Owner	Pose
Spawn	The memories came to him slowly, as they come to all Hellspawn. The feeling of his broken bones, the feeling of his body going into shock as the flames ate at his skin and the heat and smoke turned his lungs into useless meat. Even now he could feel their wheezing, even now days later he 'felt' his life in brief images, flashes of time and taste and touch. Was this a nightmare? Was he in Hell, was this how they made you pay for your crimes? After days of rotting in the alley, huddled in his corner of misery while the denizens gave him a wide berth, he remembered a name. Wanda. He knew his own, but something in his brain didn't attach it to anything, it was like he just existed in a vacuum before. But now...but now... But now, the darkened, shrouded form was digging through the mud, ignoring the rain pouring down over him. He had enough of his mind to understand that a seven foot man in a Dracula cape might draw unwanted attention, so now he was just a bum, just a wino in a filthy dark coat, stray gray hair matting to his face as the thunder crackled overhead, and the fog rolled through the cemetary. He kept digging until the shovel hit something real. Until he hit paydirt. Until he was ripping open the top-half of the door...and looking down at his covered, hooded body. Dark suit almost pristine save for the maggots, and on the figure's finger...was a ring. The sight was...a little much to take in. "No, no, it can't be! It's not you...jesus, it's not you."
Buffy Summers	Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night. That was a believed motto for a certain group but it should be the one for the Slayer. She has to be out here every night, no matter the weather, slogging around and looking for monsters.     And she didn't get paid.     What a crock of shi--     A faint wince touches her features as her early warning system goes off. It is a general achy pain that is centered in her stomach. That warning system has saved her butt more than once so Buffy doesn't ignore it now.     She's dressed in black tonight, along with a lovely leather coat that helps protect her from some of the elements. There is a baseball cap on her head but it really doesn't do any good with the pouring rain. Her messenger bag is slung crosswise over her torso, and she slips a hand into it to draw out a wooden stake. Cemetaries were usually their domain so that was her first weapon choice due to location.     Creeping silently through the fog, she saw what looked like an open grave with a pile of muddy dirt nearby. The voice was coming from inside, down in the hole. She crept to the edge and peeked over, to see a hobo apparently desecrating a corpse.     "Okay, first--Gross! Second, of course it isn't you since you aren't in the box. And third, Super gross! Get out of there!"
Spawn	The had removed the white gauze and covering from the corpse's face, and was despairing at the charred, lifeless corpse staring back with black sockets(eyes didn't tend to last long when burned alive), and was looking down with his hands going through his 'hair' even as he was breathing deeper with the wheezing getting louder and louder with each painful intake of oxygen. So much so that he almost didn't hear the girl at first, so lost in his own world was he. After a moment, however, he glanced up, and even though his green eyes seemed normal at first, the astute might notice that they were...a little too visible through this nighttime fog and thunder and rain, the color bright and vivid even in these conditions. Abruptly the homeless figure reached down and seemed to take something from the corpse in the coffin, a snapping of bone confirming it. Although strangely for a grave robber, he was taking time to reclose the coffin, almost delicately. "This doesn't concern you, little girl. Why don't you go home and stop playing in graveyards. Have a little respect for the dead." His voice was deep and powerful, but it seemed to be almost slightly muffled, as if it were traveling through cloth somehow.
Buffy Summers	Grave robbing. This was just ridiculous. Like she didn't have enough weirdness in her life to deal with and now here was a bum thinking to make some cash off some dead guy. It wasn't really the best way to make money but who knew what went through the brains of some people. Maybe he was on something. Or drunk. Anything other than him making this as a conscious life choice.     "I have plenty of respect for the dead," Buffy retorts as she remains where she was, a bit confused when he took the time to actually close the coffin lid. It was almost--reverent? No, she was giving too much credit there.     "It's the undead that I have no respect for. They have this nasty habit of crawling out of their graves and killing people." She grips the stake a little tighter as she watches him atop the box in the grave. "And you are setting off all my warning bells but you aren't acting like a vampire. So let's simplify things. What the hell are you and how do I kill you?"
Spawn	After closing the casket tight, the shovel he used was thrown into the air, arcing through the night sky to stick into the dirt a few feet away like it was a javelin. With this done the figure leapt out of the hole, standing on firm ground across from the Slayer, where his shabby clothing and rough appearance was even more easily seen. The figure looked down at the stake in her hand, then looked up at her eyes while his started growing even brighter. A brief streak of anger flared across his face, and with his teeth flashing in a snarl, the figure reached out to try and grab the stake from her hand. He was big, he was strong, he was fast. But he wasn't a Slayer. And especially in this form, he wasn't much to write home about. "A vampire, what? Give me that shit before you hurt yourself."
Buffy Summers	There are a lot of things that should not be done. Spitting into the wind. Tugging on Superman's cape. Among that list should be Taking a stake from a Slayer.     Buffy reacts negatively. To the extreme. As he reaches for the stake, she is already shifting her weight onto her back foot, angling her body to give him less of a target. She brings that stake up and around, slapping him on the back of the hand with it while she brings up a leg, chambers it tight and fires, extending it sharp and fast aimed for the center of his chest to try and knock him back and down.     "Hey Mr. McGrabby Hands! That is not yours." He's not a vampire. So time for plan B. The stake disappears to be replaced with a dagger, the blade coated in silver. That gives her the strength of steel by the mystical properties of silver weapons. She's learned those are a pretty handy combination over the years.     She doesn't wait for another chance. As soon as she has that distance from the kick pushing him back, she flings the dagger end over end. It is aimed at the center of his chest!
Spawn	It should come as no surprise to anyone that the Slayer was the chosen one for a reason. But Al had yet to learn that lesson, when the dainty foot is driven into his sternum hard enough to launch him backward like he'd got kicked by a horse. He smashed hard into a big stone cross over a particularly fancy grave, the impact was so hard that the stonework cracked visibly. The wino slumped, shaking his head, when a silver blade sunk deep, deep into his chest. Instantly the figure roared in pain, his voice taking on a deep, otherworldly nature as his hands curled into fists. The silver burns, just slightly, but enough to cause the house of cards to fall apart, and instantly the muted colors and mottled gray hair of the 'bum' changed into a humanoid shape of red fabric that was violently unfurling. The dagger was thrown aside, and now the true shape of Al stood tall, almost ridiculously taller than he'd been previously, more muscular with that cape that seemed to go on forever as it rustled and moved almost on its own accord. From the form's chest green goop seemed to be dripping down that black leather costume, though the hole it was coming from was getting gradually smaller and smaller. "Threw a knife at me, are you out of your goddamn mind?!" Instantly as the figure narrowed its glowing green eyes chains shot out, some obvious ones trying to stab through her neck and face. That was the bait, to set up the sneaky loop that was aiming for her ankle, trying to sweep her feet right out from under her, the way she'd done to him previously. What was good for the goose, and all that.
Buffy Summers	"Okay, that just got weird," Buffy mutters as he grows and grows, becoming a monster instead of a human. Her mind runs through everything Giles has taught her and comes up with absolutely nothing about what is standing in front of her. This is a type of demon she hasn't seen.     If she looks back someday, she'll realize she attacked first. Of course, when dealing with demons, that is often the proper response. Yet, it has backfired a few times on her, when beings turned out not to be evil. Thankfully, today is not someday so she feels confident in her actions.     The chains come flying her direction and she quickly dodges to the side then performs a perfect handspring backwards, to avoid a second one.     Only to get caught by the ankle just before she lands, getting her feet yanked out and landing hard on her backside. "Don't take it personal. I throw knives at lots of things. Vampires, demons, monsters that go bump in the night." Even as she babbles, her hand has gone into that messenger bag again and drawn out another knife.     She likes to be prepared.     She flips back to her hands then up to her feet, coming to a ready position with that dagger in her hand. "As for being out of my mind, I wasn't the one robbing a grave, buddy!"
Spawn	Buffy was rolling backward, but the figure was readily approaching with impressive speed, and the confidence of someone who wasn't afraid of pain or death. In movement he was a blur of red, of chains and spikes, with the black form of his armored body visible every once and a while. That mask of his was an alluring target with the whites around the eyes and the glowing green orbs in the darkness, but this was intentional bait to go for the difficult moving target, even as the rest of him was protected by metal and near-sentient leathery cloth. After a few feints Al threw out a hard snapping backfist, with that oversized spiked red gauntlet aiming to ring her bell. "Well it's a good thing dead men have you looking out for them, isn't it?"
Buffy Summers	A normal person would be backing away from the frightening figure coming after her. Buffy isn't normal. Not even close. She stands her ground, just letting him close to within fighting range.     That is where she works the best. "Actually, I prefer to protec the living. I'm pretty sure that you don't count as one of those though."     With each feint, she shifts her stand or weight to the side, just basically avoiding anything that comes her way. As the red spiked gauntlet is swung, she quickly ducks under and steps /into/ his space, bringing up her own right hand and going for a shot to his ribs with that dagger. Even with the armor, her strength should be enough to at least hurt a bit. And it'll let her know if she can get through that stuff or if she needs to change things up a bit.     "Give back what you stole and I'll kill you fast and easy, okay?" Seems reasonable.
Spawn	He had training, but this was the Slayer, of all people. Al still didn't understand that, but he learned a lesson when she stepped inside his guard so easily, taking advantage of his distracted emotional state to stick that dagger right between his ribs, sticking it right past that inky leather suit as easily as one might carve into a burnt steak. When she pulled it back she might notice the green "blood", glowing as brightly as his eyes did, and sizzling against that pure blade as a violent reaction. For his part, the figure wasn't exactly "devastated", although he did step backward and look down at the injury. The tone of voice, when he finally did speak, suggested that he was perhaps less than amused. "Alright, you know what, I'm done playing citizens arrest with you. See you at the next bake sale." As he spoke he reached over, grabbing that same oversized stone cross, ripping it from the soft earth and hurling it through the air at the blonde perky Slayer. With this as a big distraction(a distraction that could clobber the hell out of her if she wasn't on top of things!), he took this opportunity to...turn around and book it in the other direction toward the street proper. And he was FAST.
Buffy Summers	Upon him stepping back, she was already moving to the side and out of reach again. Buffy stood with both fists up, that blade still in hand but covered with some sort of green goo that was apparently his version of blood.     He still stood. And he was pissed off. Time for escalation. She cursed herself for not bringing her hand axe but it didn't fit in the bag so well and she'd thought comfort. Silly Slayer.     There was a moment as her mouth opened, smart comment prepared. It disappeared as a giant stone cross flew at her head!     She dropped, trying to get out of the way, but it clipped her shoulder and spun her around. She landed hard, prone. By the time she sat up, the figure was far in the distances, having disappeared into the fog. "Dammit!"     She rose to her feet, brushing off dirt and debris then walked over to the grave that started all this trouble. The name was noted and she realize she needed to figure out what was stolen. Where was Xander when she needed someone to do the dirty work? Ew.