More Buffista Redball
Bayliss went back to the room to investigate and left the necklace behind gratefully...although it was a nice feeling to be “Inspector Hottie” he had to admit.
“Frank can *never* know about this.” He mumbled. He was just starting to live down Emma’s coffin. Too much candy would be the final straw. Tim Bayliss, squadroom pervert....Munch would happily give the title up just to make Bayliss squirm.
Munch was pursuing his own line of questioning after visiting the bookstore. “I got the last one...they can’t keep ‘em in stock.”
“Vultures,” Kay spat.
“And the reviews? Mostly they are the love notes she deserved, but this guy? If I could I’d lock him up for felony Philistine. Which, sadly, is not a crime. If I ran the world, Kay...”Munch rattled the paper he was reading for emphasis.
“Please, I just ate, huh? But it has kept you quiet for twenty minutes...I’ll give her that. “
“A good book’s not the only thing that can do that, Kay.”
“Well, let me just muddle through in ignorance, Ok, John?”
“That’s what’s wrong with America, that attitude.”
Finally, Bayliss, looking suspiciously bedraggled and smelling like a perfume counter, came back to the command post. “Timmy,” Kay said. “ I was about to send somebody in after you! Did you get anything?”
“What kind of question is that? You should know I’m a pro by now, Howard. I would never compromise...”
“On the case, Bayliss.”
“I’m testing a plate in the room with the crime lab...some candy arrived with this card.” He gestured toward the card in its plastic bag.
“No hard feelings....” Munch read. “There’s treatment for that now.”
Kay glared. “What does it mean when I look like this?”
“Mostly, I’m sorry Meldrick’s someplace else...”
“Oh for...hey, this is your Philistine, Munchkin..
Finally, Bayliss, looking suspiciously bedraggled and smelling like a perfume counter
Dudesse, I can so see this...
I know! And he'd be looking all guilty and shit...cause hey, it's Friday...that's what Timmy does. And he's just been licked...he would have to think that was Wrong...and I think I might want to come back to that thought, some other time.
He's just been licked by pretty women in corsets, no less. Double trouble!
wrod...I wonder how that conversation about perversion would've gone if he'd seen that.
I personally wonder how blissed Munch would have been by it.
It would be the seminal experience of his life.
This weeks "Open on Sunday" challenge makes me happy. Bowie song titles. Woot!
Rebel, Rebel
She stares at herself in the mirror.
Oh, man, it's bad. The scars, okay, fine, whatever, she's earned those. The Slayer gig doesn't make for satin-smooth skin, and the time in the joint? Her face isn’t the only thing that got lines from all the tight clenching.
The sag, yeah, what-fucking-ever. She's still mad hot, she can still sex it up with anyone, anything, anytime at all.
But the eyes - they're all wrong. Tired dark empty weary who the fuck's eyes are those? Not hers, no way.
Faith meets her own stare in the mirror, and her face crumples.
and, another one. I do love Bowie...
The Pretty Things Are Going To Hell
She's sitting in a pool of memories.
Family, but those are hazy. Angelus is clearer, pretty man, he's all dark flapping bits and hardness and taking whatever he wants. Then Darla, curving smile, oooooh pretty, soft to the touch, but soft is hard with her, too, all strong and cross, tossing one's skirts aside and taking what she wanted there, as well.
And William, pretty William, hardening into Spike. Sinew and poetry and hard, hard, showing her how to harden, as well. They're all hard, pretty memories.
She kisses her doll's mutilated eyes, and whispers about upcoming times in hell.
One more, and this is a bit unusual. But the Bowie song title I chose is "Eight Line Poem", so, welll...
Angel POV. Yeah, I'm a schmoophead.
Eight Line Poem
I have sweated out these days while I have wept throughout these nights
Barred from the sun's healing rays and kept from normal man's delights
I will lay here in this bed, so empty of the warmth I crave
One sweet girl, her golden skin in dreams tempts me to misbehave
To the north she works her will, to keep safe her hallowed ground
Golden girl child, chosen one, unworthy her name to sound
Slayer priestess born to slay all things that do the soul affright
I must wait my time alone here 'til her days shall match my night.
