904/Trudging through Darlington

Trudging through Darlington
Date of Scene:	11 June 2017
Location:	Sunnydale, Bludhaven
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Spike, Buffy Summers

---

Spike has posed:
Spike was trudging through Darlington Park on patrol. It had been really hot of late, and Spike had even considered going without the duster coat. Sure, the sun was down, it was night, but the ground was still hot from all those hours of the sun beaming down on the quaint little suburb of Sunnydale.

He had a stake in his coat, ready if he needed one in case he found a vampire. He had been hunting solo the last little while, as he was pretty sure that the Slayer was onto him, to his affections. He didn't want to be too obvious about how he felt. Damn him, for feeling the way he did. But the key thing is, whether seen or unseen, he was doing his best to be the kind of man, or vampire, she might want to be with.

While out and about, he came across three Unimodry Demons. Of course, he had to look up, and up, and up. The clouds parted, and the full moon came into view, casting a lovely shadow around Spike as the central one towered over him. "Oh, bloody hell!"

Buffy Summers has posed:
Patrol. The lifeblood of Slayers. The endless trudging monotony that is required to find the evil that lurks in the shadows.

What a crock.

It's boring. Most of the time. She spends night after night wandering around the city with only a night here or there with much action. She should be thrilled to find nothing worth her time. Happy about it even.

She needs to kill something before she loses her mind.

When she comes through the park, she feels that sinking sensation and goes on the alert, trying to pinpoint the cause. Coming around a tree, she freezes when she sees the three demons and a certain well known vampire. Oh what to do what to do. If she lets them kill each other off, there will be less to deal with.

But, it's Spike. And while he is a psychotic killer Big Bad, he's also kind of like a puppy lately and she can't let him deal with those three alone. "Aw, a party and no one invited me?" She slips a hand into her messenger bag, finding the hilt of a silver dagger inside.

Spike has posed:
Hearing Buffy's trademark wit, Spike momentarily hesitates. He takes his eyes off the Unimodry demons, and of course, that gives them the opening they needed, not that they needed an opening. But the big one hits Spike, sending him doing a spiral to the floor. Bleeding from his nose. He can't help it, but he calls out, "Buffy, watch out for their breath! It's corros..." but that's all he gets before he's stomped on by the lead one, and the other two look at each other, both seeming to want the pretty blonde girl. In fact, they start fighting each other over her, saying something in Unimodric.

Spike though, finally catches his bearings, and rolls over, taking his duster coat off. He assumes a boxer stance, with both arms balled into fists. He uses a thumb to brush some of the blood from his nose, and then licks it, quickly, before he jumps up, and comes crushing down on the head of the big one, hitting the side of its horn.

Buffy Summers has posed:
She's not really familiar with this particular breed but for general purposes, a knife is good. For supernatural ones, silver is better. Who knows if it'll work.

She should have that tattooed on her butt.

Since the first two are busy amongst themselves, she aims to assist Spike with his friend. Hopefully the pair will manage to reduce the number of dance partners by at least one. As Spike attacks from the front, she launches herself onto it's back, catching the large spike (not that Spike!) to hold onto and bringing the silver knife around to it's throat.

She's not trying to be pretty or precise. She just goes for where the jugular is in a human. Hopefully the knife will be able to get through their skin although she wouldn't take bets it will.

Her luck is never that good.

Spike has posed:
She'd have won that bet. Except Unimodry demons were a bit of a bother. Seeing what Buffy was about to do, Spike recoiled in horror, "no, Buffy, do" and that's all he got out. The knife cut through the throat. He had warned her about their breath. And with the angle, all that gas inside it came spewing out, drenching Spike. He stunk to high heavens. It was like a mixture of battery acid, some kind of fungus, horseradish cream, sulphur, and rotten eggs. He needed a bath. Thankfully, he had taken his believed leather jacket off first. It was fine, untouched.

"Oh god, that stinks!" He cried out, scaring off any vampires that might have been nearby. His cry was a blood curdling cry. Enough that even some nocturnal birds flapped away, or maybe it was the smell, but seeing their leader dead, the two who had been arguing about which one would get to have the girl, ended up being scared off, running in different directions, one north, and the other northeast.

Buffy Summers has posed:
"OH! My bad!" Buffy calls over as she jumps off the giant behemoth before he falls over. She lands clear but there is some of that goop on her hand and dagger. "Okay, that's disgusting. You said breath. You didn't say throat," she accuses, as though this entire incident is all Spike's fault. Instead of the demons who were doing the attacking.

"Is there a safe spot to stab them?" she yells, starting to spin and pursue the closest of the demons. No way she is letting the get away. She hasn't even worked up as sweat.

Northbound demon is It.

Spike has posed:
The giant behemoth lands on top of Spike, which really wasn't what he wanted. "Oh, BLOODY HELL!" And there is that scream again. He's getting angry. He smells like the sweat from a rhinoceros' testicles, and he's in a foul mood. "In the back," he says as he shoves the behemoth off of him, "always the safest place. Stab it in the back, and stand clear. Or the brain, but watch out for its damn mouth. I've got... eww." He wasn't really in a huge rush to go after the other one. So he slowly gets up, stripping off his shirt, which he uses to get the goo off of some of him. He grabs something sharp and pointy and metallic from his duster jacket, which is safely on the ground, away from that thing, and goes chasing the other one.

Buffy Summers has posed:
"In the back? That isn't very sporting," Buffy mutters to herself as she chases her target. He has a longer stride due to his size but she has Slayer speed on her side. It's a matter of moments before she catches up. For a moment, she actually considers not going for the kill right away. To play with the monster for a bit but no, she's never hear the end of it from Giles. No wasted time, no wasted energy.

She leaps, that craggy horn coming off the monster's back a handy handle. Er, yeah. That. This time she brings the dagger straight down on its head, using her strength to drive it through the skull, right into the brain. Presuming that's where the brain is instead of its little toe or something.

Spike has posed:
And if Spike had heard her muttering, he would have said that it's kill or be killed. Sporting has nothing to do with it. Spike is fairly clinical. Having the damndable thing run was the best thing for him. These things were tough as hell when they were ready to fight, but scare them, and they were as easy as any vampire, well, any vampire besides him.

And he had his axe. He threw it well. It was good throw. It was on target. But the beast moved, turning, and instead of killing it, the axe just sliced off some skin. He had pissed it off and it turned around, "Oh no..." And soon, he was running from the creature as it chased him back towards the fallen leader. Spike was lucky, very lucky. He jumped over the carcass. The other one wasn't so lucky. It tripped, falling, and got more of its breath on him, "not again," but it actually impaled itself on its friend's horn. It was in agony, screaming out, but there wasn't a whole lot Spike could do to put it out of its misery.

He looked around, and found, well, a rock, which he hit it over the head with, and finally, the screaming stopped. Slumping down beside the two, Spike sighed heavily. "It was all so much simpler being bad. And where can I get me a shower?"

Buffy Summers has posed:
As the beast falls, she leaps clear again. No extra goop on her hand this time. Bonus! And all the monsters are...

"What the hell?" The screaming from behind her has Buffy running back that direction to find Spike sitting against the bodies of two demons. He must've gotten his. "Oh, now that's classy. Impaling it on its buddy. Nice," she says, assuming that Spike did that on purpose and it wasn't a happy accident. She can admire a good kill. Even from the annoying vampire.

As she cleans her knife on the clothes of a fallen demon, wiping her hand off for good measure, the wind shifts. And she gets a full nose of the aromatic Spike.

"Oh Gag! You smell like you died. Again."

Spike has posed:
"I know! I told you to watch out for their breath. Slitting the throat of one of these things pumped all that juicy goodness onto me. Say, Slayer, look," he stood up. He wanted to ask her something. He felt bad about it. He tried to wipe more of the stuff off of him with his shirt, which stunk and needed to be burnt. "Can I use your shower? I promise that the chip still works, and you can have Willow do her hocus mocus afterwards, so I won't be able to enter your home, but I really don't fancy taking a dip in the river. Knowing the stuff Oscorp pumps into it, it probably smells just as bad. So how about it, can you help a Vampire with a Chip out?" He looked very much the loyal puppy, knowing she'll almost certainly turn him down, but he was in need. He smelt horrible. He needed her help. And he had killed two of those things.

Buffy Summers has posed:
Technically, one. In her mind. She killed the first and second. Just hope she never learned the third one tripped.

Letting him in her house? Not going to happen. She will not let anyone close to her family that way, especially him. Chip or no chip.

Not like his crypt was equipped with a shower.

"If you promise to behave, I'll let you use my yard but no way are you getting access to my family," she says flatly, not joking this time. That is the one thing she doesn't joke about. Her mother and sister are everything to her. Their safety comes before anyone else.

"C'mon," she says, turning to lead the way. She picks up his beloved jacket though. No reason to stink it up with more handling. She makes sure to use her hand that the goop didn't get onto.

Spike has posed:
He had been in her home before. He liked Joyce. But they had since banned him again. And he was too polite to go around, to wrangle an invite from Joyce, even if he probably could have. She seemed to genuinely like him too. She treated him with more respect than any of the Scoobies ever had. "I'll behave. Don't you worry. Spike doesn't run and play with the others dogs like that anymore." He was being so sarcastic, and sadly truthful, in that.

Relieved that she allows him to come along, he does ask, "um... would you mind?" And he points to his jacket? "I don't want it to smell, well, like me, but I'll want that back after I get washed up?" He is glad when she does pick up the jacket. Tilting his head as she carries it, he ponders. She'd look good in that jacket. It'd suit her. But no mention is made of it. On the walk, he tries to make small talk. "So, how are the kids? Xander and Willow, I mean?"

Buffy Summers has posed:
"They're good," she replies absently, walking along with the jacket slung over her left arm. It's a nice jacket. She'd look good it in. Too bad Spike was so attached to it. She'd try it on otherwise. Course, then she's smell like Spike. Not the stinky goop covered version. The stinky vampire version. Surprisingly there was a huge difference between the two.

Upon reaching her house, she leads the way to the backyard. "Give me a minute." She heads inside. Less than five minutes later, she returns with a small basket of goodies. Soap, shampoo, even a change of clothes. Not that the sweats and tshirt are his size or his style but beggars can't be choosers. Why she has mens clothes in her house? Nunyabusiness. There is also a lighter and she motions to the firepit. "Clothes there." Yeah, she's burning the things. They would just foul up a washer if they tried.

Spike has posed:
It had been hot during the day, and closer to dusk, but it had gotten colder, and Spike noted she seemed to be a bit chilly. "It's all right to put it on, you know, if you want. Kinda cold out here." He was fine, but Vampires didn't have internal body temperature. Funnily enough, Spike usually seemed far more attune to it than most. He complained about the heat or cold, especially when it was funny. Maybe he was just playing along, pretending he was alive. He was good at that. Better than any other Vampire he had ever met.

Once there, Spike did as instructed, stripping down to his boxers. Spike wore boxers. Again, he was as 'alive' as could be. Taking the bucket of goodies, his hand briefly touched her own, "thanks luv." He said that often, or pet, or other terms of enaderment. It was a British thing. But when he said it about her, there seemed to be some special meaning to it. Before an awkward silence could emerge, he began looking through them, and then around, for a suitable spot to 'bath'. He poured some of the shampoo on his hair, messing up the slicked back hair. He had surprisingly long hair when it was messed up with the foaming action of the shampoo. Now, where was the garden hose...

Buffy Summers has posed:
When he strips down to boxers (who knew?), Buffy blushes a little and quickly turns away to try and hide it. Not like she's seeing anything but it's just the idea of it. The brush of her hand is also noticed as was the sincerity of his voice when he used one of those pet names from her. He seemed to like those. Used them a lot. But she could tell there was something different when he said it to her instead of someone else. She just tried not to think about it too much.

To try and keep herself from staring because damn he had a body. For a vampire. Or a man. Not that she's looking. Because that would be weird. And wrong.

She pulled on his coat. Gives her something to do besdies watch him. Not really so much because she's cold as it puts it somewhere easy to carry it instead of laying it on the ground. His scent filled her lungs, along with the faint hint of cigarette smoke. When he looks for that hose, she already has it running and holds it out toward him.

Spike has posed:
Spike accepted the hose, and against brushed against her hand as he accepted it from her. The water was cold, way too cold, but he poured it over his hair, building more of a lather with the shampoo. With it still in his hair, he reached for the soap. He again sprayed himself with the water, shivering a little, but he didn't complain. Instead, he just soaped himself up.

When she seemed to notice his reaction to the cold water, he explained, "common misconception. Vampires can't die from cold, but we still feel it. Blood still pumps through my veins, keeping the skin alive. Touches, caresses, strokes, we can feel it all. Same with heat. What, did you think all the stories about vampires hating fire were false? We burn, just like everyone else. And I don't see a lot of humans setting themselves on fire. Although, I did see this one YouTube video. Funniest thing I ever saw. This guy bent over, and a mate of his lit a match, just as he blew wind."

Spike had no shame. He spoke as if this were perfectly normal and he wasn't almost naked. But then, he had a pretty good body. He was now rinsing some of the soap off his head and body.

Buffy Summers has posed:
Why is she feeling guilty for making him bathe in her yard with cold water from a hose? She shouldn't. He's a vampire and a villain. He was one of her biggest foes not that long back. Yet, here she is standing in a warm leather coat while he's shivering in the cold. Buffy drops her gaza, a frown on her face because she shouln't care.

But she does.

It's too late now to make the offer. Well, probably not but it would be awkward since he's already soaping up. She listens to the story but it only gets a tight smile in response, a shake of the head at the silliness of what he's telling her. When he works on bathing, she takes the hose to hold it, allowing him to use both hands. Watching him soap up, she blushes again and looks over to the firepit. While he was rinsing, she took the lighter over and lit up the ruined clothing.

It was just get get rid of the smell. It had nothing to do with giving some heat for him to hopefully find relief from the cold when he finishes up.

She takes a moment to set the towel out where he can see it.

Spike has posed:
Spike uses conditioner after washing his hair, and despite the uncomfortable nature of this, being outside, in her backyard, and the cold, he rinses and repeats. He actually bathes quite regularly, but he has to do it in the high school gymnasium or some other place. The water runs night or day, so it's really just a matter of breaking in, and he's become awfully good at picking locks. And even if he wasn't, he already bribed the janitor to create a second set of keys for him. The life of a vampire, such as it is.

So, he was milking this, even if it was a little uncomfortable, plus, bathing with underwear on wasn't exactly ideal. When he was done, he took the towel, wrapped it around his waist, and walked over towards the fire. He warmed his hands against it, then reached down, wiggled out of his boxers, and tossed them into the fire.

He was glad she had brought two towels, so he used another to wipe down his top, dry his hair, which was all messy now. It actually looked way better than the way his hair normally looked. "So... Xander?" He asks, finally seeing the Hawaiian shirt and cargo shorts, socks. No underwear. Great. He was going to go commando in Xander's shorts. Well, better than wearing Xander's underwear he guesses.

Buffy Summers has posed:
She's staring. Again. Repeatedly.

What is wrong with her? She's not a walking hormone. Alright, technically she probably is since she's still a teenager. But she doesn't have to act like one and drool on her sneakers. Wait, is she drooling? Surreptitiously, she brushes a hand over her chin. Nope, not wet. Phew.

She almost breathes a sigh of relief when he wraps the towel around himself and goes to the fire. Almost. Then he wiggles out of his boxers and that blush is back full force. It's just the heat from the fire. Nothing to see here.

"He's stayed over before." Wait, that didn't sound good. "On the couch. We're friends." Dear lord, she is losing her mind now. Like he doesn't know they are friends already. "And sometimes things happen. Demon things. Not y'know, Things," she stresses that word so it has two meanings then clamps her mouth shut and looks at the fire. Much safer place to look.

Spike has posed:
"Oh, I get it. I know you don't fancy poor Xander. He fancies you. Always has." Spike's known that one for a long time. "But, something tells me the feeling was never what you'd call, mutual." She needs a monster in her man. He's damn near sure of that. After drying himself off, he looks to her. She's still looking at him. "Would you mind?" He asks, as he wants to unwrap the towel so he can slip the shorts on. He had one hand near where he had tied the towel, and the other stroked his chin, "unless of course you'd like a peek?" He was bad, and he knew it.

Buffy Summers has posed:
The noise she makes says it all and she's immediately spinning around, facing the opposite direction. Buffy even closes her eyes. Just in case there's a reflection in a nearby window or something. No need to see Spike naked.

"Xander doesn't like me that way," she tries to argue, anything to change the topic from his nakedness. Almost. Well, probably now since he's getting dressed. So yeah, nakedness. Is it hot out here?

Spike has posed:
Spike continued to clothe himself. He slipped on the beige cargo shorts, which he sinched around his waist with a belt. He had to tighten them, as Spike's waist was narrower than Xander's. The Hawaiian shirt went on, and he tried to button it up, but some of them were missing, which made him raise an eyebrow and look at Buffy. He sniffed at the shirt. It smelt of a dryer. He had wondered if Xander and the Slayer had gotten up to something one cold, lonely night. But he didn't address it. Instead, he just did what he could with his hair. She had given him a brush, rather than a comb. So it was a bit of a tangled mess. He had a natural wave to his hair, and somehow, it didn't look as blonde like this. He made the clothes look good, keeping the Hawaiian shirt open, far better than it looked on Xander, but he definitely needed different shorts, or better yet, pants. "All right, you can turn around. How do I look?"

Buffy Summers has posed:
Buffy turns at the okay, eyes flicking over him and she has to swallow. Xander did not look like that. At all. Her eyes linger on Spike's chest then she flicks her gaze up to his face. The hair. Then her mouth starts running before her filter kicks in.

"Wow, you have great hair. Why don't you always wear it like that?" She starts to reach up a hand to touch it then realizes what she's doing. Her eyes go a little wide and she drops her hand, shoving both hands in the pockets of his jacket. She keeps them curled up in fists, not wanting to go digging through and learning what he has in there. Or to touch his hair to feel those natural waves.

Those demons must've infected her with something. Yeah, that would explain it.

"You look good. Fine. You should button up your shirt so you don't freeze. Oh!" She looks down at the duster she is wearing, which is a bit too long her admittedly. "Jacket. Yours. Yeah." She starts to shrug it off her shoulders.

Spike has posed:
"Nah, keep it for now. It looks good on you. And won't worry about the pockets," he moves towards her, pushing it back onto those shoulders, and slips a hand into the side pocket. He pulls out a cigarette lighter, and the hand goes to the opposite pocket, where he grabs the cigarette pack, and he slips them, well, he slips them into the pockets of his cargo shorts.

He should have pulled back, he should have respected her personal space, but there was something about being so close to her. He lingered and asked, "so, tell me... how do I smell now?"

Buffy Summers has posed:
Too close. Too naked. Well, halfway. Too Spike.

Her brain has turned into oatmeal which is not the way to stay alive if one is a Slayer. She should be shoving him away from her. Making him respect her space. Instead she is looking up at him, hesitating.

Buffy doesn't mean to do it.

She takes a deep breath, smelling the clothes he wears, the soap and shampoo he used. But beneath it all, she smells him. Masculine. A spicy edge. A monster shouldn't smell good. She finds herself leaning closer, nose almost touching his collarbone as she takes in that long, slow breath.

When she leans back, she peeks up at him through her lashes as another blush stains her cheeks. "Uh..."

She clears her throat and tries to recover. "Much better. But you still smell like vampire." Why doesn't that sound like an insult when she wanted it to be?

Spike has posed:
Spike liked the reaction he was getting. She seemed to be responding well. She didn't attack him. She didn't have a snappy comeback. He was getting to her. Did he really have a chance? He was curious to see how she'd treat his favourite possession. Would she wear it? Would she give it back to him? Would she hang it up in a closet? Would she burn it. The last one was a scary thought. But it was a test. And he was eager to see the results.

Stepping back from her, he gave her a wry smile, "good to hear it. I'd hate to hear you say I smelt like Xander." He light a cigarette, needing one after being so close to her. It calmed him down. Plus, he didn't need to breath, so it wasn't doing any harm to his lungs. It just felt good. And he liked feeling good. Though, he was a bit thirsty now that he thought about it. He pondered asking if she had a spot of blood, but thought better of it. She probably didn't keep blood for the rare times when Angel was back in town. But a coffee would be nice.

Looking at the hose, he asks, "I'm a bit parched. Mind if I borrow a cup to fill a bit of water?"

Buffy Summers has posed:
"You don't have to get water out of the hose," Buffy says as she steps back hurriedly. Putting a good amount of distance between them. It's self preservation.

She considers the ramifications, glancing at the fire. He does have a chip in his head. He can't cause harm to her family. And she can get the place locked down as soon as he leaves.

He did kill one of the demons.

But he's Spike. It's like inviting the devil in.

Finally, she goes with her gut. It usually doesn't steer her wrong. And if it does?

She'll stake him.

She uses the hose to put out the fire in the pit then walks to the backdoor. "C'mon in, Spike. Let's get you some coffee to warm you up."