bigapplesauce | Event: the Bother with Bunnies

"No." He opens the door wider so that she can see further into the little apartment. That he can see, there are a couple more in the living room area and one hopping its way into the kitchen. "Did you do this? I mean, I appreciate the snack, but you might've warned me first." Because she's asking for them, he's assuming they're her rabbits that somehow ended up here. Spell gone wrong, maybe? But that wouldn't explain why there are so many, unless she's some sort of fluffy-animal hoarder.

'Snack'? Yeah, that's what she was afraid of. She wonders if taking credit for their appearance will make him more likely to give them up, but then again, does she really want Spike to think rabbit conjuring is a skill she possesses? It's one thing to keep the implications of her counteraffinity a secret, and quite another to start copping to talents she doesn't even have (or want, for that matter; what good is rabbit conjuring?).

"Wasn't me," she says. "I've been taking the ones I find back to the base." And that includes the unfortunates hopping around your apartment, Spike.

"How sweet." Rabbit conjuring would be great skill for a vampire like Spike to have. It'd be a really convenient food delivery system. Now that he's gotten over the indignity of tripping over one of the things, he's warming to the idea of having some really fresh blood. Even if it is rabbit, it'd have to be better than the stuff he gets at the butcher's. It's this like of reasoning that makes him say "I'm keeping them" and shut the door in Sunshine's face.

"Hey!" It's the indignity of having the door shut in her face as much as her concern for the rabbits that spurs her to resume pounding on the door. Inspiration strikes, and she adds, "They came through the rift - you really want to drink that?" Not that she's concerned for Spike's health - far from it - but maybe he'll think twice before ingesting something that might be tainted with odin only knows what.

Well that's different. If these things came through the rift, there could be all sorts of things wrong with them. They might not even be rabbits at all. They do look like rabbits, though. And smell like rabbits. He can practically hear their little hearts beating.

He opens the door wide enough to talk, but not wide enough for her to get in. He's going to take a little more convincing than that. "So they might taste funny."

Oh, good, he's listening. Even better: she's pretty familiar with the myriad ways magic handling can go wrong, which means it isn't that difficult for her to make up some horrifying consequences of eating rift-tainted food.

"Or they might turn your skin inside-out." She raises her eyebrows at him. "Or give you toxic kali hallucinations for the next 36 hours. Or you might sprout an identical type of fur." Or they might just bite back. That's probably the most likely scenario. Even if rabbits could be put under the dark, she doesn't think Spike has that particular trick up his metaphorical sleeve.

"I could do worse than hallucinogenic rabbits." He furrows his brow at her, wondering if any of that could be true. It doesn't seem likely, but he's not a stranger to unforeseen oddities. After a moment's consideration, he nods. "Fine." It's too early for him to be putting up this much of a fight for potentially poisonous food. If he gets a craving later he'll go to the pet store.

Or at least he thinks it's early. He opens the door up wider for her, at the same time leaning to the side to check the clock on the wall. Nearly ten. Not that early, but he has been meaning to catch up on his soaps and this is usually about the time that they start going. He's sure he'll be about to catch a rerun of something.

He leaves the door open and goes to plop back onto his sofa. The blood in the coffee mug on the floor is sort of lukewarm, but it's still decent enough to drink. He takes a sip, resolutely ignoring any bunny-gathering that may be taking place around him. Only, when he starts flipping channels, he only finds infomercials. Every single channel seems to be hawking some sort of shitty kitchen appliance or exercise equipment. "This is bullshit," he says, more to the TV than to Sunshine.

Edited 2014-01-12 09:27 (UTC)

But it would be the terrible kind of hallucination, Spike. No one likes a bad trip. Not even vampires, presumably. There are stories back home suggesting that if a hophead messes themselves up enough, even vampires won't touch him because his blood might mess them up. She never did ask Con about that one. It might just be wishful thinking on the part of hopheads everywhere.

She waits for him to wander back to the couch before she cautiously steps into his apartment. Okay: get the bunnies, get out. Still, she can't help but be a little curious as to how a vampire lite lives, so she steals a few glances around the place as she scoops up the one he tripped over and relocates it to the hallway. Gods, the fur on these things is ridiculous. Her hands seem to sink in a long way before they actually reach the rabbit's body. As she picks up another one, it occurs to her that they might have been safe from Spike, anyway; he'd have to spend half an hour shaving them down before he could bite them without just getting a mouthful of fuzz.

Then he comments on the apparent lack of stuff on TV, so maybe he'd be bored enough to giving rabbit shaving a try. Sunshine straightens, her arms full of the two bunnies that were in his kitchen (it had not been difficult to resist the temptation to see what, if anything, was in his fridge). "Try PBS," she suggests as she walks past. "They might have cartoons." Does she sound faintly amused at his expense? Because she is. Not that she can entirely blame him for being at loose ends; she doesn't have a real job yet, either.

Sunshine is perhaps not giving him enough credit when it comes to ingenuity. Furry rabbit situations are what knives were made for, and he's skilled enough to not cause too much of a mess. But seeing as he's not short on blood at the moment, he's not bothered b letting the opportunity slip away.

He does as she suggests and flips down to PBS, then groans to encounter a commercial for breakfast cereal. He leaves it there, though, and tosses the remote control further down the couch, giving up on it. He feels frustrated, but it's more to do with being trapped in New York and subject to the whims of a mysterious dimensional portal than it is about TV show choices. Directly above his head, a small paperback materializes and drops with a soft thwap onto his shoulder. He gives an aggravated groan and looks at it long enough to identify it as a TV guide from July 1977 before chucking it across the room in the general vicinity of the trash.

"Are you done yet?"

Sunshine is just trying not to think about it. She doesn't even eat meat.

After depositing the two rabbits out in the hallway, she turns just in time to see a little book appear out of nowhere and drop onto Spike's shoulder. He seems more annoyed by its appearance than anything else, suggesting that it's nothing to get worked up about, but she can't help asking, "So, is the rift dropping books on everyone, too?"

And hey, the trash can is close enough to the bedroom door that it provides a swell excuse for her to wander over there. That's the only room she hasn't yet divested of any bunnies it might contain. Just waltzing into someone's bedroom feels a bit, uh… personal… but her experience with vampires has led her to conclude that they don't really need bedrooms because they don't need beds. Maybe Spike doesn't even use that room.

"It's dropping books on me. They told me sometimes people get new powers, through the rift. Mind reading and shit. Me? I get the collected works of Shakespeare dropped on my melon." Well, that particular one hasn't happened yet, thank fuck. If things keep going like this, one of these days he's going to get concussed by an encyclopedia.

The bedroom definitely will look used. Despise his dosing on the sofa today, he usually does sleep there. The sheets on the small bed are mussed, Spike not having bothered with making it, and Sunshine will find a small pile of books set on the bedside table next to a bottle of black nail polish and nail polish remover. His coat has been lovingly draped over the arm of the chair in the far corner, but his shoes, socks, and shirt are all on the floor, along with a black lace bra that is definitely not his.

There's also a rabbit sitting on the chair.

"Huh." Sunshine's a fan of books, so that actually doesn't sound like a half-bad power to have. Not that she's upset about not being granted any superfluous abilities (as far as she can tell, anyway); she has more than enough on her plate already. She picks up the TV Guide, notes the year, and snorts faintly. "I take it you don't quite have the hang of it, yet," she says as she drops it into the trash. 'Quite' because at least it's TV related, even if it isn't the right year.

A surreptitious glance confirms that that is definitely a well-used bedroom, and she has to smother a groan when she spots the damn rabbit. Now she has to go in. Gritting her teeth, she picks her way across the clothing-strewn floor and over to the chair, spotting the bra as she goes. Gods, he's just flouting every bit of vampire lore out there, isn't he? Not that vampire-human relations are entirely unheard of in her universe (though they're definitely illegal, including fictional portrayals), and the Ten Seconds That Went Nowhere make a brief reappearance in her brain before she ruthlessly deletes that thought. The point is, if it wasn't for the blood drinking, she'd be tempted to categorize him as something non-vampire, at least in her own mind. Maybe some kind of demon cross. She'd have to think about it.

She quickly checks beneath the bed in case there are any more terrified creatures huddled under there (such as the owner of the bra… okay, that was a mean thought, and Sunshine is almost ashamed of it), then nabs the rabbit off the chair and heads back out.

He looks back at her as she walks out of his bedroom, only mildly surprised that she's found another rabbit. Her suggestion that he might get the hang of his skill enough to control it is more surprising. Until now, he hadn't even thought of it as something he might be able to learn to use.

"I don't know about getting the hang of it. I think the rift just has a sick sense of humor." He nods in the direction of the TV guide and referring to the date on the cover says, "That's when I was in New York last." ...which now that he thinks of it is also a wonderful argument for it being him instead of the rift behind the selections.

He'll get no argument about the rift's sense of humor, but she looks a bit baffled by the implication that a rain of books is just something to be tolerated with questionable grace instead of something to try and harness (if for no other reason than to stop it happening).

"If it really is a power of yours, why couldn't you control it?" Seriously, is there some rift-related reason? The rabbit wiggles a little, and she shifts her grip, tucking it into the crook of her arm. "At least you could be picking the reading material." With a nod to the discarded TV Guide, she adds, "Or the year." Or the binding. At least if he could limit things to paperbacks, it would reduce the risk of a concussion.

"I don't even know why it happens. What am I supposed to do, wish really hard and hope I get hit in the head with the right book?" He huffs, tucks himself against the arm of the sofa and swings his legs up so that he's facing her more than he's facing the TV (which has starting running a cartoon, but not one he recognizes).

"Do you think you could do better?" He actually curious. This is more or less his way of asking if she does know a way to control it.

Edited 2014-01-19 03:56 (UTC)

She frowns a little, because he's huffing at her and because how in the hell is she supposed to know how his power works? Maybe he should be asking himself what one of his witch buddies would have to say on the matter if it's guidance he's looking for.

… Oh. Wait. Maybe it is guidance he's looking for. Sunshine might not know him well, but she's pretty sure that if 'obnoxiously challenging' was what he was going for, there, he would have made it - without leaving this much room for doubt in her mind.

"I wouldn't call it wishing," she says cautiously, because she's still not one hundred percent certain that he genuinely wants her opinion. "Magic handling is about willing stuff to happen, at least in my universe." She gives a one-shouldered shrug, not wanting to jostle the rabbit and set it wiggling again. "There's also ignoring your power, which is the course I'd probably recommend if you didn't have books dropping out of thin air either way." Ignoring things only works if things are content to keep quiet and not cause a fuss, which doesn't seem to be the case here.

Spike listens to her advice and takes a moment to consider it. He isn't quite sure that he knows the difference between wishing and willing, though willing himself not to spontaneously materialize books sounds more difficult than the opposite. "I don't will anything to happen," he grouses, "It just does. Concentrating on not dropping dictionaries on my head twenty-four seven isn't gonna happen."

Understandably, he's more focused on getting the entire power to stop completely instead of learning to apply it precisely. If he did learn to control it, he might never have to go to a bookstore again, but he figures it would still involve getting repeat blows to the head and shoulders on a daily basis.

He hasn't yet considered that it might be possible to materialize books somewhere other than directly above his own head.

Sunshine absently runs her fingertips over the rabbit's ludicrous amount of fur while she considers Spike's little predicament. Thing is, her magic was pretty content to be ignored. She spent ten years doing nothing with it; she even managed to forget it was there, and nothing bad came of it. Maybe, if she hadn't been kidnapped by suckers, nothing would have continued to come of it, and she would have gone on for another few decades none the wiser. Her tree-self might have remained as quiet and self-sustaining as a non-metaphorical tree without any conscious effort on her part.

But it doesn't always work that way. Some magic handlers have tree-selves, but some have magic more like an animal or a toddler: if you don't keep an eye on it, it acts up. Maybe if he willed a book into existence every once in a while, that would be enough to calm things down without him having to actively suppress it.

Or maybe there's some kind of trigger he's missing. She might not be familiar with rift powers, but in her experience, 'it just does' only applies to the sort of things sprites or peris can do, and even then, there's an internal consistency. You could say the coffee Mary pours is always hot because it just is, but the same thing doesn't apply to the milk she pours, and it's not as if the coffee trick sometimes works and sometimes doesn't. There are rules, and maybe they're arbitrary and hard to pin down, but they're still there.

"Well," she finally says, "a TV Guide from a significant year just showed up right after you complained that there was nothing good on. Maybe you're not willing it to happen, but something must be triggering it. So, find the trigger and focus on that."

And so much for getting in and getting the hell out. She really didn't anticipate getting drawn into a real conversation, here, but this one is actually not unpleasant. Will wonders never cease?

"Not that significant." Okay, so it was pretty significant, but he feels like he needs something here to object to so that he has some control over the situation. He's used to his powers being kind of scary and intimidating to others. To have something this silly and hard to handle is incredibly off-putting for him. He definitely doesn't want Sunshine around to laugh at him when he tries to control it and can't. He has no idea what the trigger is, if there is one, but he knows that definitely wouldn't help.

So, he has options. She doesn't seem to know anything else that will help. He can ask her to stay and try to avoid her getting him to practice or something, or he can shove her out the door. "Look, I'm not up for trying to expand my library. Or a round of 'find the trigger.' You want something to drink? I've got..." Well, this might be a problem. He really should have something more for when he has company. "Water. And vodka. Weetabix in the cupboard." But not milk to go with it.

It probably wouldn't help if she told him that she didn't find his book summoning any less silly than his overall brand of vampirism, would it? Actually, as powers go, it sounds pretty flash stark to her. She can think of more than a few books she'd be pulling out of thin air if she could.

Not that she's about to hand Spike a wish list. Even if he knew what he was doing, she's pretty sure he'd laugh himself sick at the Blood Lore series. Well. She never said it would be highbrow literature she'd be summoning. She wants something familiar that will make her feel better, not something critically acclaimed.

The offer of a drink throws her, at first because if he really doesn't want any help with the Book Thing, she's not sure why he'd want her to stick around at all. Two minutes ago, he was pointedly asking if she was done clearing the place. And second because that is a hell of an uncomfortable pause as he searches for an answer that isn't… that isn't something only a sucker would be interested in, anyway. And then he comes up with water. And, okay, vodka, but still. Yeesh. What exactly is his game plan, here?

"Okay," she says, surprising herself. What's your game plan, Sunshine? Maybe she's just curious to see where he's going with this, and it's not like the rabbits will be any less safe wandering that hallway than they would be in the base. "Um. Water, though. Bit early for vodka."

Alright, so he wasn't actually expecting her to accept his offer, but now that she has, he might as well make the best of having her here. He's put up with far worse for the sake of a pretty face, and she doesn't seem to be as needlessly touchy as she'd been the day they met. He pushes himself up from the couch and pads his way into the kitchen, taking his mug of lukewarm blood with him as he goes.

"Time is relative. Some mornings deserve vodka." He sets the mug down on the counter and pulls the freezer compartment open to pull out the ice tray, breaks some out into a waiting glass, and fills the glass from the faucet. The tray goes back in the freezer next to a jug of something dark and red, and he holds out the glass for her to take.

"Do you live here now, or did you just come over to rescue bunnies from the big bad vampire man?"

Against her better judgement, Sunshine says, "I'm surprised you drink… that." She's seen Con drink water and orange juice before - well, she didn't see it because it happened faster than her human eyes could follow; it would be fairer to say she's observed water and orange juice vanishing in Con's presence. He even got some nourishment out of it, if not much. But the water he took because he was desperate, and the orange juice because he was polite; under normal circumstances, a vampire wouldn't need either to survive. Whatever they'd get out of it, they'd get more out of blood.

She can't imagine Con drinking alcohol.

Shifting her grip on the rabbit so she has a hand free, she takes the glass. "Pretty sure this is their only above-ground housing," she says, taking a sip. So no, she didn't have to go too far out of her way to stage a rescue operation. "I'm a couple of floors up." She even landed a corner unit; they seemed to take her need for sunlight as a more desperate matter than it really was, but she was rattled enough at the time that she didn't feel any pressing need to correct them.

In contrast, they seem to have not completely believed him when he'd said that he's okay with sunlight now. Comparatively, this room must seem dingy to Sunshine. The single window is a decent size, but it's hardly big enough to light the entire room. The light in the kitchen area makes up for it, which is fine enough for Spike. And considering that he'll probably be keeping his nocturnal schedule anyway, maybe it's all he needs.

"Doesn't work very well," he answers as he sets the mug in the little microwave. "have to drink a lot before I get drunk. Advanced healing factor is a bitch sometimes." He waits a minute before taking his mug back out of the microwave, then turns around to lean against the counter, swirling the blood around in the mug a bit to check its viscosity. "I add it to the blood sometimes. Keeps it from getting sludgy."

It could be dingier. But she'd be lying if she said one of the first things she did wasn't taking down the curtains. The blinds are still up, mostly so she has something to close at night, but during the daytime, she lets in all the light she can. She might start to question that choice when summer really arrives, but she's good at handling the stifling bakery in late July, and there's no way her apartment could get worse than that.

She makes a face at his explanation. This is why you should listen to your better judgment, Sunshine. Bad enough that he's microwaving a cup of blood the same way she'd jolt a cup of tea that had gone cold without thinking about the horrifying cocktails he might make out of the stuff. She almost echoes 'sludgy,' but her better judgment says not to and this time she's listening.

Unfortunately, her better judgment doesn't have anything more eloquent to offer than, "Urgh," which is what she finds herself saying as she watches him idly swirling the mug's contents around.

"You try eating the same thing every day and see if you don't wanna change it up a every once in a while." He finishes his beverage-swirling and raises the mug to take a sip. Not bad. Not great, but not bad. At least it's warm.

He raises his eyebrows at her, then drops his gaze down to the rabbit that she's still holding. Does she think that if she lets it go he's going to grab it up and sink his teeth in? What kind of vampires is Sunshine used to? "I can eat anything, but if it's not blood it has to be strong enough to make an impact on the ol' taste buds."

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