"Whoa!" Spike protested, putting his hands up defensively. "I don't
sing."
Angel cocked his head mockingly. "Oh come now, we know that isn't true."
"That was a LONG time ago... and I was drunk."
"Spike," Angel sighed, annoyance apparent in his tone. "Just do it, it's the only way you can be read. Hey, I did it. I sang Barry Manilow to save a life. So just do it!"
Spike shuffled his feet nervously, he knew he was going to end up doing it one way or another, Angel would see to that. He figured that resistance was futile. He nodded his head reluctantly and followed Lorne backstage where he picked out a song.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Spike sat on a stool on the stage, his knuckles unusually white from gripping the microphone so tightly. Angel smiled at the sight of Spike about to perform and looked at Lorne who was staring at Spike pensively, a thoughtful frown on his face.
"What did he pick?" Angel asked.
The Host smile. "You'll see."
As if on cue, the music started, an electric guitar played a few chords. The guitar was soon joined by the beats of a drum, and the rhythmic plucking of a bass. And then, Spike sang.
// Come as you are, as you were,
As I want you to be.
As a friend, as a friend, as an old enemy//
Angel was taken aback. Not only by the choice of song, since he had been figuring that Spike would choose something fast, but by the talent of his grandchilde. His voice was soothing, and soulful if he dare think that word in relation to Spike.
// Take your time, hurry up
The choice is yours, don't be late.
Take a rest, as a friend, as an old memoria
Memoria. Memoria. Memoria//
Angel listened closely to the words of the song, and the pain in Spike's voice. He was so angry and so hurt, but about what? What was making him feel like this now?
//Come dowsed in mud, soaked in bleach,
As I want you to be.
As a trend, as a friend, as an old memoria.
Memoria. Memoria. Memoria.
And I swear that I don't have a gun,
No I don't have a gun,
No I don't have a gun//
There was a bridge in the song so Angel took the time to turn his attention from the stage to Lorne, who was watching Spike just as observantly.
"What do you see?" Angel whispered as discretely as he could.
Lorne didn't turn around. He merely waved his hand lazily at Angel. "Shh."
//Memoria. Memoria.
Memoria. Memoria.
And I swear that I don't have a gun.
No I don't have a gun.
No I don't have a gun.
No I don't have a gun.
No I don't have a gun.
Memoria. Memoria//
The music slowed and the song ended. The crowd at Caritas applauded enthusiastically, even Angel couldn't resist showing a little support. Spike sat on the stage smiling sheepishly, if he had circulation his face would have been beet red. Lorne stood up from where he sat at the bar and walked onto the stage and took the microphone from Spike who was more than willing to give it up.
"Well look at mister hidden talent here!" The Host told the makeshift audience gleefully. "Alright, I'll be right back so sit tight and have another drink." Lorne placed the microphone back into the stand and motioned for Spike to follow him to the side of the stage.
"Well, you are seriously vibing my friend."
Spike just stared at the green demon.
"What I mean is, there is just so much going on inside of you, it's coming off of your aura in waves. I see what's holding you back brother, it's your love for those two girls, Angel's ex and uh- the other is like pure energy."
"Dawn, she's the key."
"Right, right. Okay, so there's that. But it's not enough sometimes. I see what you want, I see that there's so much more holding you back."
"The chip. I'm like a bloody dog on a leash."
Lorne looked puzzled. "Chip?"
"You know, soldier boys put it in my brain. I can't hurt people, humans and such."
Lorne still looked confused. "There's nothing there."
"What?" Now it was Spike's turn to be confused.
"In your head. There's no humming. The only thing humming on you is your vocal cords. Whatever was up there, it's not working anymore."
Spike felt like he had been punched in the stomach and every vital organ in his body fell out. His world was spinning, what he had wanted for three years had finally come to him, but was it what he really wanted? Did he still just want to be an evil thing?
"Is that all that you saw?"
"Well, when I said before there was something else that was holding you back, it's your soul."
Spike looked at the demon, eyes questioning him. He must be making this up now. "I think you've gotten me confused with my grandsire, mate."
Lorne laughed. "Nope, you've got a soul alright. Well, sort of."
"What? How? How sort of? What?" Spike was tripping over his own words.
"You see, when a vampire becomes a vampire, his soul leaves his body and the demon takes its place. Apparently, when you were turned, your ties to the world were so great, that little bits of your soul were caught to your essence. But when the demon arose, it was buried. But due to the resent occurrences, your love for the slayer and such, that was like the shovel that broke through. It retrieved the pieces of your soul. Mind you, however, that you are not one-hundred percent good, nor are you one-hundred percent evil."
Spike was in shock. "So what does that make me? Am I anything now? Am I nothing?"
Lorne smiled whole-heartedly. "No silly... you're one of a kind."
Spike looked up and cocked his head. Forcing a gratuitous smile on his face. "Thank you."
Lorne nodded. "It's what I do."
Spike turned and began to walk toward Angel when his motion was interrupted.
"Oh, and one last thing, Spike." The vampire turned around and cocked an eyebrow. "You're a poet."
Spike shook his head. "Was, mate."
"No, you still are. You just need to find your inspiration."
Spike laughed and turned around and walked away. He looked at Angel who had inquisitive eyes. He was about to ask a question when Spike put up his hand to stop him.
"I'll explain in the car."
Angel cocked his head mockingly. "Oh come now, we know that isn't true."
"That was a LONG time ago... and I was drunk."
"Spike," Angel sighed, annoyance apparent in his tone. "Just do it, it's the only way you can be read. Hey, I did it. I sang Barry Manilow to save a life. So just do it!"
Spike shuffled his feet nervously, he knew he was going to end up doing it one way or another, Angel would see to that. He figured that resistance was futile. He nodded his head reluctantly and followed Lorne backstage where he picked out a song.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Spike sat on a stool on the stage, his knuckles unusually white from gripping the microphone so tightly. Angel smiled at the sight of Spike about to perform and looked at Lorne who was staring at Spike pensively, a thoughtful frown on his face.
"What did he pick?" Angel asked.
The Host smile. "You'll see."
As if on cue, the music started, an electric guitar played a few chords. The guitar was soon joined by the beats of a drum, and the rhythmic plucking of a bass. And then, Spike sang.
// Come as you are, as you were,
As I want you to be.
As a friend, as a friend, as an old enemy//
Angel was taken aback. Not only by the choice of song, since he had been figuring that Spike would choose something fast, but by the talent of his grandchilde. His voice was soothing, and soulful if he dare think that word in relation to Spike.
// Take your time, hurry up
The choice is yours, don't be late.
Take a rest, as a friend, as an old memoria
Memoria. Memoria. Memoria//
Angel listened closely to the words of the song, and the pain in Spike's voice. He was so angry and so hurt, but about what? What was making him feel like this now?
//Come dowsed in mud, soaked in bleach,
As I want you to be.
As a trend, as a friend, as an old memoria.
Memoria. Memoria. Memoria.
And I swear that I don't have a gun,
No I don't have a gun,
No I don't have a gun//
There was a bridge in the song so Angel took the time to turn his attention from the stage to Lorne, who was watching Spike just as observantly.
"What do you see?" Angel whispered as discretely as he could.
Lorne didn't turn around. He merely waved his hand lazily at Angel. "Shh."
//Memoria. Memoria.
Memoria. Memoria.
And I swear that I don't have a gun.
No I don't have a gun.
No I don't have a gun.
No I don't have a gun.
No I don't have a gun.
Memoria. Memoria//
The music slowed and the song ended. The crowd at Caritas applauded enthusiastically, even Angel couldn't resist showing a little support. Spike sat on the stage smiling sheepishly, if he had circulation his face would have been beet red. Lorne stood up from where he sat at the bar and walked onto the stage and took the microphone from Spike who was more than willing to give it up.
"Well look at mister hidden talent here!" The Host told the makeshift audience gleefully. "Alright, I'll be right back so sit tight and have another drink." Lorne placed the microphone back into the stand and motioned for Spike to follow him to the side of the stage.
"Well, you are seriously vibing my friend."
Spike just stared at the green demon.
"What I mean is, there is just so much going on inside of you, it's coming off of your aura in waves. I see what's holding you back brother, it's your love for those two girls, Angel's ex and uh- the other is like pure energy."
"Dawn, she's the key."
"Right, right. Okay, so there's that. But it's not enough sometimes. I see what you want, I see that there's so much more holding you back."
"The chip. I'm like a bloody dog on a leash."
Lorne looked puzzled. "Chip?"
"You know, soldier boys put it in my brain. I can't hurt people, humans and such."
Lorne still looked confused. "There's nothing there."
"What?" Now it was Spike's turn to be confused.
"In your head. There's no humming. The only thing humming on you is your vocal cords. Whatever was up there, it's not working anymore."
Spike felt like he had been punched in the stomach and every vital organ in his body fell out. His world was spinning, what he had wanted for three years had finally come to him, but was it what he really wanted? Did he still just want to be an evil thing?
"Is that all that you saw?"
"Well, when I said before there was something else that was holding you back, it's your soul."
Spike looked at the demon, eyes questioning him. He must be making this up now. "I think you've gotten me confused with my grandsire, mate."
Lorne laughed. "Nope, you've got a soul alright. Well, sort of."
"What? How? How sort of? What?" Spike was tripping over his own words.
"You see, when a vampire becomes a vampire, his soul leaves his body and the demon takes its place. Apparently, when you were turned, your ties to the world were so great, that little bits of your soul were caught to your essence. But when the demon arose, it was buried. But due to the resent occurrences, your love for the slayer and such, that was like the shovel that broke through. It retrieved the pieces of your soul. Mind you, however, that you are not one-hundred percent good, nor are you one-hundred percent evil."
Spike was in shock. "So what does that make me? Am I anything now? Am I nothing?"
Lorne smiled whole-heartedly. "No silly... you're one of a kind."
Spike looked up and cocked his head. Forcing a gratuitous smile on his face. "Thank you."
Lorne nodded. "It's what I do."
Spike turned and began to walk toward Angel when his motion was interrupted.
"Oh, and one last thing, Spike." The vampire turned around and cocked an eyebrow. "You're a poet."
Spike shook his head. "Was, mate."
"No, you still are. You just need to find your inspiration."
Spike laughed and turned around and walked away. He looked at Angel who had inquisitive eyes. He was about to ask a question when Spike put up his hand to stop him.
"I'll explain in the car."
