riverviewlogs

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Nope," he said cheerfully. That was from definitive testing (okay, it hadn't been on purpose but it definitely left out some options for later experimentation when he got desperate) and although he wasn't eager to try it again, Cain was relatively okay with proving a point. Talking tough alone wouldn't really endear him to anyone.

This time, he didn't stop with his playing around in the device. He knew what to look for and what to do with it, so it was more of a background action than anything. Calming.

"I mean, you can try," he offered, "but those have been proven livable for me. Recoverable, anyway."

"Really? What about... dropped in a vat of acid? Eaten by a demon? Chopped up into a million pieces, burned, then scattered over the oceans?" Yes, he may have mocked most vampire literature out there, but it didn't mean he hadn't read it.

He canted his head to allow for those possibilities, then shook it to indicate nada. "No, eventually I'd still come back," he said slowly. "Like, eventually. Please don't actually do that last one, that's just a dick move."

"You had it done?" Was there a story there? A story involving pain and discomfort? Spike might demand that story in return for someone being a poncy twat who tried to kill him with blood.

"To various extremes," he allowed. It wasn't the most fun story in the world, but he was talking to a vampire who seemed to have a thing for visualizing horrible atrocities. Maybe this would actually be an appropriate story. "Once had someone steal my eyes for a few decades."

"What, they didn't grow back?" See, now, that was the downside of Cain's immortality, or so Spike was thinking. "What if they burned you to ash, then kept you in little airtight jars? Ziplock bags?"

"No, my body doesn't do that kind of fun, useful immortal," he said with a shrug. No matter how long someone might put him to pasture, he knew he'd win out in the end and as long as the person that mattered most to him was still hanging around, he would deal with it when the problem actually occurred. "Pretty sure it would eventually wear it down."

"Yeah? Bits of you rubbing up against something until it wears through?" He paused, leaning his head back against the couch, eyes up on the room of the mausoleum. "S'pose that makes sense. If water can carve through rock, don't see why a bit of vibrating ash can't bleed through plastic. Or glass."

Cain laughed at the description, finally moving to insert the piece which would hopefully get this thing going properly. If nothing else, it would be a good stop-gap measure that would allow Spike to get his shows with audio until Cain could get a better piece and attach it better than this slapdash method he had going now.

"Exactly," he said. "Pretty sure that's what happened with my eyes, and there have been smaller instances to go off of, too."

And because Spike was Spike and couldn't let it go, he helpfully asked, "What? Like your bollocks? Or the whole package?"

Oh yes, Cain. He went there.

Who was surprised by this? Not Cain. He'd hardly known this guy for an hour and already he was pretty sure he could assume all shallow interactions from hereon.

"No. Thankfully," he added almost as an afterthought. After a certain point, he wasn't sure that excruciating, intolerable pain was really any different no matter where it was enacted. "But I guess it'll have to happen sometime."

"You volunteering as a guinea pig yourself? I'd be happy to help out with that. Or, hold onto them. In a jar." Because yes, Cain, he was an ass. That's what asses did.

"No," he said. He wasn't really in the mood to entertain the idea of being a guinea pig so soon after the last time. Brow furrowed in concentration as he placed the backing into its place on the TV, he set it on the floor in front of him and turned it around. He looked over to Spike and gestured to it. "You have an outlet around here?"

He nodded his head over towards the far wall. "Dragged an extension cord over. Don't ask." It was a complex network of cords resulting in him having power in the crypt. It'd likely only be needed for the tv and fridge, when he got one, but it was what he'd been used to.

Cain followed the motion and saw the aforementioned cable. It wasn't what he expected, but then again it probably should have been. Easier than getting an actual electrical system set up in a mausoleum, that was for sure. Either way, he brought the TV over and plugged it in.

Hitting the power button, he grimaced automatically as the static sound came in loud and grainy and turned it down to a more comfortable white noise level. He turned towards Spike and gave a thumbs up. "Looks good to me."

"Look at that. You're good for more than just personal torment. I'll have to keep that in mind." He shot a sour look over at Cain, still holding a bit of a grudge about the whole death-by-blood bit. Right rude thing to do to a vampire.

Yeah, not exactly his most shining moment. Definitely far from his darkest either, and he just shrugged toward Spike. "Make it up to you sometime," he offered. Yeah, fixing a TV was one thing but considering how far Spike had gone before he stopped and how much had been pulled from him... Well. A TV wasn't fair exchange just yet.

He could live with being owed. Being owed was better than owing, and there was already someone in the city he owed. The less ties he had to someone, the better. But hey, the tv worked, and he could at least figure out some way to get some sort of broadcast picked up on it. Things were looking up. "I'll hold you to that."

"Figured you might."

That said, Cain was definitely still interested in the charger from before and headed back to the cart to fish it out from where he had set it. He held it up for Spike to see what he was doing, brows raised as if to ask if he still wanted to honor that. Hard to say, given the events of the past hour or so.

Spike waved a hand at him. He was no welsher. He'd fixed his tv, after all. And the blood thing, odd as it was, hadn't really been part of any bargain. Just an attempt at something that didn't seem to work out for him. He considered it a learning lesson.

Open

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject