tabaqui | GIP! Pimp! and Bloody Odin, part three!

GIP! Pimp! and Bloody Odin, part three!

tabaqui

Sunday, August 7th, 2005 08:14 pm

Wheeeeeee!!

First, the GIP! Lovely, lovely icon made for me by

ponders_life, over in

fund_fic. Isn't it lovely? Thank you so much, bay-bee!

Second, the pimp! Yesterday i posted an odd little Lindsey POV thing, Sum of the Whole.

sweptawaybayou liked it enough to write Angel's POV, so go and read Conscious Thoughts right now! It's delightful.

Last but not least, part three! Most especial thanks to

reremouse, as always. :)
Previous parts are here.

"That was the scariest thing I've ever seen."

"It's traditional," Giles said, and Buffy could have sworn he giggled.

"Old suitcases with hooves are traditional?"

"It's the spirit of the thing," Giles mumbled, burying his nose in his tea-cup and giggling again. Buffy sniffed. Yup. That wasn't just Earl Grey.

"I bloody well know what the bloody Luggage is! I'm just - gobsmacked that Rupert does!"

"Maybe it was Tara. She has the whole set." Xander twisted uncomfortably, straining at the ropes around his wrists and slipping a little as they were prodded up the slope and back toward the village.

"Stop that. You'll get rope-burn." Spike was tripped and kicked back sharply, cracking his heel into the - thing - that was following him. "Bugger off, for fuck's sake!" he hissed. The portmanteau stumbled and fell and then righted itself, hurrying to catch up. Its little hooves thudded on the frozen ground. It bumped into Spike's calf, pressing close like a scared dog. Spike was pretty sure it whimpered. "I'll wring her sodding neck."

"Hey! I'll bet they sent us some stuff in there - our clothes and stuff!"

"You think?" Spike looked down at the - Luggage - and bumped it with his foot. "Got any smokes in there?" A strap wiggled, the buckle clinking, but apparently the Luggage couldn't open its own buckles. "Bastards," Spike muttered.

A Viking prodded him with the very tip of a spear and Spike snarled, just barely restraining himself from breaking the rope around his arms and cracking some skulls. Pretending to be human seemed like a really dumb idea in hindsight.

The longhouse was long, and filled with men and women and children and the smell of wet wool and wet cattle and other wet - stuff. There was a big fire in the middle and a hole in the turf roof right above it. And a big chair with a very big man sitting in it, scowling. He looked a lot like -

"Deadboy?" Xander squeaked, and everyone jumped.

"It's not. Can hear his bloody heartbeat from here. But yeah, that's the same damn overbearing forehead, innit? Same bloody look of constipated confusion, too. Oi!"

"Spike! Ix-nay on the oi-way! I don't think - ooof!" A spear-butt made contact with Xander's solar-plexus and he went down, gagging for air.

Spike growled - snapped the ropes and spun on one heel - tripped over the Luggage and ended up on his arse next to Xander, who was a delicate shade of key-lime. "Jesus fucking Christ!" Spike reached over and yanked the knots loose and Xander curled up like a roly-poly.

Deadboy Mark Two snapped out an order and the longhouse cleared rapidly. The Luggage shuffled to one side, looking as shamefaced as something without a face could look. Spike kicked it - contemplated cigarettes and dragged it over by one pistoning hoof. Xander retched feebly into the ashes of the fire.

"Is there anything in there for throwing up?" he mumbled.

"Oh, shut up."

"Ukunnr," DeadboyM2 said. Or something like that. He was still sitting, flanked by seven or eight warriors in leather armor all leaning on long, leaf-bladed spears. They all looked a bit - incredulous.

Falling on your ass, naked, while your Luggage tried to run away didn't exactly make you look like a bad-ass. Spike whapped the Luggage hard and it stopped wiggling. "I just want some fucking smokes and my clothes, you little animate dead cow!" The Luggage creaked, buckles jingling, and Xander stirred and sat up. He wasn't green anymore, at least.

"I don't think it can undo its buckles. Can you, poor thing?" Xander crooned. The Luggage sidled closer to him and Xander reached out and patted it - started working on a buckle. The warriors stirred and tramped down the long-house toward them.

"Traitor," Spike muttered - glanced up at the approaching line of scowling, bearded faces and shiny spears. "Oh, bloody hell, Xan, fuck your trousers; find that bloody dictionary, would you?"

"Yeah, yeah, dictionary - wait - here." Xander held out a sheaf of heavily red-marked paper and Spike snatched it from him - stood up and opened his mouth. Closed his mouth. Stared at the pages for a long, long moment.

Xander's leg started to bounce on the dirt-and-reed-and-animal-waste floor. "Well? Tell them! Explain! We come in peace and all that!" Xander scrambled up from his sprawl by the luggage and Spike wordlessly shoved the pages at him. Xander recoiled. "I can't read Giles' handwriting!" he yelped. "Or Viking!"

"Doesn't matter, it's not Viking. It's - bloody hell." Spike looked at the ring of grim-faced Vikings who had surrounded them - looked down at the Luggage, who was trailing a Construction Workers Do It With Tools t-shirt and a pair of gym-socks out of its - edges. "Got any whiskey in there?"

The Luggage creaked open - snapped shut - and huddled into Xander's shins, looking crestfallen.

"I didn't think so."

"That's his notes. From when the Council came!" Xander snatched the papers out of Spike's hand, goggling. "That's the jelly-doughnut stain from when I dropped that box of African fetishes and this - this -" Xander rattled the papers, pointing. "This is where he said that he wouldn't mind feeding that Quentin guy to Glorificus! See? In the special red ink!"

Spike peered at the paper. "I don't think that's ink -"

"Glorificus?" Xander and Spike both turned slowly at the new voice.

"Christ. Even the Vikings had Watchers."

Part four.

Tags:

odin,
spander

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