bigapplesauce | Event: the Bother with Bunnies

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."

Well, when he puts it that way… it still doesn't quite sit. Sure, that's how a human would think. That's not how she'd expect a sucker to see it, though. If the ones back home wanted variety, maybe the global council would have been able to talk them into accepting all the animal blood they could drink in exchange for swearing off humans.

But if mixing it up with animal blood is what's keeping Spike on the wagon, she doesn't want to argue.

The next part, however, is more intriguing than Sunshine would care to admit. Con had always been cagey about how things-that-weren't-blood tasted to him. "Really?" she says, already musing on whether Bitter Chocolate Death would be intense enough to qualify. Maybe if she…

… Hold up, Sunshine. You're not seriously thinking about feeding him. The whole point of coming here was robbing him of a potential meal or five. Her interest should be academic, not… not purposeful.

Maybe Spike is far enough removed from the vampire category that her feed people gene doesn't see a big difference between him and anyone else.

"How strong?" she asks. Strictly academic. Right.

Spike shrugs in response. "Stronger than you'd wanna eat, for sure." That is, to get what anyone might call a decent amount of flavor it's got to be over the top on spices. "Regular stuff is okay. Bit boring."

He takes another sip from his mug, during which he realizes that she might have actually had a reason for asking. She had kind of shoved baked goods at him once upon a dream. The idea is a bit amusing to him, but he's definitely willing to entertain the notion if it involves her coming around to feed him.

He tips his head to the side, holding back a smug smile. "Why? You gonna bake me more muffins?"

Edited 2014-01-28 01:49 (UTC)

~~Maybe.~~ "No," she says, and she knows it was too quick and too defensive and any second now he's going to start smirking at her over the rim of his mug of blood, because let's not forget the mug of blood. Yet the feed people gene is still there, muttering things like: muffins wouldn't work anyway; there are easier recipes to adapt to a vampire lite palate...

But she's not going to try, because Spike is an asshole and she doesn't care if he'd like anything she made. If she made it. Which she won't. Shut up, Spike. And put on a shirt.

"… Unless you're placing an order," she says. Because hell if she's making him something for free, but turning down money would just be stupid.

He rolls his eyes at her response. As far as he's concerned, she's the one that brought it up in the first place. He doesn't particularly want a business relationship with Sunshine, even he would like to try whatever it is she could come up with. To have her drop the line of thought that was maybe leading to her coming back over with a basket of cookies free of charge is a bit of a blow to his ego.

"I can bake my own muffins, thanks." Which he is totally capable of doing. Probably. How hard could it be? It's just that he's never really had much reason to start baking things while he was rampaging across Europe.

The point is, he definitely doesn't need to buy anything from Sunshine.

Edited 2014-01-28 03:38 (UTC)

It was academic curiosity, Spike. It's not her fault you're a vampire lite who doesn't follow any of the rules she knows. Anyway, you have to earn free treats from her somehow, and she's not in any hurry to make him things he probably wouldn't even like because they'd be too 'boring' sans modification.

"Muffins are easy," she counters, because they are. That's why she can churn them out so quickly. "But if it's intensity you're after, muffins would be a bad choice." He'd want something dense, not something light and fluffy, and goddammit Sunshine stop thinking about it. If she's going to spend extra time in the kitchen inventing recipes, they're going to be recipes that would appeal to everyone, not just him.

Spike smiles as she starts working on the problem aloud, pleased that she seems to be thinking about it even if he doesn't plan on paying her. Maybe she will be coming over with a basket of cookies after all.

He wouldn't be quite as thrilled if he knew how often she thinks of him as a vampire-lite, but the less he knows about that the better.

The smile shifts into a smirk and he sets the mug aside so that he can cross his arms over his chest. "So, not muffins." He feels like pressing his luck here, so he asks, "What are you going to bring me?"

Edited 2014-01-28 05:09 (UTC)

Keep pushing your luck, Spike, and you'll probably get to hear the term more often. She lets out a quiet huff at his question, because she already knows the answer (which is why considering the prospect, even academically, is a waste of time).

"Nothing. I'm not running some kind of dessert-based charity. You have to earn it."

That's not strictly true. If she likes someone enough, she's happy to feed them up with free goodies. Sometimes she gets something in return, too; it had been a godsend when Yolande lowered her rent, though that hadn't been what Sunshine was angling for when she started bringing her landlady bakery bags every day. Feeding people is just what she does.

But she doesn't like Spike enough, and why should she? He took her to the base, and she's grateful for that, and he gave her a glass of ice water, but he hasn't exactly been going out of his way to endear himself to her.

"I did save you from homelessness, you know. You might be a little thankful." Seriously, he paid bus fare and everything. A less upstanding and moral person might have left her to fend for herself among the no doubt rabid squirrels of central park. He's like a hero here.

"You expecting more than that?" The smirk is back in full force as he pushes himself away from the counter to take a step towards her. "What kind of services did you have in mind?" He can think of a few things, but she'll have to lose her clothes for most of them.

Yeeeek. Relative 'lite'-ness aside, Sunshine is not okay with a vampire approaching her with a predatory look in his eyes (or, okay, it's more like a 'lascivious' look, but that's near enough to 'predatory' as far as her baser instincts are concerned). Her wards aren't happy about it, either, and she can feel the knife start to edge past body heat warm while the necklace puts out a faint glow. They're not in full-blown panic mode, though, and she can almost imagine a sense of proprietary inquiry coming from them, like a bouncer in an Old Town club: hey, is this guy bothering you?

Yes. Yes, he very much is.

The rabbit doesn't seem to appreciate Spike's approach, either. Maybe its senses are more finely tuned to vampire lites than hers, or maybe it's just picking up on her discomfort - either way, it kicks out suddenly, scraping its claws down her forearm and giving her an excuse to take a healthy step back. "Spartan," she mutters, setting the water on the nearest level surface so she has two hands free to wrangle the animal.

Well, that kind of ruins the mood. Not that the look on her face when he'd stepped forward had been any better. He watches the rabbit trying to squirm away with a frown. Maybe he'll put off the propositioning for the moment.

"Oh for- Just set it down." He nearly grabs for the rabbit, but at the last minute stops himself. Grabbing the thing she's been cradling protectively for the last five minutes probably isn't the best idea. "I'm not going to descend like a hawk the second you let it out of your sight."

~~And what a mood it was.~~

Sunshine's concern is less that Spike will pounce on the animal and more that if she does set it down, it'll end up bolting to some obnoxiously hard-to-reach hiding place and she'll have to go crawling after it. She already wrangled the thing once; she doesn't want to have to do it again with the additional challenge of the rabbit freaking out.

Bad enough that it's freaking out now. She holds the animal away from her body so it won't score anymore scratches and starts to head for the door - at least if it's going to bolt somewhere, it can bolt down the hallway where there's a shortage of hiding places - and then she gets a better look at the arm it's already scuffed. It's not a severe wound, just three pink lines running down her arm... no, it's more than that. Oh, gods. She's bleeding, and maybe it's not much, but to her whacked-out vampire eyes, the few drops stand out as if they're glowing in the shadows of Spike's apartment. She can practically see the individual red blood cells oozing out of her arm.

Has he noticed yet? Doesn't matter. She is getting out now.

"That's my cue," she says, hoping he'll just assume she's talking about the rabbit's tantrum and not the fact that she's leaking platelets. Never mind that her voice has jumped an octave. Pressing her lips together, she heads for the door at as brisk a pace as she can without it looking like she's bolting for cover.

Was there a cue? Because he totally missed it. He can definitely smell the blood from the scratch. It drew his attention, but it's hardly as if she'd cut open an artery and stuck it under his nose. It's a more appealing smell than what he's getting from the mug still sitting on the counter, but it's hardly a dinner bell.

More than the blood, her sudden panicked retreat says prey to an older, less welcome part of his mind, but he ignores that thought in favor of wondering what the hell had gone wrong so quickly. It's easy to tie his reasoning back to the conclusion that it was because of his hitting on her. He takes a couple steps after her, holding up his hands in a gesture of harmlessness. "Don't you need something to carry all those rabbits? I've got a box...it'll be a tight fit, but you're not taking them far, right?"

He rolls his eyes and huffs a sigh as she doesn't stop making a beeline for the door. "Stop. You were ogling me. I got the wrong idea. I'm sorry." Suddenly, a book materializes and hits him on the head. He catches it and stares horrified at the title of The Complete Guide for Hunting for a moment before walking to chuck it into the trash. He doesn't like any of what that's suggesting.

Edited 2014-01-29 22:34 (UTC)

Don't turn around, Sunshine. Don't look into its eyes. That's how they get you. Sure, he doesn't sound like he's trying to put her under the dark - he doesn't really sound anything but baffled (or… disappointed? Yeah, right.) - but she is not taking any chances here. Odin only knows what the hell her blood would do for him, and -- wait, 'ogling'?!

Sunshine quickly dumps the rabbit into the hallway and then pivots on her heel, anger overriding her survival instinct. She was not ogling. She... okay, she looked, because ~~it wasn't a bad view~~ it was sort of hard to avoid, particularly when your go-to behavior around vampires - any vampires, even lite ones - is avoiding eye contact. But looking is not the same thing as a goddamn invitation. Besides, she knows from bruise-inducing personal experience not to... invite… that… from a vampire. Any vampire. But especially an obnoxious asshole lite version.

Any tirade she would have unleashed is cut off by the sight of Spike staring in pretty obvious horror at the book he's suddenly holding, and Sunshine blinks, thrown. It is... substantially thicker than a TV Guide, but she can't see the cover. Does she even want to know? She decides she doesn't.

At a loss, she watches him deposit the book into the trash. Her hand is clamped over the bleeding scratches, but Spike… honestly doesn't seem all that interested. In the blood, anyway. It should be a relief, but there's nothing all that reassuring about the realization that she has no kali goddamn idea what to expect from vampire lites. Enemy vampires, she gets. Reluctant allies, she also gets. This, however, is well outside her wheelhouse.

"… A box would be nice," she finally says.

Event: the Bother with Bunnies

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