TITLE: PEKING DUCK AND GANYMEDE LOBSTER
AUTHOR: Jazz-ager
RATING: R for language, drinking, and shameless drug use
SUMMARY: Spike gets a bit tipsy. On top of that he has indigestion. Terror ensues. This is why I think Jet is bald.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything except for the feathers...courtesy of Edward's pillow (
"Man this lobster's really getting to me," Spike mumbled slurring his words as he pressed his forehead against the smudged glass elevator.
"Should've stuck to the booze." Jet said as he looked over with a reproving frown.
"Nrrrggh." An empty wallet and a retching stomach. Plus, the damn elevator music was so painfully nauseating. He should've known better than to try to act rich.
"I was just fine with the beer but then there was spare money in my pocket. It was whispering in my ear, 'spend me spend me spend me.' What choice did I have? Those things talk to me they do. Damn this is a long ride. I feel so dizzy. I'll never eat again."
Oh did he forget to mention that he was drunk and perhaps stoned? What now? Prepare for one wicked hangover, that's what. Spike was reaching for a cigarette when something soft and downy landed on his nose. He blew the feather off dismissively and shifted his eyes to focus on Jet. Those eyes widened significantly.
"Damn it Jet, are you molting?" Spike whispered almost childishly as his brow furrowed. His blinking double tinted/toned eyes trailed the descent of the apparitions.
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"The feathers, Jet!"
DING
The elevator thudded to a stop and Jet was thoroughly alarmed. Hoping the elevator's stop had cleared Spike's mind, he stepped out and headed for the ship. Spike however, stayed staring seemingly at what Jet saw as nonexistent fluff.
"Jet."
"What?"
"The feathers are talking."
"Oh not that again!"
"They're sayin' that a big fat bounty is coming 'round the corner."
"Which one?" he asked in a bored tone looking around.
"How the fuck should I know?! Their prophecies, not mine. You should know that."
"All I know is that you're drunk, stoned, and an insufferable fool!" He cried in exasperation. "Geez, Spike, will ya get out of the fucking elevator?!" Yanking Spike right past the closing doors that slid open again as Spike's foot got wedged between the two doors. He yanked again and at that moment the doors closed again this time snaring Spike's footwear.
"My suedes!" Spike cried in a strangely sentimental horror as he toppled over onto Jet. Now that's a formidable opponent thought Spike. They sat in a rather irresolute silence as they watched to elevator doors open and close, and open again on the shoe, which seemed very content to stay where it was. Finally Spike got up on his wobbly legs to retrieve his shoe.
"Damn it's scuffed," he cursed bending over to pick it up. Almost instantly, a large man appeared from a shady looking corner, vaulted over the crouching Spike, and landed in the elevator. He frantically jabbed at the buttons.
DING
The doors closed.
"That, would be the large order of fries," said Spike nonchalantly still inspecting his shoe.
"How—the feathers again?" Jet gave in.
"No, I deduced that one myself," Spike grinned as Jet gave his forehead a rather unhealthy smack. "Twenty million wulongs for double homicide and moon graffiti."
"What the fuck?"
"One of Jupiter's" Spike added shrugging as if that explained it all.
"Uh..." Jet scratched his head. "You up for it?"
"I'm up for some Peking Duck alright," said Spike finally looking up from his shoe.
"I thought you gave up on food," said Jet wearily.
"Well, I'm hungry," replied Spike as he reached into his shoe.
"What are you doing?"
"Getting the feathers out of my shoe."
"Oh."
"He went up to the top floor," Spike added.
AUTHOR: Jazz-ager
RATING: R for language, drinking, and shameless drug use
SUMMARY: Spike gets a bit tipsy. On top of that he has indigestion. Terror ensues. This is why I think Jet is bald.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything except for the feathers...courtesy of Edward's pillow (
"Man this lobster's really getting to me," Spike mumbled slurring his words as he pressed his forehead against the smudged glass elevator.
"Should've stuck to the booze." Jet said as he looked over with a reproving frown.
"Nrrrggh." An empty wallet and a retching stomach. Plus, the damn elevator music was so painfully nauseating. He should've known better than to try to act rich.
"I was just fine with the beer but then there was spare money in my pocket. It was whispering in my ear, 'spend me spend me spend me.' What choice did I have? Those things talk to me they do. Damn this is a long ride. I feel so dizzy. I'll never eat again."
Oh did he forget to mention that he was drunk and perhaps stoned? What now? Prepare for one wicked hangover, that's what. Spike was reaching for a cigarette when something soft and downy landed on his nose. He blew the feather off dismissively and shifted his eyes to focus on Jet. Those eyes widened significantly.
"Damn it Jet, are you molting?" Spike whispered almost childishly as his brow furrowed. His blinking double tinted/toned eyes trailed the descent of the apparitions.
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"The feathers, Jet!"
DING
The elevator thudded to a stop and Jet was thoroughly alarmed. Hoping the elevator's stop had cleared Spike's mind, he stepped out and headed for the ship. Spike however, stayed staring seemingly at what Jet saw as nonexistent fluff.
"Jet."
"What?"
"The feathers are talking."
"Oh not that again!"
"They're sayin' that a big fat bounty is coming 'round the corner."
"Which one?" he asked in a bored tone looking around.
"How the fuck should I know?! Their prophecies, not mine. You should know that."
"All I know is that you're drunk, stoned, and an insufferable fool!" He cried in exasperation. "Geez, Spike, will ya get out of the fucking elevator?!" Yanking Spike right past the closing doors that slid open again as Spike's foot got wedged between the two doors. He yanked again and at that moment the doors closed again this time snaring Spike's footwear.
"My suedes!" Spike cried in a strangely sentimental horror as he toppled over onto Jet. Now that's a formidable opponent thought Spike. They sat in a rather irresolute silence as they watched to elevator doors open and close, and open again on the shoe, which seemed very content to stay where it was. Finally Spike got up on his wobbly legs to retrieve his shoe.
"Damn it's scuffed," he cursed bending over to pick it up. Almost instantly, a large man appeared from a shady looking corner, vaulted over the crouching Spike, and landed in the elevator. He frantically jabbed at the buttons.
DING
The doors closed.
"That, would be the large order of fries," said Spike nonchalantly still inspecting his shoe.
"How—the feathers again?" Jet gave in.
"No, I deduced that one myself," Spike grinned as Jet gave his forehead a rather unhealthy smack. "Twenty million wulongs for double homicide and moon graffiti."
"What the fuck?"
"One of Jupiter's" Spike added shrugging as if that explained it all.
"Uh..." Jet scratched his head. "You up for it?"
"I'm up for some Peking Duck alright," said Spike finally looking up from his shoe.
"I thought you gave up on food," said Jet wearily.
"Well, I'm hungry," replied Spike as he reached into his shoe.
"What are you doing?"
"Getting the feathers out of my shoe."
"Oh."
"He went up to the top floor," Spike added.