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sb_fag_ends2014-10-24 10:41 pm
brutti-ma-buoni.livejournal.com) wrote in sb_fag_ends2014-10-24 10:41 pm
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Setting: post-series Council fic
Words: 500
Characters: Giles and Spike (Spuffy background)
Prompt: the cask of Amontillado
Rating: PG13
"Sherry?" Giles offered it in the expectation of being turned down with revulsion if not outright mockery.
Spike said, "Yeah, go on." He drank, slow and appreciative. "Not bad, Rupert. Getting accustomed to the high life now you're the top man?"
Giles felt a small flush attempting to crawl up his neck. "You think I am recreating the Council, perhaps? Well, perhaps a little. In my small way. But I am an old nostalgic, you know. And powerless, now. Far from top dog."
"Yeah? Thought the girls might keep you on for more than sentimental value." That was more what Giles had anticipated. Generic, kneejerk sneer. Good – he'd been a little afraid the vampire would chicken out entirely.
"Oh, they find my knowledge and language skills rather more than occasionally useful," he responded, lightly, and with truth. "But no one is indispensable nowadays – and I'm working very hard to ensure than I personally am not. I'd like to retire, someday. Give all this up. No more knocks on the head. Take up gardening, perhaps."
Spike snorted, and tossed off the last inch of amontillado with insufficient respect for its quality. "Yeah. I can see you kneeling in the dirt. Putting in narcissus bulbs instead of burying Slayers, that'll make a nice change." He put the sherry glass down hard, coaster-less, uncivilised. "We going in, then?"
"Not until we're called," said Giles. "The Council has its own ways of operating. And you want to make a good impression, so kindly respect them."
"Waiting for the bleeding headmaster's study, this feels like," said Spike, unexpectedly. Giles tried to imagine Spike at school. (Rugby, had it been? He had a note, somewhere. Somewhere chilly and moderately brutal, at least. He had left early, when his father died. But that had been, to put it mildly, some time ago. It was fractionally interesting that the old instinct remained.)
"Oh, hardly that bad," Giles answered. "No one's going to take a strap to you, this time." The flush that washed briefly across Spike's face told him infinitely more than he wished to know about Spike's erotic life. And, possibly, Buffy's. Good god.
He coughed, and found that he was polishing his glasses already, reflexive discomfort. "She'll be pleased to see you." Spike rolled a sceptical eye. "It's a trifle delayed, perhaps. But she missed you greatly. And you can have a place here, you know. If the Council agrees."
"If the Council agrees," Spike echoed. "How things have changed, hmm?"
Giles opened his mouth to disagree with that challenge, and found he didn't need to. "Yes. Yes, they have, rather. More sherry?"
"Please." Spike proffered his glass with great speed. "Courage in a bottle's better than none."
The call came when he had barely touched the second glass, but he necked it fast, and waved thanks to Giles as he headed off. "The Slayers will see you now, Mr, uh, Spike."
"Good luck," Giles called, softly, after him. Sherry drinkers should support one another, in this new world.
Words: 500
Characters: Giles and Spike (Spuffy background)
Prompt: the cask of Amontillado
Rating: PG13
"Sherry?" Giles offered it in the expectation of being turned down with revulsion if not outright mockery.
Spike said, "Yeah, go on." He drank, slow and appreciative. "Not bad, Rupert. Getting accustomed to the high life now you're the top man?"
Giles felt a small flush attempting to crawl up his neck. "You think I am recreating the Council, perhaps? Well, perhaps a little. In my small way. But I am an old nostalgic, you know. And powerless, now. Far from top dog."
"Yeah? Thought the girls might keep you on for more than sentimental value." That was more what Giles had anticipated. Generic, kneejerk sneer. Good – he'd been a little afraid the vampire would chicken out entirely.
"Oh, they find my knowledge and language skills rather more than occasionally useful," he responded, lightly, and with truth. "But no one is indispensable nowadays – and I'm working very hard to ensure than I personally am not. I'd like to retire, someday. Give all this up. No more knocks on the head. Take up gardening, perhaps."
Spike snorted, and tossed off the last inch of amontillado with insufficient respect for its quality. "Yeah. I can see you kneeling in the dirt. Putting in narcissus bulbs instead of burying Slayers, that'll make a nice change." He put the sherry glass down hard, coaster-less, uncivilised. "We going in, then?"
"Not until we're called," said Giles. "The Council has its own ways of operating. And you want to make a good impression, so kindly respect them."
"Waiting for the bleeding headmaster's study, this feels like," said Spike, unexpectedly. Giles tried to imagine Spike at school. (Rugby, had it been? He had a note, somewhere. Somewhere chilly and moderately brutal, at least. He had left early, when his father died. But that had been, to put it mildly, some time ago. It was fractionally interesting that the old instinct remained.)
"Oh, hardly that bad," Giles answered. "No one's going to take a strap to you, this time." The flush that washed briefly across Spike's face told him infinitely more than he wished to know about Spike's erotic life. And, possibly, Buffy's. Good god.
He coughed, and found that he was polishing his glasses already, reflexive discomfort. "She'll be pleased to see you." Spike rolled a sceptical eye. "It's a trifle delayed, perhaps. But she missed you greatly. And you can have a place here, you know. If the Council agrees."
"If the Council agrees," Spike echoed. "How things have changed, hmm?"
Giles opened his mouth to disagree with that challenge, and found he didn't need to. "Yes. Yes, they have, rather. More sherry?"
"Please." Spike proffered his glass with great speed. "Courage in a bottle's better than none."
The call came when he had barely touched the second glass, but he necked it fast, and waved thanks to Giles as he headed off. "The Slayers will see you now, Mr, uh, Spike."
"Good luck," Giles called, softly, after him. Sherry drinkers should support one another, in this new world.