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By the lake
Sep. 23rd, 2004 10:42 pmSpike opens the door to the bar and walks through.
That wasn't so hard. Now if I could only find that front door.
But he leaves the thought for another time. Val said there was something living in the lake and Joe said it was so green it almost hurt your eyes and both of them were right. He doesn't know whether it's because he hasn't been outdoors since he came to the bar or if it's because he's dead or if it's because he's not dead, but everything looks just that much more vibrant and unreal. Maybe it's all that time in space, or all that time in engineered environments, or...
...maybe the unreality of it is payback for the Dragons. The Syndicate.
For killing people.
Or not. What the fuck.
He walks through the grass and makes his way over to the edge of the lake and for a moment peers in at his reflection. But that's way too introspective so he lights a smoke and sits on the grass and waits for it to get dark. Because when it gets dark he might be able to find Mars, if they're anywhere near enough to see it, and from there he can figure out where he is.
Or not. What the fuck.
In the distance, the water ripples and a giant tentacle slaps the surface. Spike scratches his head then remembers about the squid. Maybe if he were a nicer guy he'd have brought it something to eat, but what do giant squid eat anyhow? Other squid? Who the hell knows? Not him.
Lying back on the grass, he looks up at the clouds in the darkening sky and watches the smoke escape from the end of the cigarette and twist its way into the air before it disappears.
It's quiet. Unholy quiet, Laughing Bull would say with a fistful of sand. Spike is used to being on his own but not used to being alone. There was always Jet, and -- annoying though she could be -- there was Faye. Or Ed. At least someone to talk to. Vicious, back in the old days when they were friends. Or Julia. He could always talk to Julia.
"Damn it, where are you?"
Wrong question. Where am I? The cigarette burns all the way to the filter; he stubs it out between his thumb and forefinger and normally he'd throw the butt aside but there's something about this place makes him not do that. He lies back, hands under his head, and looks up at the stars.
That's where he belongs.
That wasn't so hard. Now if I could only find that front door.
But he leaves the thought for another time. Val said there was something living in the lake and Joe said it was so green it almost hurt your eyes and both of them were right. He doesn't know whether it's because he hasn't been outdoors since he came to the bar or if it's because he's dead or if it's because he's not dead, but everything looks just that much more vibrant and unreal. Maybe it's all that time in space, or all that time in engineered environments, or...
...maybe the unreality of it is payback for the Dragons. The Syndicate.
For killing people.
Or not. What the fuck.
He walks through the grass and makes his way over to the edge of the lake and for a moment peers in at his reflection. But that's way too introspective so he lights a smoke and sits on the grass and waits for it to get dark. Because when it gets dark he might be able to find Mars, if they're anywhere near enough to see it, and from there he can figure out where he is.
Or not. What the fuck.
In the distance, the water ripples and a giant tentacle slaps the surface. Spike scratches his head then remembers about the squid. Maybe if he were a nicer guy he'd have brought it something to eat, but what do giant squid eat anyhow? Other squid? Who the hell knows? Not him.
Lying back on the grass, he looks up at the clouds in the darkening sky and watches the smoke escape from the end of the cigarette and twist its way into the air before it disappears.
It's quiet. Unholy quiet, Laughing Bull would say with a fistful of sand. Spike is used to being on his own but not used to being alone. There was always Jet, and -- annoying though she could be -- there was Faye. Or Ed. At least someone to talk to. Vicious, back in the old days when they were friends. Or Julia. He could always talk to Julia.
"Damn it, where are you?"
Wrong question. Where am I? The cigarette burns all the way to the filter; he stubs it out between his thumb and forefinger and normally he'd throw the butt aside but there's something about this place makes him not do that. He lies back, hands under his head, and looks up at the stars.
That's where he belongs.
