On being chipped

[deadpoet]

Hello, I've got a idea. Rather than wait all those episodes for those government bastards to play around with my head, how about you go and leave me unchipped. You get the big bad me, I get to do whatever I like without a bloody killer migraine whenever I find myself feeling a little peckish. Everybody wins. Maybe not the blokes that get killed, but I can't say I really give a damn about them.

Better yet, let's go a bit before that where I still have that nice shiny ring. That way when you send me into that personal hell with two slayers, I don't find myself filling a Hoover within a week.

Comments

[deadpoet]

Seems you feel the need to try. Please, continue. I could use a good laugh.

[herotypical]

Laughter is so not what you need.

[ she's thinking chains. she's thinking crosses. she's thinking serious damage control. ]

[deadpoet]

A pint or ten of slayer blood would be better. Pity the mun's got me tied up.

[Figuratively, anyway.]

[herotypical]

I can say with utter confidence that Slayer's blood is not a thing you'll taste again. Not between now and the day you burn.

Literally.

[deadpoet]

And here comes the bloody hero speech. I've changed my mind. A staking might not be half bad.

[herotypical]

It's not a speech, Spike. It's a freaking weather forecast.

Look at me. Look closely. What do you see?

[ she's going to regret this. probably. but aside from the wings, she ought to at least look older than the nineteen-year-old her he'd last tussled with. ]

[deadpoet]

Like you're in need of a good facial.

[So. She looks old. But who can keep track of aging slayers?]

[herotypical]

Charming. As ever.

[deadpoet]

One of us has to be.

[herotypical]

...Maybe I can just leave you for Faith to mop up. That would make my side of this very, very simple.

[deadpoet]

Sending in the rookie slayer. That worked well last time.

[herotypical]

...She can handle herself. [ weird. someone else she has undue esteem for thanks to wacky timelines. ] And, if the clink's been at all good to her? She'll actually beat you instead of join you.

[ might be a good test, really... ]

[deadpoet]

So you've got yourself a caged bird as a slayer. Think another one will activate once I've finished properly introducing myself to her?

[herotypical]

Nah. All I expect to witness is a good long week of no you and then your non-triumphant return. Preferably missing something really vital. Like your ability to taste beer. I would be okay with that. And, hey! Less reason to see you in my daily routine.

[ so many lies. buffy wouldn't be all that upset to see him daily. in a way. ]

[deadpoet]

What in bloody hell does beer have to do with you daily routine?

[herotypical]

Blame the day job.

Or, uhm, the early-afternoon-to-evening-but-stops-before-patrol job.

[deadpoet]

A day job? And what's that?

[herotypical]

Small business owner. [ SHE LIES.

the silver lining, she realizes, is that spike has yet to see the low that is working at the double meat. ]

[deadpoet]

Well, that tells me a bloody lot. Let me guess. Couldn't handle all the schooling?

[herotypical]

I dropped out; Mom died.

[deadpoet]

Ah. Right. [That sobers him up immediately and obviously too. He may be evil still. But that was a woman he liked.]

[herotypical]

[ she may have unfairly used that knowledge -- the knowledge of spike not despising joyce -- to her advantage. she wanted to see some of that familiar sobriety on his face. she wanted to crack the insouciance.

but one brief second was long enough. ] But now? Now I control your blood flow. Local bar. It serves pig juice. Get used to it.

[deadpoet]

Right. The moment you've got me on pig juice is the moment I'm itching for a way to get myself staked.

[herotypical]

Been there. Done that. Staged the intervention.

[deadpoet]

Well I'm not like Angel. So you can keep your interventions to yourself.