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who: Spike and whomever
what: Looking for new digs and scavenging for stuff.
when: Soon after his arrival (2nd week of May)
where: The Inhabited Area and likely the Abandoned City.
warnings: Spike being a jerk? Possible language. Edit: Biting, drinking, the vomiting blood in thread w/Cain.

Flatmates. The only ones he'd ever been able to stand had been the ones he was shacking up with, and for the better part of a century, that had been Dru. Oh, they'd been off and on again a few times, but this... well. This was a bit more permanent. And now he was stuck in a room with a bunch of other living bodies. Ones he couldn't take a nip from. It was likely better than Xander's basement, but only just.

And a job. Seriously? They'd given him a bloody job and expected him to just... do it? Clearly they had no idea who they were dealing with. But, as he hadn't entirely sorted out an alternative yet, he wasn't ready to piss away what was being offered. Not until he'd set something better up for himself. Surely this place had to have a graveyard. A set of crypts. A nice little mausoleum tucked away he could take as his own, yeah?

For the next week, each time the sun dipped down below the horizon, Spike could be found leaving the shared accommodations to go scour the city for just that. Looking for where the city might have its graveyard, and deciding to snoop past the fence that encircled the population and led out past where he'd been told the wild things may roam. Well, that was all fine and dandy, wasn't it? He was a bit wild himself. Could be he'd come across something he could vent a little of his frustrations on -- aside from the small dark shape that smelled like fox that had been shadowing him partway through the week. The area was rife with them, the city boasting people walking around with them like pets.

Spike didn't do pets. He ate pets. Though, he had a feeling that kitten poker would be frowned on here. Pity. He wasn't too bad at it, and they weren't bad for a late morning snack.

Perhaps someone might come across him with a shopping cart full of odds and ends he'd found and salvaged. Or maybe they'd see him slipping into the cemetery, when he finally found one. Or he could be heard talking to the shadows or hissing at one and telling it to stop following him. Who knows? Spike's a bit of an odd duck, but until he figures out or is told a way to be able to not burst into flame in the sun, he'll only be seen during the night-time hours.

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It was the 'little girl' comment that did it. Fatima had a high tolerance for insults. She'd grown up in a white community with the name 'Fatima,' after all. She knew how to let things slide off of her back like water and ducks and all that shit. But if there was one entirely-too-sore spot that remained, it was the matter of her age and inexperience. Maybe she was only in her early twenties, but she'd worked hard and she'd seen a lot. Enough to justify no one ever looking at her like she was wide-eyed again. She'd earned her place away from life's kiddie table.

So caution went to the wind as she struggled not to get angry and growly.

She got manipulative instead.

Liam had trained her in presence, enough that she knew how to summon up Awe. It wasn't a terribly powerful discipline. Only enough for one-on-one interactions and even then, sometimes, it was iffy. But it was a power she used well. It enhanced her, making her prettier, more appealing. Making her words seem more solid. Making her whole being more...just...more.

Almost without thinking about it--and certainly without considering the consequences, because she was irritated--she drudged up the Awe, letting it settle on her skin like a cocoon.

Little girl her ass.

For his part, Spike wasn't paying her any more attention than just keeping track of her. He may be susceptible to magic worked on him, but one had to pay attention to a glamor to be susceptible to it and the fence was more important just then. He got that gap a little wider. Then a little more wider. Then-- "Ha! That's what I thought, you little bugger."

He may not be paying her any mind just then, but he looked up and off along the edge of the fence on the side of the inhabited city when he heard a yip. The same yip that had been following him for the last day or so. "Sure, foxy. Come follow Spike outside and get eaten. It'd be your own bloody fault." And with that, Spike ducked his head down and started to wriggle through the opening, deciding the valley girl could find her way home on her own or be idiotic enough to follow him out past the gate. It was her head, not his.

Fatima didn't crawl. She climbed. And while she wasn't sure she wanted to follow a strange vampire off into the wilderness, she still wanted information. So she watched until he was about halfway through, before taking a few steps back for a running leap. She threw herself up toward the wall, catching it with her stilettos and using that momentum to push herself up so that she could straddle the top.

She paused there, looking down as Brad Pitt's head emerged on the other side.

Good thing she was wearing jeans, for a change. He would have been looking right up her skirt, otherwise. And that was definitely not something she wanted to use Awe for.

See, now, that would have caught Spike's attention. As it was, he stood and dusted his hands off, looking up and-- "What the...? Oh, bloody hell. You're not a bloody Slayer, are you? Come on."

He threw his hands up, looking entirely disgusted with everything. Why? Because come on.

"A Slayer?" she repeated, a line forming between her eyes. A snide remark about not liking thrash metal was on the tip of her tongue. But suddenly, she remembered the strange blond girl she'd met at the fence, in her first weeks trapped here. Buffy. She'd called herself a 'Slayer,' hadn't she?

Was that a thing? If so, she immediately didn't like it. Too closely connected to 'hunter,' which she hated with a fiery passion.

Might as well ask the obvious question:

"What's a Slayer?"

Oh, don't bring that name up around him. He was on the brink of feelings, and he tried to shove those feelings into the negative. That didn't always work anymore and it was pissing him off.

He glowered up at her, reaching into his trenchcoat again to pull out a pack of cigarettes. "If you have to ask, you aren't one." Which was a bit of a relief, but didn't really answer the whole climbing the fence and straddling it while giving him doe eyes and pretending she was 'just a girl'. Just a girl his rather finely toned ass.

"I'm a Gemini?" she volunteered. But even she knew that she wasn't going to be able to fall back on the valley girl act any more. Just as well, it had served its purpose.

And Gemini really was the sign for her. Sociable and energetic and bubbly and thoroughly two-faced. Maybe not a Slayer--and definitely not a hunter--but still remarkably good at what she did.

"Guess that's not what you were going for, huh?" she said, dropping down into a squat on top of the fence, as though gravity and balance weren't really factors that needed to be considered. Her normal voice was still pretty west coast, all things considered. But a little less intentionally so.

He noticed the dropped act, paying her a bit more mind now as he took a drag of his smoke and eyed her balancing up there like an acrobat. "Nice. That some kind of luring act, eh? Draw them in and... what? You're not a blood sucker. You some other kind of demon? Succubus? Met a few of those." Had a bit of fun with them, too. But she seemed more likely to claw his face off than throw a pair of panties at him. Interesting.

She wrinkled up her nose, looking properly offended at the suggestion. "I am so not a demon," she replied coldly. There were some out there, particularly among the Sabbat, who saw her and all dhampir like her as a sign of the approaching Gehenna.

Yeah, she didn't like them.

"I'm a community college dropout who saw a guy with crazy hair banging on a fence. Claiming to be a vampire. That wasn't luring, sweetie. That was self defense."

Some Gemini had more than two faces...

His hand lifted and patted at his hair, scowling up at her again. "Bleached is crazy now? Must be nice in your little world. And don't double side that to me, missy. You were luring. All innocent and bad slang and 'oh I'd never'. If I was any other vampire, you'd be lunch."

Both eyebrows shot up at that. Finally, they were getting to the heart of the matter. "If you were any other vampire?" she repeated. "What does that mean, Brad Pitt?"

Hopefully, it meant what she hoped it meant. That he was a farmer or a banker. Then they could both go tra-lala-ing on their merry ways and never have to have anything to do with each other again.

But there was a chance he didn't just talk big. If he walked the walk, she was going to have to put a stake through him.

Or maybe light him on fire. That was always fun.

Or both. Both was good.

Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she could hear Liam and Artemis tsk-tsking her for throwing herself into the deep end. But they weren't here. So they didn't get a vote.

"Wouldn't you like to know, nosy little... And the name's Spike, girly. I'm not going to be compared to some bawling little froo-froo poof that would prefer to eat rats and makes out with children. S'nasty." He had standards, Fatima. Sort of.

Taking another drag, he turned to look out into the dark, scenting for anything strange or out of the ordinary. He picked up cigarette smoke, the light whiff of her, and a lot of foliage. Welcome to the jungle indeed.

"So you don't eat rats?" she said, feeling the faint flicker of hope dying in her chest. Maybe there was something about rats in particular that was offensive. She knew firsthand from Elle that they didn't have a lot of nutritional value. "What is it, then? Pigs? Puppies?"

Anything would do, really. As long as it didn't walk on two legs and have a credit score.

And what the hell kind of a name was Spike? Like the dog on Rugrats? She'd have to put a pin in that, for now. But it would definitely come back.

At least he didn't get his yucks in pedophilia? That was something...

"I've done rats in a pinch. Kittens. Butchers are the best, since they'll offload pig and cow's blood at a solid discount. No one but foreigners and artists really use the stuff." He took another drag, then grinned up at her, that smirk that said he knew he was about to say something to piss her off, to push that line. "But nothing beats people. Nice, tasty little Happy Meal on legs. Mm, finger lickin' good."

He looked almost sad for a moment, a small pout there before he shrugged, turning away from her to take a few steps towards a nicely run down area that looked like it might have good scavenging supplies in it. "I miss eating people. Hearing 'em scream. Tasting that blood all hot and salty wash down my face." He certainly sounded wistful about it.

She almost launched herself down at him. Already, she was biting on the inside of her cheek, coaxing blood out of the deeply-worn wounds there. She was ready to channel it into fire and light him up before he knew what hit him.

But he stopped her.

"Miss eating people?" she repeated, examining the planes of his face and wishing to hell she'd bothered to study Arty's discipline of reading auras. It would have made it so much easier to talk to people. She wouldn't have to actually talk to them at all. "Why don't you?"

She was practically willing him, or the universe or whatever, to give her a solid reason not to kill him.

"Little personal, don't you think? Might as well ask me what my favorite position is." Spike liked to toe the line, to walk right up to propriety and spit over it. He'd played the goody goody too much when he'd been alive and it had gotten him nowhere. Nowhere but undead and finally in his rightful place. Good got him nothing. Good lost him Dru, her with her bloody visions of Buffy tainting him. Good got him spat on by the women he loved. Good had him having to kill his own mum.

Good was the devil's work and he'd had enough of it. So let him be bad. Let him be what he was made for. Let him piss off anyone who didn't like it and see where it got him. Bad was fun. The possibility of death was a rush. No point in living if you always played it safe. He'd taken out two Slayers in his time, no mean feat for a vampire his age. Couldn't have done that playing the lap dog to someone's Master or being good. "Don't rightfully think it's any of your business, Miss Monkey. Now if you're done playing the coy little vixen, push off before you wind up drawing something here before I find something worth keeping."

She gave him a funny look. "So...someone says to me, 'I have a gun, but I don't use it any more' and I'm supposed to just walk away from that? Hope he doesn't suddenly get the yen to use it again? That's even more ridiculous than bleach."

Although the gun metaphor was oddly apt, considering how close she'd come to getting shot the other day. Fatima seemed to have a knack for getting herself into trouble in this place.

And she had zero regrets about that.

"What's the deal?" she asked. "C'mon. I'll tel you my favorite position."

Nevermind the fact that she had no idea what a 'position' even was.

"Everyone's got a gun, Pet. Babies have guns. I don't really see why it's any concern of yours, is it? Unless you're some kind of vampire police, which would explain your incredible nosiness and fascination. That or you're a groupie. Can't figure out which one's worse."

He paused and turned to look back at her, still balanced up on that fence, shooting her a 'puh-leeze' look. "Yeah? And what's that, then? Missionary? With the lights off? Under the blankets?"

"No such thing as 'vampire police,'" she said. "They're just called 'the police.' And what, exactly, leads you to believe that I'm not part of the perimeter guard?" She wasn't. But she had volunteered on occasion. Not to mention the fact that she'd done more than a little time as a vigilante.

But that was an inside thought.

"Well, because guards or... whatever, are always more abrupt. 'What's that you're doing?' and 'State your business' and whatnot." Complete with crappy American accent. You're welcome, Fatima.

She still hadn't answered him, and he'd noticed that. Was it possible she was an inexperienced young thing? Wouldn't that be a laugh.

"Yeah. Guards are always abrupt. And vampires are always biters. I guess we're both full of surprises tonight."

She sloshed the blood around on her tongue, considering the possibilities. Maybe it would be more satisfying to throw him into a wall. Messier, though. And might draw some unwanted attention.

Unless she knocked him out, first. But she still wasn't sure if he was susceptible to magic.

"Look," she sighed. "Are you going to be chewing on the locals or not?"

"As far as the immediate future is concerned, the God's honest answer to that, Pet, is no. That untwist your bunched up panties?" He stepped further out towards the building, hearing the padding of paws slipping through the hole he'd torn in the fence, knowing his little shadow was still following after him. Stupid fox. He hoped it got munched on.

"Not that it's any of your business, what with you not being much of anything."

Of course, he could very easily be lying. Vampires kinda did that, as a rule. Even the nice ones. It was part of having the whole Masquerade.

But on the other hand, there had been something strangely wistful about the way he talked about biting (...murdering) people. Fatima didn't know the pleasure of drinking someone's blood. But she knew what an addict looked like, longing for an old fix that they couldn't have. That part, at least, seemed genuine.

The bottom line, she supposed wearily, was that she was just going to have to keep an eye on this asshole. She had his name. Maybe she could scry on his bunk or something. He had to have some place to go hiding when the sun was out.

So she filed him and his morality into the "TBD" category of life.

But still. He'd called her not 'much of anything.' Fatima wasn't about to let that just stand. She was a goddamn queen, after all.

Instead of channeling her blood into the fire, she glanced to one side, at a tree with a sickly branch, not too far away. With a blink and a mutter of Aramaic, the branch snapped off and went shooting through the air, stopping just a foot or so shy of going through Spike's temple.

"I'm something," she said softly.

He could feed without killing. Had, quite a few times. Depending on who he was feeding from and what they were doing, it was all part of enjoying himself. He'd sired a few vamps himself, mostly to try to piss off Buffy, but that required a little give and take before the draining. He could control himself. Take what he needed, not what the demon inside him demanded. Most of the time, he just liked to let it loose. Until now. And wasn't that a pity.

The sound of the branch breaking was loud in the night air, the whoosh of it flying towards him making him spin quickly, eyes wide and an exclamation falling heavily from his mouth, along with his cigarette. "Bloody hell!"

Eyes spinning back up to her, he flipped her two fingers, just to prove how many shits he gave about that. "Well good on you. So you're a bloody witch. Seen them before. Big deal." Huff. Now he was huffy. Wonderful, Fatima. He was going to be sulky all night.

That coaxed a smile out of Fatima, after a somewhat long stretch of scowling. As a little girl, long before becoming the middle school terrorist, some of the pretty, popular, blond girls used to tease Fatima, telling her that her mother was a witch. At the time, it had been upsetting. But in her older age, Fatima had come to take comfort in it. So sure, fine. Her mother was a witch. A queen witch.

Fatima would happily be one too.

"Trust me," she said, standing up straight with one leg on either side of the fence. "You've never seen anything like me before." She gave him a wink. "But I do hope you have a pleasant evening."

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So she hates him for life now, right? haha

Oh, Spike...

The city's resident asshole, everyone.

Someone's getting lit on fire...

Well don't do THAT. Maybe his pants? He looks good without pants on. >>

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