Most Of All
:: CHAPTER FOUR ::
"Please leave now. Before I call security."
Buffy glared at the woman before swinging around and staring at the mahogany covered walls of the room she was in. "What's going on?" She asked, wrinkling her brow and spreading her arms out, palms-up.
The panellists exchanged nervous glances. "This is the end of your interview."
Buffy tilted her head forwards. "For a job?" She asked, pointing a finger towards the ground. The woman didn't reply and instead began to move her hand slowly to one side of the desk. Buffy smiled slightly at her reaction. "Well," she said, straightening up and sparkling her pearl-white teeth in a wide smirk, "you can take your job and shove it up your arse!" She grinned, before sticking two fingers up at them and moving her hand to her neck.
Suddenly, she froze. The panel froze with her.
"What's this?" She asked, looking down. Her hands cupped her breasts as a huge smile spread across her face. "Jackpot!"
"Miss Summers, please!" Cried the woman, standing up. "I'm asking you to leave, now!"
Buffy's face lost all of its humour as her eyes rose to meet her. "Miss Summers?" Her mind was running.
"Yes, Miss Summers, Miss Elizabeth Summers." The woman was nervous; her fingers gripped the sides of the desk in front of her, her knuckles bore white in the process.
Buffy's eyes bulged. "Buffy Summers?" She said feebly, her breath catching in her throat. She swallowed a lump that had suddenly formed there. The woman, terrified, continued to look straight ahead. "Shit!"
Spike growled as he turned a corner and into a dark alley in LA. He had no idea where he was going. But he was going there. He had no idea what he was doing. But he was doing it. All he knew was that he was pissed…and he was Buffy.
He pushed his way into a crowded club with a large black door. Thuds and smoke billowed around him as he made his way to the bar, and a jukebox boomed in the background. He had been walking in daylight and now he needed a drink.
He was dressed in a small black skirt and a white strappy-top. He had been wearing a matching black jacket but had dropped it when he had caught his reflection in a pane of glass. It made him look like a conformist, for Christ's sake.
He slammed his fist down on the counter and took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "Triple vodka, mate." There was silence. He looked up and saw a large man staring at his chest. "Oi!" He growled, "no! Now, the vodka."
"Calm down, sweetheart," the man grinned, leaning over the counter, "I wont let anything happen to you."
"Blegh!" Spike spat in disgust, his face contorting accordingly. "That's disgusting." The man toughened his eyes and reached a purple hand across to him. "Whoa – you don't seriously think that I'd go in for that, do you?"
The man shrugged. "Not really up to you." He grabbed hold of Spike's shoulder and pulled him forward.
"Hey!" Spike shouted. A few other men in the bar began to walk forward. They pulled him back away from the bartender. "Yes, thank you!" He said sarcastically. "Bloody hell." He shook his head and started heading for a cubicle to sit down in. "Freak."
"Hey, pretty lady, wanna dance?" Spike looked up and furrowed his brow. The four men from before was standing around him, watching, and the bartender had joined them. They all had slimy grins on their faces.
"You serious?" Spike asked, lifting an eyebrow. His eyes flicked from person to person. Man, he was desperate for a fag.
"Completely, darlin'." One of the men said.
"Fuck off." He growled in disbelief.
The men looked at each other. "Not your choice." One of them reached forwards and placed a hand on his shoulder and led the other to his waist.
Spike jumped up and pushed him back. It was a mere reflex, but it was effective. The Slayer-strength in Buffy had passed onto him as he forced the man back and into the jukebox. It smashed and fizzed around him.
Another of the men stepped forwards, and another, and another. But one by one they all fell at Spike's hand, until at last only the bartender remained. He stood before Spike in a greasy vest and jeans and grinned a toothy smile. He didn't seem at all phased by the four large men this young woman had managed to knockout with such ease. He edged forwards before reaching out and grabbing hold of Spike's top. Spike bucked backwards in revulsion, falling backwards onto a table, the short man on top of him.
Puss-covered lips came down onto his as he shot his eyes open and quickly kicked the man right in his crown jewels – usually a place he tended not to go for. The man lurched backwards and collapsed onto the floor, his hands firmly clasped over his genitals.
Spike jumped up and spat repeatedly, wiping his mouth with his hands. "That was…absolutely…disgusting!" He ground out between spits. He glared down in abhorrence at the slop on the floor before sending two more kicks his way.
Spike turned on his heel and headed towards the door. "All men are bastards."