. I didn't expect it. Yes, of course I knew that there would be a price to pay for the favour I was asking of you, nothing comes without a price and this counts double for a wish that requires the darkest of magic. I knew that it would be difficult, and it would not surprise me if I had to pay once again for my stupidity to follow my foolish dreams with my very own life. But, come on, why would an almighty and all knowing ancient uberdemon like you be even slightly interested in what kind of nancy boy this sad and dysfunctional vampire was before fate killed him off in an act of what I consider utter kindness? The thought alone makes me all giddy.
However, I suppose you were indeed serious about your ridiculous request for you've locked me up in this sodding stinking cave for three days now. Three whole days! I'm bloody bored out of my bloody mind. Just you and me sitting in a circle drawn in the sand with a freaking fire in the middle that never seems to be getting tired of burning. The orange glow of the blazing flames is barely enough to illuminating your features, almost human, but with the unnatural pale skin and yellow eyes and pupils as narrow as slits, you are more like me and my kind then the happy sun worshipping buggers who are overflowing this planet. With your lean, feminine figure hunching close to the fire, you raise a hand and reach out to me through the flames. I expect not without a sense of sadistic amusement that your skin will start to burn, blacken and peel, but there is no smoke and the hungry flames seem unwilling to consume your demon flesh.
Strange, but hey, I've seen weirder things happen.
When you speak, your cracked, colourless lips stay closed.
*Are you ready now for your first challenge, my darkness drawing friend?*
I roll my eyes and tense the muscles in my legs and arms. I've got enough of this sodding ancient light show. I've been sitting her, with my legs crossed and my hands resting on my knees for so Godforsaken long that I've lost the feeling in all of my limps days ago. Oh, how I wish that I could just get off my ass and jump over to you to get my fangs imbedded into your thin, creepy little neck, to drain the life out and snap it like dry firewood. Of course I'm fully aware that you're powerful and all, otherwise I won't even be here in the first place, and I do know that your fragile appearance is very likely to be deceiving, but hey, I've never been a man of think first, act later. Just ask the slayer, she knows what I'm talking about.
My muscles starts to cramp as I continue to struggle against the invisible retrains that you've put on me. Who am I kidding? I can't move. Not even lift a finger to scratch that madding itch on my nose. I'm frozen, on the spot, in the highly uncomfortable position that you've forced me into, sitting here like some sodding Hindu priest digesting a light meal of tofu. I feel my anger rise again till up to my throat, tasting like bitter bile. And you keep waving that fireproof hand at me. Slender, unnatural long fingers reaching into in the flames.
"Yes!" I replied finally, more out of desperation of getting bored then out rage. "Yes, I'm ready! I'm bloody ready for about anything as long as it doesn't involve sitting still at one spot for an incredibly long time! Now, finally, get the bloody hell on with it!!"
There is a long, awkward silence, as you finally get up from your position. You've been motionless for so long that I've started to believe that you've been put under a spell as well. You circle around the fire, pacing around me. Drawing closer with every step. Your yellow eyes are always fixed on mine. Never hesitating. As I stare back at those eyes, I can see together with the orange of the flames the image of a young man with coldblue eyes and bleached blond hair staring angrily back at me, reflecting in the blackness of your pupils.
"My…my face." I stumble " I can see my face."
A smile, as sharp and cold as that of a vein statue adorns your lips.
* Yes, indeed. I can see you in my eyes. Why is that so remarkable, William?*
"Because I'm a vampire, I'm not supposed to have a reflection. Vampires don't have souls to sustain a reflection."
As I mention the word soul, my mind takes a quick trip down to memory lane and I was lying on the filthy ground again in the back street alley at that particular night. She was bending over me, her angry and frustrated face hovering above me like a malicious sun. Her fists made impact with my cheeks and nose and filled my mouth with the taste of blood.
"You don't ... have a soul! There is nothing good or clean in you. You are dead inside! You can't feel anything real! I could never ... be your girl!"
She was right you know. There is nothing clean or good in me. I'm not Angel, the Oops - I killed-and-tortured-people-just-for-the-sport-of-it-for- centuries-but-now-I'm- really-really- sorry Angel, All broody and soul having. I don't have a soul. I've lost it when I traded the life of a weak and pathetic lovesick poet with the undead life of a weak and pathetic lovesick vampire, and frankly, I've never mourned about that lost.
Not until I fell in love with her.
You grimace at me, as though you could feel the pain I feel when digging out these past nasties. I doubt you can really feel it, and if you indeed do I will certainly stake myself as soon as I can move again for letting you know how it felt. It's already too bloody embarrassing enough.
* William. Listen to me.*
I wish you would stop calling me William. I'm not William the Bloody awful poet anymore. I'm Spike the Bloody killer.
* Listen to me. I want you to look into your past. Tell me what you've lost. Tell me what was no more after you were reborn as a vampire. Tell me what died with you that dark, Londen night.*
I'm a bit confused, how could you know about Londen? I want to ask but as I open my mouth, no sound is produced. I move my lips and my tongue to form words, looking probably much like Harris last time when we went mute and his attempts to blame everything on me made him resemble an ugly type of blowfish gasping for air on dry land.
A cold finger is pressed on my lips. Your radiant eyes are staring straight into my own, fire meeting ice.
*Hush. Words are redundant William. Words can never show me how you really felt, what you've seen through your mortal eyes. Heard with your mortal ears. You came to me to ask from me a most precious gift. For this, I want to have a taste of the life you once have lived. I want to taste that light before I fall back into the darkness where you and I now belong. Come William, whisper your memories into my mind.*
Your eyes mesmerize me, as her eyes always have when the harshness of hostility have melted away. I try to blink and move away from your stare, but I'm still frozen. And as I'm forced to look into those two radiant orbs, I become blinded by the light.
TBC
Summary: Tired of his feelings for the Slayer, Spike ventures to Africa to seek help from a ancient demon, who forces him to take a trip down to memory lane. Feeding on the emotions Spike's memories evoke, the demon grows slowly stronger.
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy are the creators of the Buffy universe and Spike. Please stop using my pretty Spike as a bloody punching bag!
Rating: R, bad language, violence.
Note: based on spoilers - Spike goes to Africa to get his chip out, and probably doesn't return till next season. Just wanted to tell the tale of what happened to him in sunny Africa. Story told from his pov so it could be a bit confusing.
By Richard Bachman
Dedicated to all the Williams who are desperately trying to hold on to their Slayers.
2 Part 1; Trespassing
Have I ever told someone about my past, how my life was before I was turned? I'm sure I haven't. Not my totally dysfunctional vampire family from hell, not Angelus, my grandpoof Sire that I've detested and hated with every fibre of my being. He would have laughed at my weaknesses and ridiculed my insecurities, tortured me with it, increasing my anger, deepening my wounds. I've rather been skinned alive and or trusted my genitals in the hands of a Fyarl demon holding a nutcracker then tell him. It would probably have been bloody less painful as well.
I also have never told Dru anything. I loved Dru, my dark, dramatic queen of mad nightmare visions. But she wouldn't have understood any of it. Her mind was too clouded with her own madness of the girl she was once was and the lives that once were. I guess I didn't want to mess her up even more then she already was.
I didn't even tell the Slayer.
Though she had come to me one night, rushing into my humble little crypt with the determination of an attacking sheepdog. Before I could reply with a sharp remark, she was banging my head against the walls and twisting my arm with such force that I could almost feel the bones crack.
What do you want? I've asked her. Trying to sound as pissed off as possible, but failing, of course, pathetically since I secretly was too overjoyed to see her here, wanting something from me. Needing me.
Seeing me.
Her cold, harsh look softened slightly as she blinked with her eyes and responded.
"Slayers. You killed two of them."
"You re gonna show me how."
So I dragged her to the Bronze, telling her that I was feeling peckish and needed at least a pint to smooth down my throat before I was willing to tell the story. I made her buy me beer, fags and plates full of those bloody awful spicy buffalo wings. I smoked. I talked. I annoyed her till she gave me that killer look and trademark frown of hers and started talking in that nasal sounding nagging voice. I did everything to postpone the moment of actually giving her what she wanted. Holding her in my good company as long as possible.
I suppose, in my own sick and twisted mind, I kind off confused that cold and emotionless business transaction of us with our first proper date.
My Slayer, of course, did not suffer of this kind of delusions.
With hard words and empty threats I was urged to get on and start telling this story of my past, since the slayers I've slain were (may I say a proud) part of my history. She didn't particularly ask about how or when I was turned, or even who had sired me. Figured that at least she would be interested in where his nancy ex boyfriend knew me from, but she didn't even give me the slightest sign of interest. However, I've felt the urge to tell her anyway. I wanted her to know, I wanted her to get to know the man I was before I became the monster that she despised so deeply. The villain beyond redemption that she and her friends didn't even think worthy of dusting. I wanted her to meet William, the Bloody awful poet, the pathetic social reject, the man without a spine, a boy consumed by ridiculous hopes and dreams.
A good man.
God knows why but I needed her to at least know that he had ever existed, although the man I once was, is gone forever.
As I sat there at the other side of the table, staring into those mesmerizing blue eyes of hers. Judging eyes. Eyes full of expectations of the horrors my mouth and words would bring to her knowledge; stories of carnage, stories of death, stories of a demon wandering the earth without remorse. Her lips were already pulled in a sharp corner of disapproval, not the faintest of smiles glimmering through her cold hostility. As I sat there, I realized that I couldn't tell her the truth about my past. The truth was too far away from her reality. It wouldn't fit. She would never believe me.
That's why I lied to her instead.
I told her that William the Bloody was a murderer and a thief, exactly the type of monster she expected him to be. And as my story continued, describing one colourful and bloodstained lie after the other, her tense body relaxed a little. The harsh look and deep wrinkles in her pretty little face disappeared. She lowered her emotional defences, and all of her mistrust melted slowly away. I knew then, that she was very relieved, that she was content with the lies that I told her. She didn't need to know the truth about the monster, how human it once was and how it had equalled her in every sense of morality and kindness in the past. Her world had been black and white for a very long time and she didn't need, didn't want it to change, for change meant that she herself had to change. My Slayer lacked and still lacks the strength to do just that.
So you see, I really have never told anybody about my short and disappointing life as a mortal. That's why I was so pissed when you asked me to do just that. I didn't expect it. Yes, of course I knew that there would be a price to pay for the favour I was asking of you, nothing comes without a price and this counts double for a wish that requires the darkest of magic. I knew that it would be difficult, and it would not surprise me if I had to pay once again for my stupidity to follow my foolish dreams with my very own life. But, come on, why would an almighty and all knowing ancient uberdemon like you be even slightly interested in what kind of nancy boy this sad and dysfunctional vampire was before fate killed him off in an act of what I consider utter kindness? The thought alone makes me all giddy.
However, I suppose you were indeed serious about your ridiculous request for you've locked me up in this sodding stinking cave for three days now. Three whole days! I'm bloody bored out of my bloody mind. Just you and me sitting in a circle drawn in the sand with a freaking fire in the middle that never seems to be getting tired of burning. The orange glow of the blazing flames is barely enough to illuminating your features, almost human, but with the unnatural pale skin and yellow eyes and pupils as narrow as slits, you are more like me and my kind then the happy sun worshipping buggers who are overflowing this planet. With your lean, feminine figure hunching close to the fire, you raise a hand and reach out to me through the flames. I expect not without a sense of sadistic amusement that your skin will start to burn, blacken and peel, but there is no smoke and the hungry flames seem unwilling to consume your demon flesh.
Strange, but hey, I've seen weirder things happen.
When you speak, your cracked, colourless lips stay closed.
*Are you ready now for your first challenge, my darkness drawing friend?*
I roll my eyes and tense the muscles in my legs and arms. I've got enough of this sodding ancient light show. I've been sitting her, with my legs crossed and my hands resting on my knees for so Godforsaken long that I've lost the feeling in all of my limps days ago. Oh, how I wish that I could just get off my ass and jump over to you to get my fangs imbedded into your thin, creepy little neck, to drain the life out and snap it like dry firewood. Of course I'm fully aware that you're powerful and all, otherwise I won't even be here in the first place, and I do know that your fragile appearance is very likely to be deceiving, but hey, I've never been a man of think first, act later. Just ask the slayer, she knows what I'm talking about.
My muscles starts to cramp as I continue to struggle against the invisible retrains that you've put on me. Who am I kidding? I can't move. Not even lift a finger to scratch that madding itch on my nose. I'm frozen, on the spot, in the highly uncomfortable position that you've forced me into, sitting here like some sodding Hindu priest digesting a light meal of tofu. I feel my anger rise again till up to my throat, tasting like bitter bile. And you keep waving that fireproof hand at me. Slender, unnatural long fingers reaching into in the flames.
"Yes!" I replied finally, more out of desperation of getting bored then out rage. "Yes, I'm ready! I'm bloody ready for about anything as long as it doesn't involve sitting still at one spot for an incredibly long time! Now, finally, get the bloody hell on with it!!"
There is a long, awkward silence, as you finally get up from your position. You've been motionless for so long that I've started to believe that you've been put under a spell as well. You circle around the fire, pacing around me. Drawing closer with every step. Your yellow eyes are always fixed on mine. Never hesitating. As I stare back at those eyes, I can see together with the orange of the flames the image of a young man with coldblue eyes and bleached blond hair staring angrily back at me, reflecting in the blackness of your pupils.
"My…my face." I stumble " I can see my face."
A smile, as sharp and cold as that of a vein statue adorns your lips.
* Yes, indeed. I can see you in my eyes. Why is that so remarkable, William?*
"Because I'm a vampire, I'm not supposed to have a reflection. Vampires don't have souls to sustain a reflection."
As I mention the word soul, my mind takes a quick trip down to memory lane and I was lying on the filthy ground again in the back street alley at that particular night. She was bending over me, her angry and frustrated face hovering above me like a malicious sun. Her fists made impact with my cheeks and nose and filled my mouth with the taste of blood.
"You don't ... have a soul! There is nothing good or clean in you. You are dead inside! You can't feel anything real! I could never ... be your girl!"
She was right you know. There is nothing clean or good in me. I'm not Angel, the Oops - I killed-and-tortured-people-just-for-the-sport-of-it-for- centuries-but-now-I'm- really-really- sorry Angel, All broody and soul having. I don't have a soul. I've lost it when I traded the life of a weak and pathetic lovesick poet with the undead life of a weak and pathetic lovesick vampire, and frankly, I've never mourned about that lost.
Not until I fell in love with her.
You grimace at me, as though you could feel the pain I feel when digging out these past nasties. I doubt you can really feel it, and if you indeed do I will certainly stake myself as soon as I can move again for letting you know how it felt. It's already too bloody embarrassing enough.
* William. Listen to me.*
I wish you would stop calling me William. I'm not William the Bloody awful poet anymore. I'm Spike the Bloody killer.
* Listen to me. I want you to look into your past. Tell me what you've lost. Tell me what was no more after you were reborn as a vampire. Tell me what died with you that dark, Londen night.*
I'm a bit confused, how could you know about Londen? I want to ask but as I open my mouth, no sound is produced. I move my lips and my tongue to form words, looking probably much like Harris last time when we went mute and his attempts to blame everything on me made him resemble an ugly type of blowfish gasping for air on dry land.
A cold finger is pressed on my lips. Your radiant eyes are staring straight into my own, fire meeting ice.
*Hush. Words are redundant William. Words can never show me how you really felt, what you've seen through your mortal eyes. Heard with your mortal ears. You came to me to ask from me a most precious gift. For this, I want to have a taste of the life you once have lived. I want to taste that light before I fall back into the darkness where you and I now belong. Come William, whisper your memories into my mind.*
Your eyes mesmerize me, as her eyes always have when the harshness of hostility have melted away. I try to blink and move away from your stare, but I'm still frozen. And as I'm forced to look into those two radiant orbs, I become blinded by the light.
TBC
