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Spike was irritated.
Spike was more than irritated.
Spike was bloody, buggering, sodding, fucking, wanking, cunting irritated.
Why? Let’s see, shall we?
It had all started in the morning. Xander had got up and gone to work,
leaving Spike on his lonesome. The bastard human did this at least five
times a week and it was beginning to piss him off.
*THEN*
The bloody Shredded Wheat had run out. Okay, so *maybe* he could have
dealt with that, *HOWEVER* the other cheapo cereal, that Xander insisted
was the best taste sensation to ever hit Southwest America, had the toy
missing! Can you bloody believe that?! He had a mind to charge down to the
supermarket, see the manager and stuff the whole wanking box down his
stupid, sodding, buggering throat.
So, on an empty stomach…well, it actually wasn’t empty, he’d had plenty of
blood in the fridge and a loaf of bread in the cupboard. Anyway, on an
‘empty’ stomach, he ventured into town. An overcast sky had allowed him to
move easily about in the shaded areas.
He had gone to town for a reason. He’d dropped his mini disc player in the
bath and he needed a new one. Not an expensive one, just a new one. How
long did it take him to find the perfect one? An hour! A whole hour out of
his life! Christ, it wasn’t like he was going to live forever. Time was
short…oh, hang on, time wasn’t short and he was going to live forever.
Well, that wasn’t the point. All he had wanted to do, was nip to the
shops, buy what he wanted and nip back in time for passions. But noooooo,
that was apparently too simple. And when he had finally found the
mini-disc player of his choice, he’d lined up for an entire ten minutes
before being told that he couldn’t pay for it at that particular checkout.
Camera equipment only. What a load of bollocks. GRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!
So, Spike finds himself walking back home, grumbling along the way. He
gets about halfway and realises that he forgot the batteries. He goes
back. Repeat performance.
Heading home, still grumbling, he trips on a…battery? (Fucking ironic) and
gets a sprained ankle, or spankle, as Xander liked to call it. Cursing
like a menstrual teenager, he limps to the nearest bus stop.
He waits.
He waits some more.
He gets bored and throws pebbles at passing old people.
He waits.
He gets rather angry.
Bus arrives.
Bus driver gets a mouthful.
Home.
Spike hops to the telly and switches it on just as passions finishes.
Shit, fuck and colostomy bags. He glances up at the clock on the wall and
decides that he’d better sleep off his spankle. Yup, that was the way to
go. Then, by the time he woke, Xander would be home and it would be shag
time.
Spike nestled into a stack of pillows. Ahhh, that was better.
*DDDRRRRRLLLLLLL*
Spike opened his eyes.
*DDDRRRRRLLLLLLL*
What the buggering, shitting fuck is *that*!
Spike sprung up from the bed and stomped across the room…well, he tried to
stomp, but what with his spankle, he looked more like tigger on drugs.
Looking out of the window cautiously, he spied a truck, some cones, a
couple of workmen and a pneumatic drill.
Fucking bastards!!! Didn’t they know he was trying to sleep? This was the
bloody Hellmouth. Hello? Vampires? Sleeping in the day? Thoughtless cunts.
Could things get any worse?
The phone rang.
Spike was scared.
It was Buffy. She was coming over. She had…had…she had
bought…bought…shoes, lots and lots of shoes.
Spike wished his Xander was here. Fuck the shag. He needed a hug |
Suki Blue Fiction