So, I'm realizing that Skuzzy's Spander Pick-Me-Up Drabble Fest kinda died, but I'd like to revitalize it, if you will. I'm going to answer some of the prompts from before, and if any of you have new prompts or answers, please feel free to post them. I'm kinda dying for some cheering up.
In the meantime, have some of this:
It started, like so many other bad ideas, with two shots and a bet.
The first shot was straight tequila. The second was something called a “Death Trap”, aptly named since the second he swallowed it, the stupid parts of his brain became very vocal, and the semi-smart parts seemed to disappear.
Spike was there. He was there more often than not now, staking out a pool table to hustle drunk frat boys and pretend he didn’t know/like/care about Buffy. Xander guessed that Willie’s clientele weren’t too happy with Spike at the moment, what with him being a card-carrying good guy now. And since the Bronze was local and had idiots to play pool with, it was a sweet set-up for a handicapped Big Bad. Impressive.
More impressive was Spike’s seemingly boundless supply of women.
They flocked to him like he was a walking clearance rack, escaped from Neiman Marcus. Or a one-hundred-and-ninety-pound-but-still-s
Currently the girl at his table was a redhead, taller than Willow, in a low-cut top that Willow would never wear. She was smirking at him, and he was looking faintly amused, and overall, it looked like the set-up of a pretty fun night was in the works.
Of course, since Xander was in no mood to watch anyone have a good time, he decided to intervene before the fun could commence.
“So,” He dropped the two shots on the table, accidentally-on-purpose knocking a ball into the side-pocket. “How’d that blood test go? You know, it’s probably not Herpes. I know plenty of guys who’ve had, you know, on their—”
The girl wrinkled her nose in distaste. “I… have to find my friends.” She gave Spike a look that clearly meant ‘don’t ever talk to me again’, and with a flick of her hair, she headed back toward the bar, clearly willing to settle for any man not infected with an STD.
When he dared to look at the vampiric Billy Idol to his right, he found him giving him the most evil glare he’d seen on his face since all the crazy wore off.
“One of those better be fer me.” Cue flipping into his palm in near weapons stance, Spike gave him a look that should’ve scared him.
But it didn’t, not really. So he simply grabbed the rack and began setting up the next game. “I don’t buy drinks for the evil undead.” He said, even though the Death Trap had been for Spike. Why should he be generous? After all, he was here to fuck up Spike’s night.
“Right.” Rolling his eyes, Spike moved to take his shot, but Xander beat him to it. He swallowed the tequila first, ignoring its taste in favor of the delicious burn that slid through him, and took the Death Trap between his fingers. Then he swallowed that as well, tasting lime and something that was sickeningly sweet. The world seemed to rush through his ears, and his mind sighed That Did It, and he knew right then that he was going to stumble out of the Bronze tonight.
“Very nice, Harris.” Spike rolled his eyes, tone dripping sarcasm. “Demon berk leaves ye, an’ all ye can think to do is get pissed an’ spoil everybody else’s night.”
“Not pissed.” Pointing at him as directly as he could—what with his vision sort of tipping this way and that—Xander leaned on the pool table and made a statement on behalf of the American Way. “Drunk. Drunk is the term. You’re in America. You’re freeloading on my American couch, watching my American TV shows, drinking American beer—”
“—Whatever. You’re not allowed to whip out the British whenever you wanna get laid.”
“Right. ‘Cause it must be the British. Can’t be th’fact that I’m just—you know—more appealing.”
“Ch’yeah. Because you so are.” He laid on the sarcasm, spreading it thick, his eyes sliding to the bar where the redhead stood, waiting for a drink. “You have a friggin’ edge. When chicks look at you, they see Sid Vicious. When you open your mouth, they hear Prince William.”
“’Least they look at me, yeah?” Spike growled, sounding half-amused, half annoyed. “’Parrently a chit needs fangs to see you.”
“Hey—I’ll have you know, I get plenty of play, pal!”
“Sure. From Grelbas and Tornipshes and Vengeance demons. When’s the last time a pretty mortal girl looked at ye twice?”
Point… But, so not funny right now. He glared at Spike a little, turning his head to the girl again after a moment. She was pretty, in a Bond Girl kind of way. He could totally see Spike making moves on her. British moves. “Tell ya what. We’ll settle it this way. I’mma go to the bar, grab a couple more shots, and by the time I get back, I’ll have your redhead’s digits. No accent required.”
Spike’s eyebrows shot to the ceiling, and he gave him this look, like, Oh, this should be good. But he slung his cue back over his shoulders, resting it there, hanging his arms over it lazily so that he looked like a self-posed punk scarecrow, walking around with a whole lot of whoop-ass in his back pocket. “Right. An’ while yer over there, ye can grab me one’a whatever it was that made ye that delusional.”
“Sure thing. If by ‘grab me one’ you mean ‘grab yourself two’, because once again, I do not buy drinks for the evil undead.”
- Current Mood: bitchy
- Current Music:Regina Spektor- "Fidelity"