![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
WIP amnesty - Post 2
Feb. 6th, 2004 05:34 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
essene_backupI sorta feel bad. I mean what if some nutball actually wants these continued? I just can't help, ya know? Still...it's like airing the dirty laundry, cleaning the cobwebs and lighting the pretty candles to entice the muse back.
Challenge was Spuffy-centric and involved people getting high. It's too detailed to list here, as I'm not finishing it anyway. So there.
_______________
"Slayer! Behind you!" Spike yelled to warn Buffy just before the syloth demon sped toward her on wings of light.
Buffy dropped down to the ground and felt the rush of air brush her back as the demon passed just above her. Looking at the matted leaves below her, she heard a solid thud, some sizzling and a cry of pain moments before she raised her eyes. Jumping to her feet, Buffy raced to where Spike and the demon rolled in a tangled mass on the asphalt. Smoke rose as Spike yelled incoherent curses at the blindingly bright entity that was attempting to pry his eyes from his head. Frantically, Buffy ran to her bag and pawed through it in desperation: stake, crossbow, mace, holy water, dagger, arrows, ah....
Weapon in hand, Buffy cocked her arm and threw with all her might, squarely hitting the syloth with the object. There was an unearthly wail and a small pop as the demon winked out of existence. Exhaling her held breath she jogged over to Spike and dropped to her knees. If the smell was bad, burnt hair and flesh, the actual sight was worse. Patches of bone showed through on his skull and face where the demon had gripped him, and seared flesh under the remnants of his tattered clothing.
"Spike? Spike? Can you hear me?" Buffy gingerly brushed a leaf off of his cheek and began methodically checking the rest of his body for internal damage. Everywhere she touched was singed, burnt, crisp, blistered. It had been a long while since anything she'd seen or experienced had made her physically ill, but....
A moan escaped his chafed lips. "Buffy," it was a croak, not the hot liquored voice she was used to. "Buffy, I..." She shushed him, "Don't try to talk. This is going to hurt, probably a lot, but I've got to get you home. Brace yourself." And with that, she sat Spike up.
A weak, hoarse cry belied the pain behind it. Before he had time to think past that torture, she had lifted him up to her shoulder, carrying him ignominiously like some spoiled princess given her comeuppance by a knight.
God, she's got a nice... He was unable to finish his thought before he passed out.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Will! Will!" Buffy began yelling as soon as she hit the foyer. She took her sack of potatoes, damn! He's heavy!, to the couch and gently laid him on it.
She looked around. Silence. Nothing. No pitter-patter of Potential feet, no flying red hair, no Dawn. Where the hell was everyone? She looked at the clock on the mantle. 11 pm. Then she remembered, Friday Night Fever at the Bronze. She had told them all to go without her and she'd catch-up after a quick round of patrolling with Spike.
Alone. With an incoherent, severely injured vamp. Who may or may not be still under the influence of the First. Great.
She looked at him again. No improvement, looked like his immortal healing wasn't kicking in-maybe it was shock over the extent of the damage. His razorblade cheekbones were clearly visible, even more so without their layer of skin. Patches of platinum hair gone, his eyelashes and eyebrows gone, ears charred, hipbones poking through his black jeans blistered and cracked, almost no shirt and no chest skin left. He was a horrible sight. Tears gathered and she almost...get it together. Burns = butter? No, medicine cabinet.
Running upstairs, Buffy mentally thanked TPTB for allowing her to have injurable friends. They had an arsenal of medicinal supplies for Xander, Dawn, Willow, Anya and Giles' aches and pains. Opening the cabinet (a linen closet really) she pulled out iodine, solarcain, aloe vera, gauze, vicodin, percaset, and ibuprofen. Hoping it was enough, she took it all to her bedroom and ran a cool bath in the adjacent bathroom.
Spike blessedly stayed unconscious throughout the undressing and bathing process (her cheeks still heated when she saw him naked, even if he wasn't at his best), wincing each time she carefully pulled a piece of stuck cloth from his melted skin.
She had pulled the sheets back off the bed, leaving nothing but one pillow to support his head as she dressed his wounds. As she was delicately applying aloe vera to his left hip, Spike sat up with a giant roar. "Bloody, buggering, hell!"
Surprised, Buffy ended up on her butt on the floor next to the bed. "Hurts huh?"
"HOLY SHIT, YES!" Well, at least there was nothing wrong with his vocal cords.
The pain must be severe. Reaching to the nightstand she picked up the glass of scotch and told him to open his mouth. With tears standing out in his eyes, he did as she bid. She placed 2 of each pill on his tongue and held the glass to his lips. As he swallowed she spoke, "It's more than anyone alive should ever take, but you're not exactly overdoseable and you definitely need to be taken out of the moment, and I thought the alcohol would speed up the ingestion and activation," she stopped as she realized she was babbling. "I just need to finish up this leg and then I'll leave you alone to...heal."
A strange shimmer passed through his eyes and with a pained hiss and shattered moan he eased back down to the bed. Buffy felt her breath shudder out of her lungs with each noise he made. Reaching for the bottle of green gel she began her ministrations again.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
there was supposed to be stuff here...I think....and then this scene
"You know, last week I agonized about your date with that other demon, only to have you return un-disemboweled and still full of blood. Now I've got to listen to you make lewd comments about the slayer? After all I've been through? I don't think so!" Anya cocked back her arm, balled up her fist and struck the dazed and confused carpenter squarely between the eyes.
_______________________________________________________________________________
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
estepheia>
He'd seen him in Roxy's on his first night out. He's seen him there every night since. It had taken everything in him not to stride over to his table in the corner-same table, same corner, every night-plunk down and demand to know what the hell he was doing there.
Humans just didn't come into demon bars and go undisturbed. Well, at least not without everyone in the place knowing why. Spike hadn't a clue as to why they gave Xander such a wide berth.
Spike lit another cigarette and watched Xander watch the cabaret show. A long, lean Grolax demon was crooning into the mike accompanied by a multi-fingered Pylan on the piano. Just like always, he started out easy. A beer, another. Then the hard stuff. Shot glasses followed the curve of the small table. By the end of each evening he generally made it all the way 'round. The waitress' had apparently learned not to clear the table, let him keep his little wall of glass.
Spike caught the tilt of his eyes, the flick of his wrist. 11 o'clock then was it? He always left at the same time. An hour before midnight. Every time. He never remembered the whelp being that punctual before.
Followed him out, staying far enough behind to go unnoticed, yet keep him in sight. The raise of his arm, the beep of the car. Key in, door open and the liquid slide in. The door would close on the gleaming silver sedan and Alexander Harris would depart from Spike's view for another night. The mystery would go on.
Except, not tonight. The key slid in, Harris opened the door, but turned. Focused his one eye dead at him, "What do you want Spike?" Tired, heavy.
Spike was taken aback. He'd never expected the boy to notice him, not that he ever appeared drunk or disoriented, or even mildly tipsy, but he'd never given an inclination that he paid any attention to anything around him either.
He dug in his pockets for his smokes, unnerved by the man's solid stare. His pointed question.
"Nothin' mate. Out for a breath of air."
"You've been watching me for over a week now." Xander's gaze didn't waver, the voice still monotone.
"Not a crime to visit a bar now, is it?" He'd located the fags, tucked one in his mouth and raised the lighter.
"Didn't have enough fire and smoke in hell for you then?" The man gave a brief nod at Spike's cigarette.
Slitting his eyes, Spike took a step towards Xander. Xander put a hand up. "Stop. Don't come any closer."
Raising a brow, Spike questioned, "Why not then?"
Shaking his head Xander replied, "Just don't. And don't come here anymore."
"I've a right to go anywhere I like!" Spike fired back at him, irritated at the whelp's presumption.
"I'll only say it once more Spike." The steady brown gaze fixed on his face once more, "Don't come here again. And stay away from me."
Turning, the reject cum carpenter cum suit slid into his sedan, closed the door and drove away leaving a perplexed Spike in the parking lot.
*****
"Wanker! Who does he think he is! Telling me not to come here! Like he owns the ruddy joint!" Spike was railing just under his breath as he entered back into the club. He hadn't asked before, had thought that he could learn enough just through watching, or if necessary, a little intimidation. Apparently, the first was not adequate and the second wasn't working-unless you included the whelp's intimidation of him.
He went to the bar, sat at an empty stool and waited for the shaggy bartender to make it back to his end.
"Hey, mate." Spike slid a few twenties across the bar to him (what Angel didn't know about Spike's nicking wouldn't hurt him) and asked, "What can you tell me about the git who sits in the corner over there every night. The human."
The unusually clean and groomed ape-like demon squinted slightly at him, swiped the bills from beneath his fingers and grunted, "Owner."
Spike frowned. Owner? Who's owner? Owner of what? He looked around for the pretty, purple-skinned waitress who'd been Xander's alcohol courier for the evening. Finally spotting her on the upper deck, he made his way up the stairs, stopping her on her way down. Flashing his laziest grin, he drawled, "Been watching you all night, pet."
She arched her brow, "What interest could you," she looked him up and down, "possibly have in me? I haven't got the right...parts for you." She started down the stairs again, leaving him gaping in her wake. A female hadn't responded to him like that in...
"Hey now pet, I just have a quick question," he placed a soft hand on her shoulder to get her to stop and her head whirled around as her body kept walking, forked tounge flicking out at him, green eyes literally sparking.
Hastily, he moved his hand, "Wow. Bet that little trick keeps the customers in line."
They'd reached the landing, and she kept walking, headed for the bar, "Usually," she still had her face with glinting eyes fixed on him as she set her tray on the bar.
"I just have a quick question and I'll be on my way." He reached into his pocket and withdrew a few more bills.
Her neck bent to follow his movements and he was a bit disconcerted by the curve of her neck and the face that was above her gently rounded ass.
"Bloke you served tonight, over in the corner," he inclined his head in the direction where Xander had spent the evening, "what do you know about him?"
The rest of her body turned to join her face as she reached out for the offered money, "He's my boss. Owns the place." The money was tucked quickly into her bustier and he was dismissed as she turned to the bartender to fill her order.
"Bloody hell."
there's more coming...got to purge
Challenge was Spuffy-centric and involved people getting high. It's too detailed to list here, as I'm not finishing it anyway. So there.
_______________
"Slayer! Behind you!" Spike yelled to warn Buffy just before the syloth demon sped toward her on wings of light.
Buffy dropped down to the ground and felt the rush of air brush her back as the demon passed just above her. Looking at the matted leaves below her, she heard a solid thud, some sizzling and a cry of pain moments before she raised her eyes. Jumping to her feet, Buffy raced to where Spike and the demon rolled in a tangled mass on the asphalt. Smoke rose as Spike yelled incoherent curses at the blindingly bright entity that was attempting to pry his eyes from his head. Frantically, Buffy ran to her bag and pawed through it in desperation: stake, crossbow, mace, holy water, dagger, arrows, ah....
Weapon in hand, Buffy cocked her arm and threw with all her might, squarely hitting the syloth with the object. There was an unearthly wail and a small pop as the demon winked out of existence. Exhaling her held breath she jogged over to Spike and dropped to her knees. If the smell was bad, burnt hair and flesh, the actual sight was worse. Patches of bone showed through on his skull and face where the demon had gripped him, and seared flesh under the remnants of his tattered clothing.
"Spike? Spike? Can you hear me?" Buffy gingerly brushed a leaf off of his cheek and began methodically checking the rest of his body for internal damage. Everywhere she touched was singed, burnt, crisp, blistered. It had been a long while since anything she'd seen or experienced had made her physically ill, but....
A moan escaped his chafed lips. "Buffy," it was a croak, not the hot liquored voice she was used to. "Buffy, I..." She shushed him, "Don't try to talk. This is going to hurt, probably a lot, but I've got to get you home. Brace yourself." And with that, she sat Spike up.
A weak, hoarse cry belied the pain behind it. Before he had time to think past that torture, she had lifted him up to her shoulder, carrying him ignominiously like some spoiled princess given her comeuppance by a knight.
God, she's got a nice... He was unable to finish his thought before he passed out.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Will! Will!" Buffy began yelling as soon as she hit the foyer. She took her sack of potatoes, damn! He's heavy!, to the couch and gently laid him on it.
She looked around. Silence. Nothing. No pitter-patter of Potential feet, no flying red hair, no Dawn. Where the hell was everyone? She looked at the clock on the mantle. 11 pm. Then she remembered, Friday Night Fever at the Bronze. She had told them all to go without her and she'd catch-up after a quick round of patrolling with Spike.
Alone. With an incoherent, severely injured vamp. Who may or may not be still under the influence of the First. Great.
She looked at him again. No improvement, looked like his immortal healing wasn't kicking in-maybe it was shock over the extent of the damage. His razorblade cheekbones were clearly visible, even more so without their layer of skin. Patches of platinum hair gone, his eyelashes and eyebrows gone, ears charred, hipbones poking through his black jeans blistered and cracked, almost no shirt and no chest skin left. He was a horrible sight. Tears gathered and she almost...get it together. Burns = butter? No, medicine cabinet.
Running upstairs, Buffy mentally thanked TPTB for allowing her to have injurable friends. They had an arsenal of medicinal supplies for Xander, Dawn, Willow, Anya and Giles' aches and pains. Opening the cabinet (a linen closet really) she pulled out iodine, solarcain, aloe vera, gauze, vicodin, percaset, and ibuprofen. Hoping it was enough, she took it all to her bedroom and ran a cool bath in the adjacent bathroom.
Spike blessedly stayed unconscious throughout the undressing and bathing process (her cheeks still heated when she saw him naked, even if he wasn't at his best), wincing each time she carefully pulled a piece of stuck cloth from his melted skin.
She had pulled the sheets back off the bed, leaving nothing but one pillow to support his head as she dressed his wounds. As she was delicately applying aloe vera to his left hip, Spike sat up with a giant roar. "Bloody, buggering, hell!"
Surprised, Buffy ended up on her butt on the floor next to the bed. "Hurts huh?"
"HOLY SHIT, YES!" Well, at least there was nothing wrong with his vocal cords.
The pain must be severe. Reaching to the nightstand she picked up the glass of scotch and told him to open his mouth. With tears standing out in his eyes, he did as she bid. She placed 2 of each pill on his tongue and held the glass to his lips. As he swallowed she spoke, "It's more than anyone alive should ever take, but you're not exactly overdoseable and you definitely need to be taken out of the moment, and I thought the alcohol would speed up the ingestion and activation," she stopped as she realized she was babbling. "I just need to finish up this leg and then I'll leave you alone to...heal."
A strange shimmer passed through his eyes and with a pained hiss and shattered moan he eased back down to the bed. Buffy felt her breath shudder out of her lungs with each noise he made. Reaching for the bottle of green gel she began her ministrations again.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
there was supposed to be stuff here...I think....and then this scene
"You know, last week I agonized about your date with that other demon, only to have you return un-disemboweled and still full of blood. Now I've got to listen to you make lewd comments about the slayer? After all I've been through? I don't think so!" Anya cocked back her arm, balled up her fist and struck the dazed and confused carpenter squarely between the eyes.
_______________________________________________________________________________
estepheia>He'd seen him in Roxy's on his first night out. He's seen him there every night since. It had taken everything in him not to stride over to his table in the corner-same table, same corner, every night-plunk down and demand to know what the hell he was doing there.
Humans just didn't come into demon bars and go undisturbed. Well, at least not without everyone in the place knowing why. Spike hadn't a clue as to why they gave Xander such a wide berth.
Spike lit another cigarette and watched Xander watch the cabaret show. A long, lean Grolax demon was crooning into the mike accompanied by a multi-fingered Pylan on the piano. Just like always, he started out easy. A beer, another. Then the hard stuff. Shot glasses followed the curve of the small table. By the end of each evening he generally made it all the way 'round. The waitress' had apparently learned not to clear the table, let him keep his little wall of glass.
Spike caught the tilt of his eyes, the flick of his wrist. 11 o'clock then was it? He always left at the same time. An hour before midnight. Every time. He never remembered the whelp being that punctual before.
Followed him out, staying far enough behind to go unnoticed, yet keep him in sight. The raise of his arm, the beep of the car. Key in, door open and the liquid slide in. The door would close on the gleaming silver sedan and Alexander Harris would depart from Spike's view for another night. The mystery would go on.
Except, not tonight. The key slid in, Harris opened the door, but turned. Focused his one eye dead at him, "What do you want Spike?" Tired, heavy.
Spike was taken aback. He'd never expected the boy to notice him, not that he ever appeared drunk or disoriented, or even mildly tipsy, but he'd never given an inclination that he paid any attention to anything around him either.
He dug in his pockets for his smokes, unnerved by the man's solid stare. His pointed question.
"Nothin' mate. Out for a breath of air."
"You've been watching me for over a week now." Xander's gaze didn't waver, the voice still monotone.
"Not a crime to visit a bar now, is it?" He'd located the fags, tucked one in his mouth and raised the lighter.
"Didn't have enough fire and smoke in hell for you then?" The man gave a brief nod at Spike's cigarette.
Slitting his eyes, Spike took a step towards Xander. Xander put a hand up. "Stop. Don't come any closer."
Raising a brow, Spike questioned, "Why not then?"
Shaking his head Xander replied, "Just don't. And don't come here anymore."
"I've a right to go anywhere I like!" Spike fired back at him, irritated at the whelp's presumption.
"I'll only say it once more Spike." The steady brown gaze fixed on his face once more, "Don't come here again. And stay away from me."
Turning, the reject cum carpenter cum suit slid into his sedan, closed the door and drove away leaving a perplexed Spike in the parking lot.
*****
"Wanker! Who does he think he is! Telling me not to come here! Like he owns the ruddy joint!" Spike was railing just under his breath as he entered back into the club. He hadn't asked before, had thought that he could learn enough just through watching, or if necessary, a little intimidation. Apparently, the first was not adequate and the second wasn't working-unless you included the whelp's intimidation of him.
He went to the bar, sat at an empty stool and waited for the shaggy bartender to make it back to his end.
"Hey, mate." Spike slid a few twenties across the bar to him (what Angel didn't know about Spike's nicking wouldn't hurt him) and asked, "What can you tell me about the git who sits in the corner over there every night. The human."
The unusually clean and groomed ape-like demon squinted slightly at him, swiped the bills from beneath his fingers and grunted, "Owner."
Spike frowned. Owner? Who's owner? Owner of what? He looked around for the pretty, purple-skinned waitress who'd been Xander's alcohol courier for the evening. Finally spotting her on the upper deck, he made his way up the stairs, stopping her on her way down. Flashing his laziest grin, he drawled, "Been watching you all night, pet."
She arched her brow, "What interest could you," she looked him up and down, "possibly have in me? I haven't got the right...parts for you." She started down the stairs again, leaving him gaping in her wake. A female hadn't responded to him like that in...
"Hey now pet, I just have a quick question," he placed a soft hand on her shoulder to get her to stop and her head whirled around as her body kept walking, forked tounge flicking out at him, green eyes literally sparking.
Hastily, he moved his hand, "Wow. Bet that little trick keeps the customers in line."
They'd reached the landing, and she kept walking, headed for the bar, "Usually," she still had her face with glinting eyes fixed on him as she set her tray on the bar.
"I just have a quick question and I'll be on my way." He reached into his pocket and withdrew a few more bills.
Her neck bent to follow his movements and he was a bit disconcerted by the curve of her neck and the face that was above her gently rounded ass.
"Bloke you served tonight, over in the corner," he inclined his head in the direction where Xander had spent the evening, "what do you know about him?"
The rest of her body turned to join her face as she reached out for the offered money, "He's my boss. Owns the place." The money was tucked quickly into her bustier and he was dismissed as she turned to the bartender to fill her order.
"Bloody hell."
there's more coming...got to purge
no subject
Date: 2004-02-06 07:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-02-06 08:33 pm (UTC)It just all fell apart on me when Lindsey claimed to be Doyle on the show.
As