Spike (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
erratic_hematic) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
bigapplesauce2013-08-14 07:22 pm
erratic_hematic) wrote in bigapplesauce2013-08-14 07:22 pm
Entry tags:
Kid, you'll move mountains. [closed]
He's sitting on the edge of Angel's desk in the inimitable offices of Wolfram and Hart, trying to convince himself that he's ready to move on and create a brand new undead life for himself. Spread out into new avenues. Save the world. Again. Do something that isn't hoping for Buffy to come around. The Apocalypse is coming, they say, so better get ready for that, get ready to stop it when it rears it's ugly head. It almost feels like it might be possible. It almost feels like he's at the start of something worthwhile.
He's sitting on the edge of Angel's stupidly enormous desk in the inimitable offices of Wolfram and Hart, and then...he isn't.
A taxi cab hits him, knocks him off his feet, and- Fuck! The sun. "Shit shit shit! What the bloody hell-" Spike cowers in the street, pulling his long leather coat over his head as he tries to block out the sun before his skin starts sizzling. Every car in the lane he's blocking seem to start blaring their horns. He shouts out a few choice obscenities and turns to look for cover from the sun.
Only, his skin isn't sizzling. At all. Not even where his hands are exposed.
Slowly, he lowers his coat and looks around, squares his shoulders and pulls his coat straight. New York, by central park. He thinks he can see The Museum of Natural History a couple blocks down, but he's got more things to worry about now than what the current exhibits are. He'd recognize New York in any universe and it probably is another universe, judging by how he's not a pile of ash in the middle of the intersection by now.
The street being littered with dozens of copies of Oh! The Places You'll Go! by Dr. Seuss is a little more of a mystery. He stares at them for a moment, dumbfounded. "The hell."
He bends to pick one up just as the cab driver that hit him moments before has the bloody nerve to lean on his horn. Spike grabs the book, stands, and kicks a dent into the offending bumper. "Alright, alright, I'm getting out of the way, hold your damn horses, arsehole." He limps for a few steps before he recovers, and heads towards the park, confused and still clutching the book. Maybe Angel got whammied over to New York too, though Spike isn't really sure he wants to go looking for him.
He's sitting on the edge of Angel's stupidly enormous desk in the inimitable offices of Wolfram and Hart, and then...he isn't.
A taxi cab hits him, knocks him off his feet, and- Fuck! The sun. "Shit shit shit! What the bloody hell-" Spike cowers in the street, pulling his long leather coat over his head as he tries to block out the sun before his skin starts sizzling. Every car in the lane he's blocking seem to start blaring their horns. He shouts out a few choice obscenities and turns to look for cover from the sun.
Only, his skin isn't sizzling. At all. Not even where his hands are exposed.
Slowly, he lowers his coat and looks around, squares his shoulders and pulls his coat straight. New York, by central park. He thinks he can see The Museum of Natural History a couple blocks down, but he's got more things to worry about now than what the current exhibits are. He'd recognize New York in any universe and it probably is another universe, judging by how he's not a pile of ash in the middle of the intersection by now.
The street being littered with dozens of copies of Oh! The Places You'll Go! by Dr. Seuss is a little more of a mystery. He stares at them for a moment, dumbfounded. "The hell."
He bends to pick one up just as the cab driver that hit him moments before has the bloody nerve to lean on his horn. Spike grabs the book, stands, and kicks a dent into the offending bumper. "Alright, alright, I'm getting out of the way, hold your damn horses, arsehole." He limps for a few steps before he recovers, and heads towards the park, confused and still clutching the book. Maybe Angel got whammied over to New York too, though Spike isn't really sure he wants to go looking for him.
no subject
For a moment she thinks some guy with a cart of books must've tried to run across on a red light, because there's an awful lot of books scattered about. But then she notices the man and his rather strange behavior. It doesn't take a genius to guess that the rift or some kind of weird powers are probably involved.
Curiosity piqued, she waits to see which direction he's heading, then goes to catch up, falling into step next to him. "That's quite an entrance."
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"This better not be a hell dimension. I've had it up to here with the senior partners fucking about with me and mine." He pulls to a stop, staring her down. "So, princess, you can just go tell them to shove the statue of liberty up their collective arses. I'm not going to stick around here and wait for their bloody instructions. I'm gettin' out of here."
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"Whatever you think this is, it's probably not it, and I don't know who to tell anything," she says, trying to defuse him a little bit. "And I know New York is pretty grimy, but I wouldn't go so far as to call it hell."
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"Then maybe you can explain what the hell this is supposed to be about." He shoves the copy Oh! The Places You'll Go! out at her so that she can see the cover. His voice isn't as loud anymore, but he's no less annoyed. "This some kind of joke? Or does everybody show up here in a pile of kiddy lit?"
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Figuring she might as well think out loud, since this guy probably has even less clue than her, she continues: "I mean, sometimes things come through instead of people, but I don't know why they'd arrive at the same time if they weren't with you before. But I skipped Rift Weirdness 101, so I can't say for sure."
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That's got the basics covered, right? She really isn't good at trying to soften the blow.
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And, y'know what, he's going to smoke. This is definitely a smoking situation. He digs into his coat pocket, extracts one from the pack and slips it between his lips, then tips the pack towards her, offering her one.
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"And I did say sometimes," she adds, declining the smoke with a gesture, though she supposes the fact he's willing to offer her one means he's not entirely hostile. "Sometimes you lose superpowers, sometimes there's changes in physiology, sometimes nothing at all changes. At least, that's what I've been told." Honestly, she hasn't really interacted that much with fellow rifties so far. Though it's starting to get kind of dull, keeping to the regular population. Lucky for her this guy dropped out of the sky.
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"Told by who?" He takes another drag from his cigarette while he squints up towards the sun. It's strange just standing here without his skin burning off. So much so that it's making hima little uncomfortable. "If we're going to keep talkin, lets find some shade." When he realises that's probably an odd request for such a cold day, he adds. "Look at me. I freckle."
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She raises an eyebrow at his request. "Freckles would suit you," she teases. "But there's plenty of cafés," she gestures towards the city. The trees of the park are still too barren to offer much.
no subject