Quickie - back with real comments later.

Today's Sunday 100 theme is "three people sitting on the steps."

The Night Before Apocalypse ("Chosen")

Moonlight, flooding Revello Drive.

She passes the bottle. "Here - wet your whistle. Gonna be a long day tomorrow."

Spike stares at her - his eyes are weary and wary, too. "Ta. What's in it, then? Smells lovely."

"Lagavullin. Seriously, you look like you need a pick-me-up."

"He doesn't take it straight, Faith." Buffy drops down at Spike's elbow. "Here - nice warm pig's blood."

Spike takes the two flasks, pouring the whiskey in with the blood, shaking, chugging. "Mrrmphm," he mutters, as the alcohol kicks in. "Ave, Caesar, and all that. Oh, and cheers, slayers. One drink for luck."

Nice, Deb, even if I must admit to not knowing one Scotch from another.Now, pig's blood...no, just kidding.

Annoying! cereal: "That makes two of us,"

"I know we've just met, and everything? But I wish you wouldn't talk like that about yourself. It makes me feel all oogy."

He smiles reluctantly at the way she says it. 'You Sunnydale people have your own dictionary, don't you? Where I come from, we don't speak 'oogy'."
"Um, strange and offputting?"
"I thought that was 'wiggins'. What's a wiggins, then?"
"You feel oogy after you have a wiggins, sometimes. Look, we started on the wrong foot before. I guess I should have leveled with you...but your file said you were emotional so I didn't want to take the chance that you'd...flip out or something. I'm Willow, and that chocolate's turning you into a teenager."

"I'm Tim Bayliss," he said.

"We covered that already," she says, and gives him a look that says "Keep up!" which is oddly similar to the one he gets every day. Do gifted people take classes to learn how to do that? he wonders.

Actually, he's glad to hear about the chocolate. It would explain the tripping, the stammer, the embarrassment, the fact that he's gotten...distracted by billboards on the street. He was debating whether to go to a neurologist, a psychiatrist or both. Right now, he wants to hug the petite thing in the really ugly sweater. It's really ugly. How could her friends let her out like that? Don't they care? Mentally he adds "short attention span" to his symptom list.

"What file do you have on me?"

"SPD Personnel...you'd think they'd be harder to get in than the ME's office....their firewalls need a major update." And Willow looked proud, in spite of herself."In your performance review for Security Detail in '92, it says both "highly emotional" and...um...this isn't so nice."

"Might as well talk about me to my face. And don't kids read "Rolling Stone' anymore?"

"Ok, it says 'has enough issues for his own subscription.' But look at the good...at least they thought you have a lot going on, mentally."

Right now, he wants to hug the petite thing in the really ugly sweater. It's really ugly. How could her friends let her out like that? Don't they care? Mentally he adds "short attention span" to his symptom list.

Based on the above...

"Ok, it says 'has enough issues for his own subscription.' But look at the good...at least they thought you have a lot going on, mentally."

and this...

erika, will you marry me? I am so in luv with everything you write. The timing, the snark, the intelligence...

I realize, both straight females and all, but still. Gah!

Aw, shucks.Maybe this plural marriage could get big.And, cause I'm all greedy, does it sound like Willow and Timmy? Or like I'm showing off.

I can only comment on Willow sounding dead on because I don't know Timmy from Adam. Which sounds wrong because I know an Adam that may very well be just like Timmy.

Oh, well, I'm sorry...I thought you'd seen both.But I have been tiresome enough on that topic, I'm sure. I was such a Willow in hs. And the older I get the more of a Bayliss I am (Which points to my being less straight at some point in my future, doesn't it?) So if you have a friend like him, I can say both "Good," and "My sympathies."

AHem.

I am ALREADY marrying erika.

erika? "Intensely readable" is one of the single biggest compliments I offer, anyone, anywhere, any time.

Second drabble, same theme.

A Memory of Breakfast

It was four AM, a rainy Roman not-quite-morning. Spike and Dru had been dancing; Dru had got herself a lovely absurd pair of four-inch heels, all fluttering satin ribbons, and Spike had taken her to a goth club near Trastavere. Under dim lights and pulsing music, they moved close together, sensual, frightening.

When they sat down beside the girl, one at each shoulder, she barely had time to register fear.

"Spike," Dru said, touching the girl's slender neck, "we never had dinner."

Damn, Deb. I know the work it took to get to the point where you can drabble like that, but man, it feels like water, just dripping off the ends of your fingers. Effortless, inevitable, every word.

erika, I'll just love you from afar, since I can't get near for all your spouses. Cindy, going back to read yours now.