incomplete
Who: Spike (7livesleft) and Heine (nebenmond)
What: A completely random meeting.
Where: Docks area, just outside the Task Force headquarters.
When: Relatively recent.
Spike didn't have any reservations about smoking indoors -- in fact, if he thought about it, since he teamed back up with Smoker he'd nearly doubled his usual habit. (Not really surprising considering he didn't have to worry about paying for them anymore. As long as their supply wasn't running out, he wasn't cutting back.) Still, after his halfway successful attempt at making work for himself, he felt like he should get some fresh air. Get his body moving again. He could say one thing: the weather had improved since the last time he was in the city. The sky was overcast, but there was a slight breeze blowing past. Nice and crisp.
Maybe it would rain.
Everything else more or less stayed the same. He was used to surviving things he shouldn't have; Spike tended to gravitate towards people who made sure of that. Some kind of built-in survival instinct that kicked in despite the kinds of situations he threw himself into. Or it could be just like he said; there was only one person who could kill him. Nothing else seemed to do the trick.
That line of thinking circled down a familiar path, and he all but forced himself in another direction. So Spike took a heavy drag off the cigarette and considered what he was doing out there. He needed to find a new couch. Fair to say that the last one was beyond saving once the blood had set. Couldn't even turn the cushions over, and --
-- he didn't miss the spot of fur that crawled into his vision. The thing even had the nerve to perch itself directly in front of him. His frown set hard, like he was suddenly staring into the eyes of all his bad luck. No getting rid of it, no matter what he tried. He must have offended Lilth when he asked if she'd take it back (again), if computer programs could get offended. Spike didn't even get to the part where he ate a bullet for the damned thing. Nobody else seemed to see the problem with making contracts with the animal kingdom, but he didn't remember signing up for it.
Exhaling a last breath of smoke, Spike crushed out the rest of the cigarette. (Might as well put more of those on the shopping list while he was at it.) In the next moment, he had his gun out, pointed it straight at the cat, and dared it to move.
A smile crossed his lips when it didn't. Chicken. "Come on. I owe you one, don't I?" And at the time, he couldn't think of a more satisfying way of getting rid of some excess baggage. Go on and blame it on the weather.
What: A completely random meeting.
Where: Docks area, just outside the Task Force headquarters.
When: Relatively recent.
Spike didn't have any reservations about smoking indoors -- in fact, if he thought about it, since he teamed back up with Smoker he'd nearly doubled his usual habit. (Not really surprising considering he didn't have to worry about paying for them anymore. As long as their supply wasn't running out, he wasn't cutting back.) Still, after his halfway successful attempt at making work for himself, he felt like he should get some fresh air. Get his body moving again. He could say one thing: the weather had improved since the last time he was in the city. The sky was overcast, but there was a slight breeze blowing past. Nice and crisp.
Maybe it would rain.
Everything else more or less stayed the same. He was used to surviving things he shouldn't have; Spike tended to gravitate towards people who made sure of that. Some kind of built-in survival instinct that kicked in despite the kinds of situations he threw himself into. Or it could be just like he said; there was only one person who could kill him. Nothing else seemed to do the trick.
That line of thinking circled down a familiar path, and he all but forced himself in another direction. So Spike took a heavy drag off the cigarette and considered what he was doing out there. He needed to find a new couch. Fair to say that the last one was beyond saving once the blood had set. Couldn't even turn the cushions over, and --
-- he didn't miss the spot of fur that crawled into his vision. The thing even had the nerve to perch itself directly in front of him. His frown set hard, like he was suddenly staring into the eyes of all his bad luck. No getting rid of it, no matter what he tried. He must have offended Lilth when he asked if she'd take it back (again), if computer programs could get offended. Spike didn't even get to the part where he ate a bullet for the damned thing. Nobody else seemed to see the problem with making contracts with the animal kingdom, but he didn't remember signing up for it.
Exhaling a last breath of smoke, Spike crushed out the rest of the cigarette. (Might as well put more of those on the shopping list while he was at it.) In the next moment, he had his gun out, pointed it straight at the cat, and dared it to move.
A smile crossed his lips when it didn't. Chicken. "Come on. I owe you one, don't I?" And at the time, he couldn't think of a more satisfying way of getting rid of some excess baggage. Go on and blame it on the weather.