"Bloody wankers. I *said* plastic, not
frikkin' tree-saving paper..." A
mumbling voice could be heard through the bushes, along with
almost-inaudible footsteps. Soon a face appeared through the foliage.
Slightly tall, medium build. Pale, and bleached hair. This must be
him. He
was carrying a brown paper bag that was quite obviously broken, as
the man
was clutching it awkwardly from the bottom. Groceries? At 3am?
The man finally came to the door of
a mausoleum and threw his weight
against the heavy stone sideways.
The figure in the bushes winced. That
*had* to hurt. But it didn't appear
to have hurt him at all. He just kept muttering about the bag and bustled
inside. The door remained open as he emptied whatever he'd bought out
of the
faulty bag. What a depressing place to live...
But he didn't question it. He was on
a mission.
Moving out of the bushes, he stepped
as softly as he could until he was on
the other side of the door. He used the sounds of the man unpacking
to cover
the scrape of his boots on the stone doorstep. Peering into the dark
room,
he spotted the man's back. This looked like him alright. He'd never
been
given a name, so he momentarily dubbed him Clint.
Clint shed all of his clothes swiftly,
except for his pants, and climbed up
onto the stone coffin in the center of the room. Pulling a blanket
over
himself, he shut his eyes and lay there. His chest didn't even rise
or fall.
He just lay there, looking very dead.
The dark figure stole into the room
as fast as he could, grabbed what he'd
been sent to retrieve, and ran. He couldn't hear any signs of Clint
waking
up, so once outside the cemetery he slowed to a jog until he reached
his
car. Revving the engine, he pulled out onto the road and headed off
for the
long drive to LA.
----
"Spi-ike..." Xander called loudly as
he strode into the vampire's dank
abode, announcing his presence. "Wake up!"
Spike swore under his breath and sat
up. "If it's about your girlfriend, no
I 'aven't been shaggin' 'er."
"Sadly enough, that's not why I'm here.
More blood laying around in Giles'
fridge that he found. And since apparently I'm the official consort
for
dealing with the unevil undead, I brought it over." Xander said, very
obviously bored and very obviously wanting to be elsewhere.
Spike fell off the bed and looked the
kid in the eyes. "I know you don't
like me. But just because your friends treat you like the burden you
are,
doesn't mean you 'ave to treat me like yours." He narrowed his eyes
and
turned sharply back to the floor where his clothes lay.
Xander fell silent for a moment. "They
do not- yah, okay, maybe they do...
but I'm allowed to not like you!"
"What can I possibly do to you?" Spike
said slowly, throwing his arms in
the air. "I'm a useless lump! I'm nothing! I'm not even remotely evil
and
*don't'* forget the fact that every demon in Sunnyhell wants to off
me right
now." He growled, his eyes averted.
"Spike, I am *never* going to feel sympathy
for a killer, so just don't
even try, okay?" Xander said, burying the fact that he had actually
felt
pretty bad a minute ago. After a few moments of silence and Spike putting
his shirt on, Xander put the bags of blood on the table. "Well there's
your
blood."
Spike looked at it for a moment. "Great."
He turned back to the floor and
picked up his black button-up shirt. Pulling it on, he looked back
to the
floor. And nearly spontaneously combusted (which is quite a common
thing for
frustrated vampires, you know). "Where the fuck is my jacket?"
"Huh?" Xander raised an eyebrow.
Spike whirled around at him. "My jacket!
If you took my jacket, you git,
I'll-"
"I didn't touch your jacket." Xander
said, as if the thought disgusted him.
Which it didn't. He'd always imagined fighting crime in a jacket like
Spike's.
"Someone musta stolen it." The vampire
muttered, pacing around the room in
search of his beloved duster. "Who the 'ell steals a *jacket*?!?"
"Calm down! It's just a chunk of worn-out
leather." Xander said. "Buy a new
one."
Spike turned to look him in the eye,
inches away from his face, his gaze
smoldering. "Do you have *any* idea where that duster's been?" Xander
opened
his mouth to supply comic relief, but Spike stepped dangerously close,
silencing him. "Do you have *any* idea who I've killed in it? Shagged
in it?
Drained in it?" He accentuated each point with a poke on the boy's
chest.
Xander backed away. "Okaaaay, I really
should be going." He turned and
hurried out the door. Spike stood fuming in the center of the room
for a few
seconds until Xander returned. "Hey this was lying on the ground. Might
want
it." He tossed a wad of paper at the vampire and left.
Spike uncrumpled a bit of the paper
and read it out loud. "If you want it
back, you've got to drop by." He frowned at the paper and smoothed
it out
completely. A little card fell out. "Angel Investigations." He read.
He
looked out the door at the twilight.
He grabbed a bottle of whiskey and,
remembering his smokes were in his jacket, some money to buy more.
Just as he went out the door, he took
another look at the card. "Is that a
plane?" He mused out loud upon examining the nonsensical drawing. He
shook
his head and walked out into the dusk.
He was going to pay his sire a
visit.