Clem's CwDP:
It was love. Clem crept quietly, working hard not to disturb the overflowing bowl of Funyuns perched delicately upon a crate by the coffee table in Spike's old crypt. "Oh, oniony goodness, how I love ya!" he declared as he seized his delicious snack. Smacking his lips, he sunk into his comfy chair, seizing the remote control as he did. Tivo would catch "Smallville" if he missed it, but he liked to watch in real time. "Watch Clark & Lex at 9 p.m., and the world watches with you," he thought. "Watch it on TiVo, and you watch alone."
"Bloody Hell," exclaimed a voice from behind him. "What have you done to my bloody flat?" Clem turned with a start. There was Spike, standing in the doorway, his hair bristling in the breeze blowing through the open door, his muscles rippling...ahem. Not that Clem felt that way, of course. He and Spike were just friends. Always... just... friends.
"Spike! Buddy! Pull up a seat! Uhm, can I get you a drink? Delicious Tab? Oh! And I've got some pizza!" Clem prayed the vampire wouldn't catch the scent of the Funyons. He wanted them all for himself.
"I've come to warn you, Clem," said Spike. "Buffy... She said she was going to kill you. She's going to wipe all demons out of Sunnydale, 'even the harmless-seeming ones like Clem.'
"She did not say that," Clem exclaimed. "She... she wouldn't! We're pals! We rented 'Not Another Teen Movie' together. She brought me that chicken skin stuff from KFC!!!"
"It's true, mate," said Spike. "But I said I wouldn't do it. Messing with my mates is a line I won't cross. Came straight away to warn you. Figure we could combine forces, what with you being a dark warrior and all. I mean, at heart."
"Oh, Spike. I'm not really a dark warrior. I just said that so you wouldn't think I was, you know, a wimp. I was always more of ... a dark social worker, y'know? Bazrog Demon needs a hand to make it through the night? I'm there for him. Vampire needs a shoulder to cry on..."
"She's coming for you!" shouted Spike, obviously disturbed. She'll come and... and..." He made the universal sign of throat-slitting.
"So, uhm, if she's on a kill-demon rampage," said Clem, "Why isn't she killing you."
Spike seemed shocked at the question. "Uhm. I'm different. Got a soul."
Clem softened. "Ah. I see what this is about. This is about you and Buffy. Spike, I know you're not over her yet, but you can't go around trying to get her and me to fight just because you're jealous of our friendship."
"But I..." stuttered Spike.
"It's OK," said Clem. "You're an emotional guy." He flinched, but he knew what he had to do. "Here. have a Funyon."
Spike angrily turned and stormed out. Clem shrugged, and returned to "Smallville." Man, he loved this show.
Outside, the First dropped it's guise of being Spike, returning to its favored but, unfortunately, less threatening guise as Tiny Tim.
"Curses," it said, "Foiled again."
No, I remember it, he looks up, sees Jesse and goes, "No, dude, you're dead." I think it takes place in his apartment.
That one, I don't remember. I do remember a very nice visit to Jeese's grave though.
Not nuts! Not nuts! That's it!
"Watch it on TV, and you watch alone."
Do you mean TIVO?
Clem prayed the vampire wouldn't catch the scent of the Funyons. He wanted them all for himself.
Beautiful.
"I've come to warn you, Clem," said Spike. "Buffy... She said she was going to kill you. She's going to wipe all demons out of Sunnydale, 'even the harmless-seeming ones like Clem.'
Need a closing " after the ' because it's a quote within a quote (and I'd put a period between the ' and " because I'm like that).
"She did not say that," Clem exclaimed. "She... she wouldn't! We're pals! We rented 'Not Another Teen Movie' together. She brought me that chicken skin stuff from KFC!!!"
YES!
a dark social worker,
BWAH!
Spike seemed shocked at the question. "Uhm. I'm different. Got a soul."
Can't stop laughing.
He flinched, but he knew what he had to do. "Here. have a Funyon."
Oh, how sweet!
Outside, the First dropped it's guise of being Spike, returning to its favored but, unfortunately, less threatening guise as Tiny Tim.
How perfectly perfect. I love you Victor.
Thanks, Elena. I fixed the Tivo thing, but I'll have to get the rest later. I literally write it between tasks here at work.
I literally write it between tasks here at work.
Ah, those were the days. I barely have time between calls these days, and I'm spending that on a massive beading project for my Bitch Blanket.
But, you know, I have transcribing to do ...
Victor, it is a wonderful piece. And all the more wonderful for being written on the fly like that.
more, end, not too satisfying but I'll try to get back to it later, maybe. I'm a bit distracted.:
"Ah." Gooseflesh crept along Ethan's arms, despite the warmth of the night. "The First, I presume? Nice to meet you - well, no, that's rot, not nice at all, utterly wrong word. What can I do for you?"
"For me?" Its surprise was genuine. There was a dark, twisted glee behind its surface, something holding a genuine edge of fear to it. "Absolutely nothing, but aren't you sweet to ask? I actually came to have a quick little word with you - just a suggestion, you know. Considering why you came, it's entirely appropriate."
"I - I just came to Sunnydale to have a word with Giles. I - I don't think I want -"
"Oh, now, don't be rude, and don't be so touchy. It's just a suggestion. After all," he shook a roguish finger and Ethan's stomach crept behind his spine, or tried to, "I never did charge you anything for all that candy. Just pay attention, that's all. Not much of an invoice, is it? Not too much to ask?"
"Sorry if I was rude. I'm listening." Ethan kept his face as impassive as possible. It wasn't easy, since his feet wanted to carry him back and away from the First, and in fact were twitching in his shoes....
"Oh, good - we're on the same page then?" The First offered him a loopy Mayoral grin. "It's just this: remember whose side you're usually on. It's a bad, bad time to be good."
A small, gurgling sound as the Non-mayor turned himself inside out, and then was gone.
Ethan stood for a moment, staring into the dark, beads of sweat above his lashes and in the soft fold under his jaw. He thought about the First's words. Finally, he shook his head, and shook the remaining grave dirt off his shoes.
"Bloody hell," he told the empty night, and headed back to his car.
Any help he'd been planning on offering Giles and the Slayers was going to stay strictly unmentioned and unoffered. It was not only a bad time to be a good guy; it was a bad time to be in Sunnydale.
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