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aliunde_rpg003. Use your powers for good.
Sep. 11th, 2011 12:52 pmA. Action; Mr Pratt's Poetry Class.
[Spike is dressed like you know, English professors from the 50s: sweater vest included. You might notice his bleach blonde hair though, and the chipping black nail polish that perhaps indicates it's not his clothing of choice.]
Yeah, so, you lot. I'm Spike and if you have a question - ask it, I guess. None of this hand-raising bollocks. [blinks. that had sounded more threatening in his head.]
You'll find a copy of E.E. Cummings' No Thanks under your desk. I'll be doing a little reading for you.
( ... )
[Despite how inappropriate that is he's handing out the syllabus. He didn't write this nor does he know what it says. It proclaims his name as Mr. Pratt as does the plaque on his desk (which includes the first name "William"]
Oh yeah, and just call me Spike, yeah?
B. Phone; After class.
So I was thinking, yeah? I ought to have a cookout. Got myself a proper wife and my eyesight back, sounds like enough to make a celebration to me.
Plus I miss hot wings. And bloomin' onions.
What do you miss? Not exactly a chef but I can do my best.
[Spike is dressed like you know, English professors from the 50s: sweater vest included. You might notice his bleach blonde hair though, and the chipping black nail polish that perhaps indicates it's not his clothing of choice.]
Yeah, so, you lot. I'm Spike and if you have a question - ask it, I guess. None of this hand-raising bollocks. [blinks. that had sounded more threatening in his head.]
You'll find a copy of E.E. Cummings' No Thanks under your desk. I'll be doing a little reading for you.
( ... )
[Despite how inappropriate that is he's handing out the syllabus. He didn't write this nor does he know what it says. It proclaims his name as Mr. Pratt as does the plaque on his desk (which includes the first name "William"]
Oh yeah, and just call me Spike, yeah?
B. Phone; After class.
So I was thinking, yeah? I ought to have a cookout. Got myself a proper wife and my eyesight back, sounds like enough to make a celebration to me.
Plus I miss hot wings. And bloomin' onions.
What do you miss? Not exactly a chef but I can do my best.
Action for 724 Anderson Ln.
[Spike stumbles in because lmao - he doesn't need to be invited] Oy, Watcher! I've got something to tell you. [Oh yeah, he's also badly beaten. Thanks for that Lust and Edward.]
You here? [He's just lighting up a cigarette in the middle of your kitchen Giles, leaving the door wide open.]
Phone.
Coming to think this milk isn't so bad. I'll take some off your hands, huh? Drink it for you. Not sure the Milkman would be too keen on that.
You'd think I'd be used to beatings and all, but-- [ he breaks off, almost like he forgot he was talking. ]
Well, haven't ever done it this way. Hurts a lot more.
Though everything's numbing up now...
[Spike stumbles in because lmao - he doesn't need to be invited] Oy, Watcher! I've got something to tell you. [Oh yeah, he's also badly beaten. Thanks for that Lust and Edward.]
You here? [He's just lighting up a cigarette in the middle of your kitchen Giles, leaving the door wide open.]
Phone.
Coming to think this milk isn't so bad. I'll take some off your hands, huh? Drink it for you. Not sure the Milkman would be too keen on that.
You'd think I'd be used to beatings and all, but-- [ he breaks off, almost like he forgot he was talking. ]
Well, haven't ever done it this way. Hurts a lot more.
Though everything's numbing up now...
Phone.
[Spike sounds oddly manic, not that you would know it was odd for him.]
I guess this is like a conference call, huh? So who's on the other end. [a few crickets...] Not sure what to make of all this, but. Haven't seen a phone like this since--[sudden throat clearing]
What do you lot do around here? Go to the drive-in with your steadies and buy big league chew at the game with your pop? It's all just a little [frightening?] too good to be true.
[muttering] Still not sure I'm not dreaming this up. [Or you know, still in a basement losing his mind.]
Action for 1448 Mitchell Road.
[Oh, Krillin, where are you? He'll only be terrified to see you.
He doesn't even know there's anyone else in the house, going to pour himself a bowl of cereal and ruffling up his hair. It feels bizarre and not at all right that his growling stomach actually wants human food.
But it feels good, too.]
Open Action.
[Spike is walking down Mitchell Road, but feel free to meet him anywhere he'll be walking a while. In slacks and a plain blue sweater, he's just, meandering, hands in his pockets as he tries not to feel the remnants of sunlight beat down on his back. It's so strange and wonderful to feel it and yet, what did he do to deserve it. Is this a new kind of Hell dimension where they torture you with kindness.
And then he bumps into you because--without vampire senses he's really the clumsiest person you've ever met. Actually, he's not that smooth with them either.] --Sorry. [Just make nice with the locals until you get the skinny, he keeps telling himself. Easier said than bloody done. This place was Stepford creepy and twice as annoying.]
[Spike sounds oddly manic, not that you would know it was odd for him.]
I guess this is like a conference call, huh? So who's on the other end. [a few crickets...] Not sure what to make of all this, but. Haven't seen a phone like this since--[sudden throat clearing]
What do you lot do around here? Go to the drive-in with your steadies and buy big league chew at the game with your pop? It's all just a little [frightening?] too good to be true.
[muttering] Still not sure I'm not dreaming this up. [Or you know, still in a basement losing his mind.]
Action for 1448 Mitchell Road.
[Oh, Krillin, where are you? He'll only be terrified to see you.
He doesn't even know there's anyone else in the house, going to pour himself a bowl of cereal and ruffling up his hair. It feels bizarre and not at all right that his growling stomach actually wants human food.
But it feels good, too.]
Open Action.
[Spike is walking down Mitchell Road, but feel free to meet him anywhere he'll be walking a while. In slacks and a plain blue sweater, he's just, meandering, hands in his pockets as he tries not to feel the remnants of sunlight beat down on his back. It's so strange and wonderful to feel it and yet, what did he do to deserve it. Is this a new kind of Hell dimension where they torture you with kindness.
And then he bumps into you because--without vampire senses he's really the clumsiest person you've ever met. Actually, he's not that smooth with them either.] --Sorry. [Just make nice with the locals until you get the skinny, he keeps telling himself. Easier said than bloody done. This place was Stepford creepy and twice as annoying.]
(no subject)
Jun. 17th, 2011 12:53 pm--What? [shouting, then an explosion] Oh, bloody hell.
HMD | vmail | email | IM | text | call
HMD | vmail | email | IM | text | call
[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.]
[RL] Thinking about what I'm giving up.
May. 5th, 2011 04:06 am[Spike feels like .. knocking on Robert's door. Surprisingly it's only about 8 PM, mostly because he doesn't have any awareness of timezones and not out of any conscientiousness on his part, but still. It's kind of refreshing, right?] Robbie, you home? [Yeah, he's not waiting for an answer. Spike's barging in, going to sit on Fischer's couch when he doesn't see him. He's also going to light a cigarette and kick back while he waits for Robert to emerge, nonsmoking room be damned.]
[RL] is anybody out there
May. 4th, 2011 12:19 am[New York. Not his favorite place. Even less so when he had to ride the subway. Spike did his best to keep his head down and try not to think, an unlit cigarette hanging from his mouth. Each shove of thronging New Yorkers made him a little number as he glanced down at the scrawled address over crumpled paper for the millionth time.
As he steps out onto the street, the Sun's almost down. Keeping his eyes on his boots, he pushes hands with chipping nail polish into his duster pockets, trying not to feel the last of its warmth on his face. He couldn't feel more out of place as he's looking up the nose of Petrelli Manor, keeping his eyes out for Peter. Steeling himself, he steps up on the lawn, half-expecting an aerial attack. Or maybe one from the side.]
As he steps out onto the street, the Sun's almost down. Keeping his eyes on his boots, he pushes hands with chipping nail polish into his duster pockets, trying not to feel the last of its warmth on his face. He couldn't feel more out of place as he's looking up the nose of Petrelli Manor, keeping his eyes out for Peter. Steeling himself, he steps up on the lawn, half-expecting an aerial attack. Or maybe one from the side.]
I realized something moving out here. I never moved worlds. I mean to say, this is my world, the original and only. Didn't understand it right away, but when I went to see the Princess in LA I couldn't worldhop. Had to take the trains. It's a bit surreal being 7 years in the past, right? But I have to figure everything happens for a reason.
Even Sylar's taxidermied rabbit moving about the house like it's still kicking. Told him it wasn't a ghost, but he never listens does he.
If the Powers that Be have more plans for me, well, I suppose I'll find out soon enough. But I told them no more jewelry, and they'd better respect that.
Even Sylar's taxidermied rabbit moving about the house like it's still kicking. Told him it wasn't a ghost, but he never listens does he.
If the Powers that Be have more plans for me, well, I suppose I'll find out soon enough. But I told them no more jewelry, and they'd better respect that.
[RL] Falling into place.
Mar. 18th, 2011 01:06 am[Spike knocks on Sylar's door, it's 1:36 AM. This time, though, he knows Sylar is awake. He can hear his breath from here.]
Gabe, listen up. We're going to the store. ..That work for you?
We're out of Weetabix.
Gabe, listen up. We're going to the store. ..That work for you?
We're out of Weetabix.
[Spike's just kicking back, watching Desperate Housewives. Like a boss.]
[ Spike was slowly getting the hang of this worldhopping thing, much as he hated mojo. He was just glad it was night. Much fun as it was to dance around in the Sun, still unnerved him plenty when flames didn't follow. Knew he should just take the victory as it was, but he wasn't so good at that these days.
He felt oddly nervous climbing the short step to the address written on the crumpled post-it in his pocket. He recrumpled it once he was sure he was at the right place, black nails digging into the paper as he stuffed it back in his duster and raised a hand to knock softly - in case the little ones were in bed, he didn't want to ring the bell. ]
He felt oddly nervous climbing the short step to the address written on the crumpled post-it in his pocket. He recrumpled it once he was sure he was at the right place, black nails digging into the paper as he stuffed it back in his duster and raised a hand to knock softly - in case the little ones were in bed, he didn't want to ring the bell. ]
An unlifelong dream.
Feb. 7th, 2011 08:19 pmTime to see if this works, [ he said to himself, pulling out the innocuous looking Bic lighter the wizard had given him and flicking it on. At first, nothing happened and he was ready to march right back up to the bloke-- and that's when it happened. The world slipped out from beneath him and before he could shout, there was a zombie in front of him.
Spike made a face, ugly bugger. Stuffing the lighter back in his pocket, he knocked the thing to the ground, stomping on its face as he looked around. The Sun was down, at least. Thank goodness for small miracles, all that rot.
This thing wouldn't have knocked him too far from Little Rock, huh? He hoped not, as much as a spot of violence might do him good just now. ]
Spike made a face, ugly bugger. Stuffing the lighter back in his pocket, he knocked the thing to the ground, stomping on its face as he looked around. The Sun was down, at least. Thank goodness for small miracles, all that rot.
This thing wouldn't have knocked him too far from Little Rock, huh? He hoped not, as much as a spot of violence might do him good just now. ]
[ It's another day in Hell and he's on his way to see a wizard. He leads a full unlife, he does. Smoking a cigarette and not looking up from his shoes seems as sure a way as any not to get dragged into a fight, but he knows nothing is without its flaws. Though he is feeling pretty good about this.
Most demons in Hell follow suit anyway, staring at their shoelaces as if they had any. It's as if he's a bloody Pokemon trainer and the streets of LA are tall grass.
It's how he knows when he does look up, there's trouble. He smells human.
He smells Slayer. ]
Faith. Bestill my unbeating heart.
Most demons in Hell follow suit anyway, staring at their shoelaces as if they had any. It's as if he's a bloody Pokemon trainer and the streets of LA are tall grass.
It's how he knows when he does look up, there's trouble. He smells human.
He smells Slayer. ]
Faith. Bestill my unbeating heart.
