Mounty on the Bounty, the due South episode.

Ah. Okay. I did see that episode - and I hate to burst bubbles, but not every Canadian knows all of the verses to 'Barrett's Privateers'. Though I'm fairly sure that we all know the chorus... It was in a beer commercial.

BtVS/Sandman crossover fic. Just written it, beta-ishness appreciated.

Desire's Creatures

"I don't think so," said the big bloke, startling the hell out of Spike. He glanced over his shoulder and directed an affable smile at them both. "No. I don't want to join you for dinner, thank you, and neither does Jan. Run along now."

"What the hell…?" spluttered Spike, thoroughly disgruntled. For one thing he'd been in full-on stealth mode, stalking, lurking, prowling, generally doing the whole dangerous predator thing, so the damned musician shouldn't have known he was being followed in the first place. And then this great lunk just turns round and looks at them both, and smiles, like he knows what they both are and still reckons that this dark alleyway is the safest place in the world.

Spike was acutely conscious that the balance of power had suddenly got itself shifted all to hell, and that Drusilla was watching him lose face. He darted around in front of the two humans, obliging them to pause in mid-stride, and glowered. Now they were trapped between him and his princess, and that was not going to lead to anything but bloodshed, thank you very much.

"Fine. You know what we are? Fine." He let his visage shift into game face and was gratified to see the older fella flinch and drop the battered leather case containing his trumpet. Annoyingly, though, the big chap with the double bass remained perfectly calm. He even bent to pick up the instrument and return it to his trembling colleague. Spike stepped a little closer, smiling toothily up at the big chap. "Word to the wise, mate -- you might think you're Obi-Bloody-Wan Kenobi or something, but I don't fall for any of that cheap mind control rubbish. 'These aren't the snacks you're looking for', that kind of thing - just not going to work. Me and my girl are - hey. Hang on - how'd you know we're English?" he said, accusingly. "I thought you were Czech."

"He isn't from around here, Spike." Dru's voice was dreamy as she stepped out of the shadows, the hem of her black dress trailing through dirty puddles.

"Yes, love. So I gathered."

"No. I mean - he's not from around here. You're like her, aren't you? I didn't realise, when we saw you on the bridge, playing your little tunes. You aren't a very good musician, you know," she added confidentially. He looked slightly affronted. "But you were having such a lot of fun that it didn't really matter. You're all brimming with life, all lit up from inside like exploding suns. I can see it now." She laughed. "Silly me! We can't eat you."

"Er, love? You know me, I don't mind playing with my food, but d'you think you could let a fella in on the game?" Spike didn't quite manage to conceal his impatience.

Drusilla glided over the cobbles, disregarding the burger wrappers and the used condoms with her customary aplomb, and came to a halt behind him. She peered over his shoulder and wrapped her arms tightly around his waist.

"He's one of them, " she whispered in his ear, in what she clearly thought was a helpful manner. "Like the lady with the burning baby fishes."

"You know Del?" The musician looked surprised, and then he smiled hugely. He really was a very big bloke. Words like 'rugged' and 'hearty' came unbidden to Spike's mind. "Yes, I can see you do, my pretty. Your kind are Desire's creatures, as a rule, but you live in Del's domain, don't you?" His brow furrowed briefly. "I miss her, you know."

"Woah, now -- Time Out, people," said Spike, feeling the remnants of his patience melting clean away. He hadn't the faintest idea what was going on and he really, really hated Drusilla knowing other men. She wasn't supposed to have any secrets from him, but unfortunately she didn't seem to have a very good grasp of this concept at all. "Just who the blazes is -- actually, no. I don't care. Gentlemen, my name is Spike, also known as William the Bloody. This is Drusilla. You are Snack One and Snack Two. I -- ow!" Drusilla had smacked him over the head.

"You aren't listening, Spike!" she told him sternly. "You're being naughty. And silly. We can't eat him. He's not human. And he might get cross, which wouldn't be a good thing." There was a little pause, and then she added thoughtfully, "Although it might be rather exciting. Wouldn't you like to come and play with us, Mr Musician? We could have lots and lots of fun, you know. Breaking things. Making beautiful music. Eating people." Spike knew that wheedling tone all too well, and he hated hearing her use it on other men. Rather than get unduly angry, however, he made an effort and concentrated upon the key part of her little speech.

"Not human?"

"Not human," Dru agreed, wriggling against him and trying to make him sway to music only she could hear. He let her pull him gently from side to side, keeping his eyes fixed dubiously on the possibly-not-dinner-after-all in front of them.

"Are you positive about that, pet? They look human. Smell human. Don't seem demony or anything."

"They're not demons, silly! And I think the little one is human, but -- ooh! Could we have him, Mr Musician?"

"No," said the big bloke, firmly. "Jan was kind enough to let me join in with his band this evening. I cannot, in all conscience, let you have him for supper." Drusilla made a small, petulant sound, but didn't stamp her foot.

"Hmph. Well, the little one's human, but the big one isn't. But he's not a demon. He's -- big."

"Well, yeah."

"No. I mean -- big. Bigger than demons. Bigger than gods. Big, and forever and ever and always. Like my lady."

"Drusilla, sweetheart, we've talked about this. Your lady isn't really real, is she?"

"Well -- not like you or Miss Edith. Not that kind of real. But she's the other kind of real. Really real. Isn't she?"

"Yes," agreed Mr Rugged and Hearty Musician. "She's the realest kind of real."

"Nobody asked you," snapped Spike, and then something in the bloke's face made him wish he'd held his tongue. "That is -- um. I mean -- I don't think. Look, this is all going wrong, and I'm hungry, and I'm losing my sense of humour."

"That would never do," agreed the bloke, smiling. His elderly friend looked close to tears, which was kind of comforting, but Spike was thoroughly unimpressed by how the evening was panning out so far. "Can I suggest you try your luck in the Old Town Square?"

"That's a good idea," said Dru, before Spike had the chance to reply. He sighed.

"Excuse us just a moment, will you?" said Spike. He pulled Dru off to one side.

"Drusilla, princess, light of my life -- we aren't really going to just let them walk off, are we?" he demanded plaintively. "I mean, how's it going to look? People will think we're going soft."

"Spike," Drusilla said, in a tone of voice that brooked no contradiction. "You're going to make me cross. Very, very cross."

"But, love --," he protested, without very much hope.

"No. I've told you. No." Spike stared at her entreatingly for a long moment and then his shoulders sagged. Her heart was set on this.

"Oh, very well. Your wish is, as ever, my command. Go on then," he added more loudly, glancing over at the two men who were still waiting politely a few yards away. "Shoo. Skidaddle. Before I change my mind."

The big chap, to Spike's profound irritation, merely grinned, and waved at them both.

"Good hunting, my friends," he called over his shoulder as he patted led the little old man away to safety. Spike shook his head, disgusted by the whole debacle.

"You realise, Dru, that I have absolutely no sodding idea what all that was about?"

"Change, Spike. I just fancied a change," Drusilla said, leaning forward and pressing a kiss onto his cheek. He laced his fingers in hers and pulled her close for a proper kiss, and for a long moment they stood there like any courting couple. At last she stepped back and her smile was dazzling. "Come on, let's find some nice Americans."

Fay - I know nothing of Sandman, but that is loverly. Just......loverly!

BuhWAH!

Oh dear, Fay. I do love this....

grins

Thank you!

I think Destruction may be my favourite of the Endless, possibly.

thinks

Well, no, okay - I like Delirium best of all, with Desire a close second. Although of course how could anyone not love Death and Dream? And I have a great fondness for Despair too... But I do like Destruction very much indeed.There's something so disarming about his enthusiastic and less than glittering attempts at being creative. And he's all big and cuddleable, which is nice. Yes.

(Destiny's dull as ditchwater.)

This post was brought to you by the letter D.

Fay! Lovely, but the first post ended with:

"Well -- not like you or Miss Edith. Not that kind of real. But she's the other kind of real. Really real. Isn't

Is there more to that bit?

I want it all, and then more besides. I have never read a better Dru or Spike. That's a wonderful story.

Deena, have you read Fay's Spike and Dru in Prague stories? Because she's always given great Dru.

When You Are Tired of London

Part Two: Dooooomed!

Giles had hated James ever since they were children. Giles had been the adventurer, the black sheep. James had been the goody-good, the snitch. When Giles was sneaking cigarettes in the woods, it was James who'd told on him. But eventually, Giles mellowed, and he became a responsible adult, a respected researcher for the British Museum and, unbeknownst to most, a member of the Watcher's Council, although James really knew no more about that than he did vampires, demonic possession or other-dimensional portals. James had become a dentist, and was a whiz at investing. He was steady and boring, all the qualities that Giles had hated about him as a child.

But as Giles matured, James had gone the other way. A steady stream of affairs led to an inevitable divorce, followed by a near-endless stream of alcohol, drugs, twentysomething-year-old models and never-ending parties. Whereas once Giles had hated him for being too square, now he hated him for being too childish. And that he had become immensely wealthy in the process didn't dispose Giles any better toward him.

Now, he was sitting in Giles' study, recounting a story about a ghostlike apparition that had appeared in his bedroom, spouting, "You are doomed! Dooooomed!!!! Dooooooomed!!!"

James told the story with appropriate hand gestures. Buffy was quite visibly having trouble restraining her laughter.

"And then," said James, winding down, "I thought about you."

"And pray tell, why was that?" asked Giles.

"Well, because of all the weird stuff you were into, back in the day. All the tarot cards, and the weird books, and the late night orgies."

"Did I hear orgies?" said Xander, entering the room with Willow, "finally, a case I can get in ... holy smokes! Giles has an evil twin!"

"I DO NOT HAVE AN EVIL TWIN!!!!" exclaimed Giles. Giles took a second to adjust his glasses. "Xander, Willow, this is my cousin, James. And it's only a passing resemblance."

"Right," said Buffy. "For one, he's got a fabulous earring."

"Oh," said James. "Do you like it? I picked it up at this marvelous little shop in Kensington."

"Really?" said Buffy. "Cause I could use a bracelet with those kind of stones."

"Oh yes," said James. "It's just the place."

"James," said Giles. "Please. Tell us more about your... ghost."

"Well, I don't know what to say, really," said James, nervously. "It appeared, and I thought perhaps I had had too much sherry."

"Heaven forbid," said Giles.

"And I promptly, uhm," James glanced nervously around the room, "hid under the covers until it went away. Which it did, but it returned the next night."

"Let me guess," said Giles. "It told you were doomed?"

"Doooomed!" said James, quite caught in the moment.

"Right," said Giles. "I see. Well, spirits of this sort really don't appear randomly. Have you ever seen any signs of a haunting before?"

James shook his head.

"Right," said Giles. "Have you killed someone?"

"What!?!?!” exclaimed James, "Rupert, I never!"

"All right, all right," said Giles. "Just eliminating all possibilities. You, uhm, haven't, have you?"

"No."

"Fine. Do you have any enemies? Living, dead, what have you?"

"None. I get along with everyone."

Giles produced then a stare that Buffy recognized quite well. It was the stare of someone has just said something ridiculously stupid.

"Well," said James. "My ex-wife did recently have a go at me with a knife."

Giles rubbed his forehead. Buffy seemed to be biting her lip to keep from laughing.

"What about your friends?" said Giles. "You still hanging around with the same gadabouts?"

"My mates?" said James. "Surely you don't suspect..."

"Not really, no," said Giles. "But I suppose they're worth investigating. Might give us a lead. Have you been dating anyone?"

"Well, one or two girls. You know, nothing deep."

"Never is, really. Would any of them&..." Giles didn't bother to finish the question. "Right, any number of them. All right. Here's the plan. Xander and Willow, I want you two to investigate James' flat, then when you're done, Willow will talk to James' ex-wife, and Xander will check in with his friend, Gary."

"We're on it like Jessica Fletcher," said Xander.

"Only younger, and cuter, and not leaving a trail of dead college friends wherever we go," said Willow.

"Good," said Giles. "Buffy, you'll interview his friend Terry, and I'll talk to Patrick. Then we'll converge and see what we can discover of his," Giles adopted a disgusted look, "liaisons."

"Are you sure that's a good idea," said James. "Sending a young lady alone to talk to Terry? I mean she..."

"Can drop kick him across the Channel from a stand," said Giles, dismissively. "You'll wait here, in relative safety. And you won't touch anything, do you understand me?"

James nodded.

"Good, said Giles. "We'll start in the morning. Xander, can you show him to a guest room?"

“You think it’s a good idea to leave him alone with a house of girls,” she asked.
“Faith’ll be back in the morning,” said Giles. “And we’ll leave instructions for her to kill him.”
“If he acts up.”
“Hmm? Oh, yes.”
They walked into the hall, and prepared to head to their rooms.
“Orgies, huh?”
“Let us never speak of it again.”