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05/18/17 04:16 am
pj! I remember wishing one of your stories would be finished seriously about a decade ago. Amazing. I just tried an old password I used to use and amazingly got in too. Memories!
03/20/17 01:20 am
10 yrs later, i finally rem my username and password. Pari, you rock. Hope you are well.
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Great post.
08/31/16 03:45 pm
And anyone else who loves this site, it's worth mentioning there's a nifty little "Donate" option just below the shout box here! ;)
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Authors Chapter Notes:
I wrote this a while ago. It is based on Oceans Eleven but with a few twists, although some of the dialogue, especially later on, is very similar to the film. There are also a few quotes from the show.

“I can’t believe you’re actually getting out of this hellhole man.” The younger of the two inmates told his cellmate and friend.

“Yeah, me either.” William ‘Spike’ Ocean, a light brown haired man wearing prison clothing, replied as he gathered the last of his few belongings, mostly letters and photographs sent from his family and friends.
Moments later, a guard arrived to escort him out, giving him a few minutes to say goodbye to the man he’d shared his small room with over the last two years.

He remembered the day Jesse McNally had arrived at the prison. Spike was just getting used to having the cell to himself since the man he had previously shared with, a long haired guy called Rack who he had never really gotten on with, was released. That was a year after he’d been incarcerated and he remembered being so envious, wishing he was the one walking out of there.

When Jessie was shown into his cell a week later, Spike’s first thought was how young the dark floppy haired boy looked. It turned out he was twenty and was very quiet, making him an easy target for the jails ‘bullies’. Spike immediately took the newcomer under his wing.

“You look after yourself Jess, stay out of trouble and before long it’ll be you walking out of here.”

“Thanks man, you take care of yourself too. Good luck with the missus.” The pair exchanged a ‘manly’ hug before Spike turned and departed.

“So Mr. Ocean,” the guard accompanying him out began, “What are you going to do now you’re a free man?”

Spike considered this with a genuine smile. ‘Where to start’.

A short while later and Spike was changing out of the pale blue overalls into the clothes he was arrested in. After pulling on his trademark black jeans, black tee and blood red shirt, he slid into the penultimate item, his well worn leather duster.

“The old skin feels good.” He said outloud, though there was no one there to hear him.

Finally, he pondered the last of his possessions, a silver wedding band. He smirked, before slipping it onto his finger. ‘Now to find a hairdresser’.


After stubbing out his cigarette under the heel of his boot, Spike walked into the LA casino. He ran a hand through his newly bleached hair, relieved to finally be back to his preferred colour. Prison didn’t exactly cater for the upkeep of his image. Sure you could get a cut, but peroxide was a big no.

After taking a brief look around, he exchanging a few notes for chips, and sat himself down at one of the empty blackjack tables eying the blonde dealer with his trademark smirk.

“Hello, Anya. Like the hair; it‘s quite fetching.”

The former brunette, recognizing the cocky English accent anywhere, glanced up at Spike with wide eyes. She quickly hid her astonishment and addressed her greeter.

“I’m very sorry sir, but you must be mistaken. My name is Christina. See?” She said pointing at the name tag pined to her shirt. She smiled flirtingly at the security guard who was glancing curiously at the exchange.

Spike recognized the silent plea in her eyes. “Very sorry love; must have you confused with someone else. I should be off anyway.”

“You might like to try ‘Crush’, sir. Around eleven o’clock is the best time.” Anya/Christina told him as he rose from the table.

He grinned; he knew he could count on her. “Thanks pet.”


Later that night, Spike checked his watch, 10:58, as he sat waiting in the upmarket bar. Glancing around, he couldn’t help but smirk at the snooty man and woman who were giving him distasteful looks, clearly feeling him and his appearance didn’t belong with their social class. Finishing his bourbon, he ordered another before turning his attention to the LA Times in his hands.

He took specific interest in one particular article, with the header ‘Bitter divorce takes new turn: Las Vegas attraction to be demolished’, accompanied by two photographs. One was of a tall, dark, brooding looking man, new owner of said attraction, Angel Benedict. The second was of a scowling brunette woman, former owner and Angel’s ex-wife, Cordelia Chase.

Anya entered, now out of her uniform and into a bright red dress, sitting down next to him and ordering a drink from the barman.

“Christina?” He asked with a smirk.

“Yeah well thanks to you Anya Jenkins couldn't get by the gaming board. And you know how much I love my job, taking money off of foolish people who don’t know when to quit while they’re ahead. I had to dye my hair and change my name before I could get a job.” She paid the barman as he deposited her drink. “So you just got out?”

“This very morning. Sorry I missed the wedding pet.”

“Yeah well you should be; it was very inconsiderate of you to get arrested. We had to replace you with Oz as the best man and his hair clashed with the bridesmaid dresses.”

“So where is he?”

“Oz?” She asked with a frown. “How should I know? Probably off blowing something up.”

Spike chuckled. “No, your hubby.”

“Oh, he’s been teaching minor sporting personalities to play cards over at a new club called ‘Seeing Red’. Not as glamorous as it sounds, but it means he can afford to buy me pretty things.” She narrowed her eyes. “Why? You have something planned already?” ‘As if she really needed to ask’.


Xander Harris paused in the doorway of a small dark room. Looking around it, he sighed. This is what he’d been reduced to, practically babysitting. He should’ve been rich after that last job; be out there spending money, not taking it from a bunch of kid basket and baseball players.

With one more conceding sigh, he took a seat at the round table.

“Ok, guys. Let’s play some cards." And the group lesson began.

“Two please.” Gage Petronzi said.

Xander dealt him two cards before turning to the next player, Cameron Walker.


Xander sighed. “Cam, I keep telling you; four's the max and only if you have an ace.”

“Okay, four.”

“Let's see the ace.”

Cameron gave in with a huff. “Three.”

The rest of the game was uneventful, until Dodd McAlvy took a while deciding what to do.

Cameron sighed impatiently. “Come on, somebody bet already. I got three 'K' cards.”

The rest of the table promptly folded.


An hour later after the lesson had finished, Xander sat at the bar in the main part of the club, a beer in front of him. Not for the first time he wished he’d had of made more of an effort to get good grades at school, gone on to college and got a real job. Or maybe taken that construction job he’d been offered a couple of years back. ‘Oh who am I kidding’, he thought to himself, ‘never was the nine to five kind of guy’.

Looking into the mirror behind the bar, he saw a black clad, bleached blond figure come to stand next to him. A mixture of shock, anger and amusement passed across Xander’s face.

After standing in silence for a couple of minutes, the brunette turned to his new companion. “Let me guess; you stopped by to try and sell me some Ancient Chumash Artefacts? Still having trouble moving those?”

That was the one. That last job which should have made both their fortunes. The one that cost Anya her job, Xander his dignity and Spike his wife and his freedom.

“Actually I found a buyer in Texas. Its amazing what you Yanks will buy.” Spike said with a smile, before turning and walking towards the exit.

After downing the rest of his drink, Xander followed. When they were outside, he led Spike to his old black Desoto.

“You been keeping her safe whelp?” The peroxide headed one asked, circling the car, checking for scratches or other damage.

“Told you I would didn’t I?” The brunette replied, taking out his keys. He was about to climb into the drivers side when the other man stopped him.

“It’s been three years since I got to take my girl for a spin. I’m driving.” He stated, taking the keys and shoving Xander out of the way.

They rode for a while silently, Spike concentrating on the road ahead, Xander staring out of the passenger side window.

The latter sighed. “How was prison? You get the Weetabix I sent you?”

Spike turned to him with a smirk. “Why do you think I came to see you first? Speaking of food, could really go for some hot wings right about now.” He pulled into the parking lot of an all night deli.

After ordering their food and taking a seat, Xander waited for the inevitable conversation. When Spike showed no sign of starting unless asked, the brunette gave a resigned sigh.

“Alright, tell me. What’s the target?”

Spike took a deep breath, unsure of this companion’s reaction. “Fancy a trip to Las Vegas?”

Chapter End Notes:
This story is finished but I'll only post it if people want to read it. Otherwise it'll just be a waste of space which could be used by more talented authors!

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