[Spike sits perched on the edge of the couch, misery clearly etched into his every feature. No matter what he does, nothing will change; he's still just a muck-up. Not only was Buffy not supposed to find out this way, she was never supposed to hear it from him. He's wrecked the timeline along with everything else and he finds himself wishing for the millionth time the community had never found him in Hell.
Not least of all is this place, still reeking of death no matter how much Sylar and he cleaned. Mostly him since Sylar was busy eating cheese doodles, but still. The smell lingered, and it disturbs his hyper senses. Spike stares into the depths of the blank television screen, as if it'll give him some further answer, or maybe erase his misstep.]
Not least of all is this place, still reeking of death no matter how much Sylar and he cleaned. Mostly him since Sylar was busy eating cheese doodles, but still. The smell lingered, and it disturbs his hyper senses. Spike stares into the depths of the blank television screen, as if it'll give him some further answer, or maybe erase his misstep.]
[RL] The Hangover, Haitian Style.
May. 13th, 2011 03:00 am[Spike blinks his eyes open, not entirely surprised he isn't sure where he is. Maybe that says something about him as a person, but mostly it says something for how hard his life is. Rubbing at his eyes until they focus, he's met with a splitting migraine as he tries to sit up. Is that ... Fischer on the couch? And everything's destroyed. He's glad he doesn't have plastic to be liable for this mess.
... Yeah. That's a chicken.]
... Yeah. That's a chicken.]
Because it seems to be a bloody popular question with the lot of you, I, Spike, will answer: Why does Spike live in Hell on Earth?
Well you see, chaps and chappies, it all started with a very small crack between the Hell dimension and California. In the basement of a school, no less. No matter how hard she tried, the Slayer couldn't seem to stuff Hell back in. Affectionately, we called Sunnyhelldale "The Hellmouth," and accepted our lots in life as demon punching-bags.
But one day, Hell became too great for even the Slayer to handle, and that's where I come in. Put on a necklace, went boom, and I took Hell, and Sunnydale, with me. Woke up a year later in the middle of a law firm.. demon law firm, but still, of all the sodding places. Walked around as a ghost for a bit before I got my corporeality back (is that really a word? this phone's not correcting me).
Fast-forward a bit and it's the same scene all over again. Same game, different players. The Slayer and her Scoobies went off to Rome and all, so it's up to me and the bloody Magnificent Pouf to stop this.
I mean, we got Illyria and Gunn and all. But the rest - are gone. Battle's over and nothing won. And here we are in the smack dab of Hell. Dungeons, dragons, but no brimstone to speak of. It's a pretty bleak imitation if you ask me.
Most of the vampires are gone, yeah? Just me Angel and Gunn (with his crew) left. The rest are minions or dust, by now. Got my sodding half-brother but he's no bloody good, is he? All that greasy hair in his face.
Long story short, Hell's here to stay. We can't get out, no one can get to us; not until we stop it.
Too bad I don't have another one of those bloody necklaces.
Well you see, chaps and chappies, it all started with a very small crack between the Hell dimension and California. In the basement of a school, no less. No matter how hard she tried, the Slayer couldn't seem to stuff Hell back in. Affectionately, we called Sunny
But one day, Hell became too great for even the Slayer to handle, and that's where I come in. Put on a necklace, went boom, and I took Hell, and Sunnydale, with me. Woke up a year later in the middle of a law firm.. demon law firm, but still, of all the sodding places. Walked around as a ghost for a bit before I got my corporeality back (is that really a word? this phone's not correcting me).
Fast-forward a bit and it's the same scene all over again. Same game, different players. The Slayer and her Scoobies went off to Rome and all, so it's up to me and the bloody Magnificent Pouf to stop this.
I mean, we got Illyria and Gunn and all. But the rest - are gone. Battle's over and nothing won. And here we are in the smack dab of Hell. Dungeons, dragons, but no brimstone to speak of. It's a pretty bleak imitation if you ask me.
Most of the vampires are gone, yeah? Just me Angel and Gunn (with his crew) left. The rest are minions or dust, by now. Got my sodding half-brother but he's no bloody good, is he? All that greasy hair in his face.
Long story short, Hell's here to stay. We can't get out, no one can get to us; not until we stop it.
Too bad I don't have another one of those bloody necklaces.