September 27th, 2009

spuffy

It's Barb! And she has a chainsaw!

    Assemble the following equipment:
  • Thirty-foot pine tree, ideally a dead one positioned to fall on some electric lines. We do not recommend live pine trees unless you are in dire need of Christmas decorations and have an extremely high ceiling. Dead trees of other species are acceptable as well.
  • Chainsaw
  • Crowbar
  • 100-ft (30 m.) rope
  • stepladder, minimum 6 ft tall
  • 60 lb. Lab mix (essential for supervisory tasks)
  • 1 loyal minion

    Collapse )

    I have determined over the last week or so that Everything I Need To Know About Managing, I Learned Running A Holt. Also, there will be more promptfic tomight. I HAVE SPOKEN. RAWR! PH33R MY MAD CHAINSAW-WIELDING LITERARY SKILZ!
spuffy

Fic - Lessons, PG, S/B, OC

Lessons
By Barb C

Disclaimers: The usual. All belongs to Joss and Mutant Enemy, and naught to me.
Rating: PG
Pairing: B/S
Distribution: Ask and you shall receive, I'd just like to know where it ends up.
Synopsis:
Author’s notes: Promptfic for manoah, who wanted Spike interacting with one of the girls. (If you want longer stories featuring Spike and one or more of the girls, I direct you to Family Matters and Little Sister) This story takes place in the same universe as "Raising In the Sun," "Necessary Evils," and "A Parliament of Monsters." It's set in 2016 on the Barbverse timeline, when Connie is about seven.



"Take a good grip on the hilt - hold it underhand, Punkin, you'll want to be able to strike anywhere you've got an opportunity, yeh? All right, take a stab at me. Keep loose, and watch my eyes... that's it. In and out. You'll want to get inside my reach, but don't let me close with you - you never want to give a bigger chap a chance to grapple. Now take it a little faster. That's right. Again. Faster."

Spike dodges his daughter's inexpert blow and feints. A second later Connie's tumbling, as her father knocks her legs out from under her. She rolls to her feet in a second, blowing chestnut curls from her eyes, round-cheeked face set in a grim scowl, and goes for Spike again. Spike shifts into game face, growling, fangs bared.

Buffy leans on the railing of the basement stairs, skate bag dangling from one shoulder, and watches as they dance, the lean, compact man in black and the tiny fierce girl in the pink ballet leotard. Connie wields the knife with little skill as yet, but a world of determination. If she's inherited any weird fighting mojo from either parent, it's years away from manifesting. For now, anyway, Connie's just a girl, just as she was, so many years ago. Watching her daughter slide across the mat with steps that grow surer with every lesson, Buffy feels a pang - the life of a freelance Slayer isn't anything close to normal. She's worked for so long to take the reins of her own destiny, but sometimes, she fears, just by being who they are, she and Spike have thrown their children right into the path of Fate's careening chariot.

Spike feints again, but this time Connie takes it in stride. The rattan training knife lashes out, an extension of her small hand, and slices his arm. She doesn't hit home, but she makes Spike put on a touch of vamp speed to avoid the blade. He clutches his chest with a theatrical gasp, staggers backwards, and collapses to the mat with a groan. Connie pounces, laughing. Kneeling astride his stomach, she plants the blunted tip of the blade above his heart. "I killed you dead, Daddy!"

"So you did, Punkin." Spike sits up and plants a fangy kiss on the tip of her nose. "Gonna do it again?"

"Not right now, honey. It's time for your skating lesson." Buffy holds up the skates - she'll have to buy Connie a new pair soon; they're already starting to be tight in the toes. "You need to go upstairs and change. You can kill Daddy again tomorrow."

"Coming, Mommy!" Connie yells. She bounces up and races for the stairs, brushing past her mother. On the top step she pauses, whirling around. "Mommy! When we get to the rink, can you show me the jump you did last time?" One pink-clad leg kicks wildly for the ceiling. "Where you sliced the ice monster's head right off?"

Buffy glances down at Spike, blue-eyed and human again, and back up at her expectant daughter. To Connie, vampire dads and Zamboni demons at the skating rink is the normal life. She wonders what loss her daughter will find to mourn at age sixteen - because at age sixteen, there's always something.

But age sixteen is years away, and Connie's eyes are bright and eager. Buffy tucks the skates into the bag, shoulders it once more. "Sure, sweetie. But you have to practice your axels first."


END
spuffy

Drabble: Woodstock - Spike, OC, PG

Woodstock
by Barb C
Characters: Spike, Bill (OC)
Rating: PG
Summary: Promptfic for gillo, who wanted Spike telling one of the kids what Woodstock was really like. A tip of the hat to shipperx for the idea that pre-punk Spike was a Doors fan.



"What was it like?" Spike leaned back and let his Racing Form fall to one knee, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose. "Half a million brain-dead flower children too stoned to tell their arses from their elbows, crammed into a muddy field with not half enough loos. Dru and I'd come to hear Morrison, and he canceled at the last minute, the sodding bastard. Almost hunted him down and ate him. It was chaos." He gave a nostalgic sigh. "Glorious, bloody chaos."

Alex looked up from his laptop, confused. "But Dad... I'm writing an essay about Charles Schultz."


END