Los Angeles, 1986
Spike thought it was time, he had been watching and studying this Slayer for over two weeks now and he was more than ready and eager to fight her. Rose Scott-Thomas, that was her name, was amazingly resourceful and cunning, she was fast to use anything in her enviroment as a weapon. Anything. But oddly enough one thing that caught his attention about her was her style and the places she'd go before and after her patrols: she was always going in and out of the Whiskey-A-Go-Go, the Rainbow, the Troubadour, and brandishing punk, heavy metal and hard rock t-shirts. At least the bint knows her music, he mused. But the thing that impressed him more was the fact that she was twenty-two, quite a remarkable feat considering all Slayers tend to die rather young. Well, tonight that changes, pet, he thought while gulping his glass of vodka. As rain started to pour, he took off to find his prey.
Rose exited the club and headed to a dark alley, Spike noticed. Well, this is my chance, ain't it? He followed her, jumping from rooftop to rooftop, and when she seemed distracted, he jumped in front of her, a good fifteen meters between them. She didn't seem surprised at all and she merely raised her stake and eyed him up and down. She was slim, her long red hair fashioned in a pony tail, drenched from the rain. He would have considered her plain and dull, almost a butch girl, under her large Metallica t-shirt and jacket, but her face was pretty despite the fact she was wearing no make up. Yup, he would have considered her dull and boring, had it not been for her green eyes, for he noticed were blazing with hot fire.
"Hello there, cutie", he purred, smiling a most sinister smile. "Well, now that's a pity," Rose replied almost sarcastically, half smiling. "Why's that, luv, what's a pity?" Spike quizzically eyed her. "Dustin' such fine looking bloodsucker," she casually answered, smiling. Her words took him by surprise, as well as her sudden attack. He countered it and chuckled, "All right, pet, let's get on with it then". She was fierce, he noticed, and he liked that. He liked challenges, and something inside was telling him offing this Slayer was gonna be well worth any bruise on his face. He also wondered what souvenir would he take from her corpse.
She was countering most of Spike's attacks, and he was countering hers. Having watched her for over two weeks indeed helped keep the fight even, because she was constantly changing fighting methods. The deathmatch had been on for well over thirty minutes now, and Spike was starting to get anxious, he wanted it over already, but he also noticed she was starting to wear out. Good, Spike, good, keep it like this, and this bitch is yours. But the thought costed him the higher ground, for she landed a kick right in his stomach that threw him off balance, and by the time he managed to get up, Rose pinned him against a wall, face crashing hard on it, right arm twisted behind his back, then his left arm. It all happened in a blur, and before he could even think, he was cuffed, hands behind his back, landing on the floor. And what was worst, the Slayer was looming over him, stake raised high, a sense of victory in her blazing green eyes. And everything that happened next, he was all seeing it in slow motion. Unable to move, unable to act, unable to think, save for a bloody hell, this is it, ain't it, this bitch's got me. In slow motion, Spike saw her straddle him, eyes blazing with that fire Slayers usually have, saw her raise her stake and slowly lower it, aiming for his heart. And then, she stopped right there, just as the pointy wood was just beginning to tear the fabric of his t-shirt. Her eyes were locked in his demon eyes, wide open, as if she had seen a ghost. And then she got up and took off. Fast. What the bloody hell was that?