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beer_good_foamyTitle: Spike And Giles Are The Village Green Preservation Society
Author: Beer Good (beer_good_foamy)
Fandom: Buffyverse, post-"Not Fade Away" (TV canon)
Word count: ~550
Rating: PG13
Summary: Spike survives LA, and for lack of something better to do travels to England to look Giles up. Drinking and national stereotyping ensues. Inspired by this picture, courtesy of![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sueworld2003.
Spike And Giles Are The Village Green Preservation Society
Finding Giles' house wasn't hard. Knowing what to say when he opened the door was another matter, as was the question of whether he'd be invited in or staked on the spot. But as it turned out, Giles took care of it for him.
"Spike." The former watcher mustered him, nodding slowly to himself, then seemed to decide that this required neutral ground. "There's a pub down the road. Go order us a couple, I'll join you in five minutes."
It took them five pints to get through Spike's story; resurrection, Wolfram & Hart, apocalypse, the need for relocation. It would have taken three in private, but with the entire pub within earshot they had to come up with some awkward euphemisms for vampires with souls("investment bankers with MBAs"), prophecies ("business plans"), hellgods ("management consultants") and lawyers ("soul-sucking demons"). It took another three for Giles to catch Spike up on what was going on with the rest of them ("And I'm not tellin' you a damn thing about Buffy." "Fair enough.") Histories of mutual betrayal were pointedly unmentioned. The conclusion, toasted in single malt, was that it was all a right old mess they were glad to take a break from, and summed up by Giles as "Bloody yanks."
"Well then," Spike slurred after the... possibly ninth or tenth pint. "The old country."
"The very damp same," Giles said with similar lack of proper diction. They had another.
"So, say a fighter of evil with a dark past wants to change and settle down, what does one do around here? Potter around the house, do some gardening, pop down to the pub, repeat until the reaper comes knockin'?"
"Oh, well, you gotta have a hobby," Giles said, trying three different glasses until he found one with something in it. "I do a bit of hunting, and - "
Spike had to laugh. "What, you? Looking to be a proper country gent? Chasing foxes with the aristos?"
Giles shot him a slightly unfocused death glare. "I'll never be that retired, Pratt. I'm more into aus... ost... buggerit, I'll just show you." He stumbled to his feet, somehow only tipping over four of the empty glasses in front of them, and together they staggered back to Giles' house in the rain.
"Right, so where's this hobby horse of yours?"
"I keep it in the barn," Giles said, pointing at a large building next to the house. "Go ahead, open it."
"This some sort of trick?" Spike asked as he fumbled with the lock to the massive double doors. "Because if it is - "
That's as far as he got before the doors swung open, and a huge eagle swooped down from its perch with outstretched talons. Spike suddenly felt like he was wearing a sign saying ACME BIRDFEED. If he'd been sober, he'd probably have managed to duck. As it was, he simply lost his balance and fell over with a "Bloody hell!", which added up to much the same thing except with more mud.
"Terribly sorry." Giles grinned, swaying uncertainly as the big eagle perched on his outstretched hand. "Turns out, I train birds to hunt vampires."
"Guess some things don't change." Spike slowly got up, keeping a watchful eye on the eagle (well, technically he was seeing two eagles, but the one on the left looked especially shifty). "So... now what?"
Giles petted the eagle, then sent it back into the barn. "I don't know about you, but I'm tired and I could really use a nightcap and some dry clothes. Wanna come inside?"
Author: Beer Good (
beer_good_foamy)Fandom: Buffyverse, post-"Not Fade Away" (TV canon)
Word count: ~550
Rating: PG13
Summary: Spike survives LA, and for lack of something better to do travels to England to look Giles up. Drinking and national stereotyping ensues. Inspired by this picture, courtesy of
sueworld2003.Spike And Giles Are The Village Green Preservation Society
Finding Giles' house wasn't hard. Knowing what to say when he opened the door was another matter, as was the question of whether he'd be invited in or staked on the spot. But as it turned out, Giles took care of it for him.
"Spike." The former watcher mustered him, nodding slowly to himself, then seemed to decide that this required neutral ground. "There's a pub down the road. Go order us a couple, I'll join you in five minutes."
It took them five pints to get through Spike's story; resurrection, Wolfram & Hart, apocalypse, the need for relocation. It would have taken three in private, but with the entire pub within earshot they had to come up with some awkward euphemisms for vampires with souls("investment bankers with MBAs"), prophecies ("business plans"), hellgods ("management consultants") and lawyers ("soul-sucking demons"). It took another three for Giles to catch Spike up on what was going on with the rest of them ("And I'm not tellin' you a damn thing about Buffy." "Fair enough.") Histories of mutual betrayal were pointedly unmentioned. The conclusion, toasted in single malt, was that it was all a right old mess they were glad to take a break from, and summed up by Giles as "Bloody yanks."
"Well then," Spike slurred after the... possibly ninth or tenth pint. "The old country."
"The very damp same," Giles said with similar lack of proper diction. They had another.
"So, say a fighter of evil with a dark past wants to change and settle down, what does one do around here? Potter around the house, do some gardening, pop down to the pub, repeat until the reaper comes knockin'?"
"Oh, well, you gotta have a hobby," Giles said, trying three different glasses until he found one with something in it. "I do a bit of hunting, and - "
Spike had to laugh. "What, you? Looking to be a proper country gent? Chasing foxes with the aristos?"
Giles shot him a slightly unfocused death glare. "I'll never be that retired, Pratt. I'm more into aus... ost... buggerit, I'll just show you." He stumbled to his feet, somehow only tipping over four of the empty glasses in front of them, and together they staggered back to Giles' house in the rain.
"Right, so where's this hobby horse of yours?"
"I keep it in the barn," Giles said, pointing at a large building next to the house. "Go ahead, open it."
"This some sort of trick?" Spike asked as he fumbled with the lock to the massive double doors. "Because if it is - "
That's as far as he got before the doors swung open, and a huge eagle swooped down from its perch with outstretched talons. Spike suddenly felt like he was wearing a sign saying ACME BIRDFEED. If he'd been sober, he'd probably have managed to duck. As it was, he simply lost his balance and fell over with a "Bloody hell!", which added up to much the same thing except with more mud.
"Terribly sorry." Giles grinned, swaying uncertainly as the big eagle perched on his outstretched hand. "Turns out, I train birds to hunt vampires."
"Guess some things don't change." Spike slowly got up, keeping a watchful eye on the eagle (well, technically he was seeing two eagles, but the one on the left looked especially shifty). "So... now what?"
Giles petted the eagle, then sent it back into the barn. "I don't know about you, but I'm tired and I could really use a nightcap and some dry clothes. Wanna come inside?"
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Date: 2012-10-06 08:22 am (UTC)Hence the need to train them. ;)
Thanks!