First Stanza - [Video] (both courts)

[deadpoet]

[The locket opens up to showing him in a bar. It's a well run place that seems fairly busy. Spike can be heard over the conversations in the background, but only just. Behind him is a pig-faced bartender who is probably less than pleased by a locket conversation in his bar, but hasn't gone to the trouble of turning it off. Spike hasn't been causing much trouble in Daonna since he arrived weeks ago to start living medieval style. He patrolled with the Slayer and though beasties weren't always common, there was no shortage of crime. It was work that didn't always pay well, but they'd collected one bounty that was keeping them fed and a roof over their head at the Sweet Sow.

And when he was peckish... well, the town was full of people that would never be missed, so long as they were never found. Spike was glad to be back on human blood again.]

This boon business is a big load of bollocks and I can't be the only one who thinks it. Collecting feathers for the king and queen? Here we are, shards rammed into our chests, and this is the best use they have for us? Bugger that and bugger them as well. Bootlicking might suit others, but it's never been the life for me, no matter what Crackerjack prizes they're offering.

So what I want to know is where we can get our goods without kissing their royal asses? There's got to be some witch or demon or the like handing out discount boons for a fee. Anything will do: it's got to be better than the cheap shite they threw at me last time. [A pouch of tobacco! For dealing with shadow beasties! Is it any wonder he didn't bother bending down to pick any feathers up?]

Comments

[herotypical]

"You? Yeah. No. I can't see it."

But me--! Her protest lingered. Buffy didn't want to say it aloud. She didn't want to invite his mocking down upon her head. Or worse yet, his insistence that she did not gleam. That she was for darker tones. The thought drove her to take another drink. Pull another face.

"But there's something to be said for the Seelie wooing practices. Apparently their shard-folk get asked."

[deadpoet]

"Yeah?" He asked in casual interest, but offered no time for an answer. "Well they didn't ask us, did they? So they can bugger themselves."

[herotypical]

"Yeah. But don't you wanna know why they didn't ask us? I mean -- we have shards, too. What makes us so unaskable?"

[deadpoet]

He gave her a look and tilted his head that way he often did when he was trying to figure her out. "Should be bleeding obvious. We're both creatures that hunt in the night. Not very Seelie-like."

[herotypical]

"I don't hunt."

But saying it now...! It held so much less conviction than when they'd both of them assured Javik of a huntless state. It was simple to lie to strangers with strange faces. Harder, she found, to lie to him. And yet she tried regardless -- almost like a wilful rebellion against his assumptions.

"Maybe you do. I don't. Keep your labels to yourself."

[deadpoet]

"Call it what you like: prowling, stalking, or graveyard loitering. It's not exactly daytime activity, is it?"

Her lies didn't convince him, nor her attempt to distinguish herself as different. Even if she wasn't evil, he thought they were more alike than they were different. The Unseelie suited them, even if he felt no allegiance to them.

[herotypical]

"Nocturnal happenings does not a predator make, thank you very not much."

Another drink. Another glare. "Besides, there's plenty of the slaying biz that happens while the sun's up. I'm not so night-owl as you want me to be."

[deadpoet]

"You've got it all mixed up, love. You're the one wanting to be some daytime superhero. It's just not in the cards for you."

They were Unseelie. Rebellious Unseelie, but they were connected to the darkness. They owned that. Or at least he did. He could not be bothered if she failed to do the same.

[herotypical]

"So maybe it's time I start stacking my deck."

[deadpoet]

"Stack away." He turned to watch her, eager to see just how she planned to change around what he already thought of as fact.

[herotypical]

"It's not, like, an instant thing--" she chafed under his expectation. "It's not like I'm gonna march over to their side and humiliate myself begging to be part of their club. I'm not interested."

She'd been snubbed. And was eager to snub in return.

[deadpoet]

"The picture I'm getting is you're on one side or the other. At least so long as we're knocking about like this." He tapped his chest in subtle indication of their shards. It was perhaps not a great secret, but they'd also been avoiding advertising it to the locals. It was becoming apparent shardholders were treated different.

[herotypical]

"Can't say I'm too thrilled about that, either--"

Buffy did not tap her chest. She did, however, lean forward in her chair and point one finger at Spike's. There was something terrible and dreadful about imaging some special gem lodged in your body. The worst was in not knowing what purpose they served: were they good? Were they bad? Were they useful? For the first time, Buffy began to feel an inkling of what Dawn had suffered in the days following her coming-out as the key.

"Maybe we should just get rid of them."

[deadpoet]

"They might be valuable," Spike said thoughtfully. But it did leave him wondering. He was a vampire and so while painful it might be, there was nothing lethal about someone poking about his insides. If that shard was there, he was the safest bet to try and have it removed.

"Maybe you're right. It has to be easier than getting rid of this." He tapped the side of his head, then filled his mouth with ale.

[herotypical]

Getting rid of the chip had been easier than Spike might have assumed, but she kept mum on the subject. Instead, she nodded as though she would acknowledge the sheer difficulty of the suggestion.

"They could be worth dirt and I'd still want it out." It made her uncomfortable. "You think it's worth trying?"

She, too, was already assuming that Spike would be their guinea pig. And this was her way of making certain he was okay with that.

[deadpoet]

"We can start asking about. Someone in this bloody medieval funland has got to know a way to be rid of the buggers."

He accepted being a guinea pig. By doing this, they could be free of the warring court's influences and free to pursue their own interests.

[herotypical]

Buffy levelled Spike with a look. On the one hand, she had to feel a certain amount of gratitude to him. He was opening himself up to god-knew-what by accepting this hypothetical long-term risk. And on the other? Well, she'd practically agreed to go look for back-alley shard-organ harvesters with him. Hardly a laudable or noble pursuit.

Her expression remained sour for that reason alone.

"Oh, someone knows. And I don't doubt they know it for a fee."

[deadpoet]

"So you're saying stick it out for the fundraiser first."

It would mean staying in this deadbeat town a while longer yet. He was unhappy about that, but it was what it was. He didn't dislike the town near as much as Buffy did. if she wasn't around, he might have already gone native by now.

[herotypical]

"I'm saying we better have the coin when we go chasing this pipe dream, 'cause otherwise we don't know what kind of price we'll be asked to pay. We've already had our fighting futures auctioned away to the creepiest bidder. Who knows what else they can take from us."

A morose concept.

[deadpoet]

"There's other ways to raise the money," he remarked coolly as he tried to make a suggestion that he'd made once more before. "Instead of getting paid by farmers, we'll find some nice fat and bloated earl and help lighten his pockets."

[herotypical]

"Do I look like a burglar to you?"

[deadpoet]

Spike grinned. "That's the idea."

[herotypical]

Buffy rolled her eyes. Her lower lip jutted. Indeed, if she didn't have the power and force of will to back it up? She'd almost look like she was more in line for a tantrum than a serious moral objection.

"If I wanted to get involved with shady thieving deals, I'd go back to talking with the pirate guy at the Station. He wanted to sign me up."

Is that a thin note of pride? Barely. Almost. Things were pretty pathetic.

[deadpoet]

"Oh right, I remember him. You think he's still hiring? Could be money in it." Spike felt particularly shameless about this pursuit of cash. Demon hunting didn't seem to pay well, but piracy could prove lucrative.

[herotypical]

"Did you see his hair? If there was money in it, he wouldn't look so...homeless. Charming-ish. But still oh so very homeless.

His ship floats."

Which probably meant he was less homeless than the two of them because. Hey. Ship. But details.