tabaqui | Bloody Odin! part four...

Bloody Odin! part four...

Monday, August 15th, 2005 03:50 pm

*la la la*
It's raining here, which it hasn't done for most of the summer. It's so amazingly nice. I love rain.
*twirls*

Anyway, here's the next bit of Bloody Odin! Previous bits are here.
Memories seems to be kind of acting up, though, so...

Once again,

reremouse came through like a trooper and helped me to, you know, be funny.
Heh.
I hope.
*gibber*

"Giles? What's this?"

"That? That is...lemme...see -" Giles leaned way over and his tea - which had gone from hot and dark to room temperature and clear amber - sloshed over the lip of his cup. Onto Tara's cleavage. Tara yelped and Giles gazed owlishly at her.

"Oh, bloody hell. Sorry 'bout that! Lemme -" Giles clumsily pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and swiped at Tara's shirt-front.

"Giles! Stop feeling up my girlfriend!" Willow squeaked.

"M'not feeling up your -" Giles said hotly, then he looked down and froze, his hand on Tara's breast. Tara was edging away. "Oh, umm..."

"Giles! Sit down." Buffy pushed her tipsy Watcher into a chair and gave Tara a sympathetic look. Tara held out the sheaf of whisky-spotted paper she'd been holding.

"I don't think we sent them the dictionary."

"I don't think you need anymore of that," Willow said, taking Giles' tea cup and getting between him and Tara. Tara pulled her shirt out from her body and wrinkled her nose.

"This stinks. How can you drink this?"

"Quite bloody easily," Giles muttered, and made a grab for his cup. Willow levitated it over to the counter.

Buffy tossed the papers to the table. "Tara's right. We didn't send the dictionary. How are they gonna tell the Vikings what we need? How are we gonna get this box? Glory's out there, stalking my friends and my Watcher's getting -"

"Squiffed!" Giles crowed and then giggled. "Not to worry Buff-fee. Sounds like a poodle, don't you think? Spike'll - fig'ger it all out."

"And how do you 'figger' that?" Buffy growled, Slayer-scowl that didn't seem to be intimidating Giles at all.

Giles leaned back in his chair, staring blearily up at the ceiling. "Knew a minute ago," he said and then toppled bonelessly out of the chair to the floor. The three women stared at him. He started to snore.

"He's been under a l-lot of stress," Tara said. Buffy picked up the bottle of whiskey that had rolled under the table and uncapped it.

"Me too." Buffy held her nose, lifted the bottle to her mouth and took a long drink. "Bleauughh!"

"This isn't so bad. Don't you think? I mean - could be worse. Right?"

"Yeah, we could be dead. Well, you could be dead and I could be trying to fend off an entire village full of blood-crazed Vikings who just realized I'm not human."

Xander stared at Spike, who stared back. "You're such a Pollyanna, Spike."

"Insufferable git," Spike huffed, but it was hard to be pissed off when a giggly teen-age girl in nothing but a water-soaked linen smock was scrubbing cow-shite off your back. Spike leaned into the rough, sudsy rag and purred, and the girl giggled again.

"Hey! You're not supposed to be enjoying that! You're gay!" Xander obligingly lifted his arm so his bath-girl could get at his ribs.

"So're you, you wanker," Spike said, glancing slyly at Xander's semi-erection. Xander hastily covered up.

"She wouldn't stop with the scrubbing! I was clean. It's just a - an involuntary physical reaction!"

"Uh huh. Bloody hell -" Spike sputtered as his bath-girl dumped a bucketful of steaming water over his head. Spike spit water out of his mouth and then shook his head like a dog. Both girls giggled this time. "At least it's warm."

"Yeah." Xander closed his eyes as he was rinsed off - opened them again as a blast of cold air whipped around them as someone came inside the bath-house.

"Oi! Oh. It's the Watcher." Spike stared at the tall, older man. The man with sandy-brown hair and a very familiar glint in his eyes. The man stared back, muffled in a heavy leather cloak that seemed to be lined with fox-skins.

"He's not a Watcher."

"Looks like a Watcher. Looks like our Watcher. Uh - your Watcher. Whatever," Spike said, looking shifty.

"I knew you liked Giles," Xander muttered, taking a length of linen from his girl and winding it around his body, toga-like. He went over to the fire in the center of the room and wrung out his hair.

"I do not like Giles. He's just - fellow expat, is all. Have to stick together." Spike got his own towel and rubbed himself down briskly - wrapped up like a mummy and huddled close to the fire as the door opened again.

"Ex what? Hey! Leave it alone!" Xander tripped over the length of linen as he hurried over to the door. The Luggage was struggling to get in while a burly Viking was trying to drag it out. The Luggage snapped at the man's hands and he jumped back. Xander snatched it up by the handle and retreated to the fire, clutching it close.

The Luggage did it's best to snuggle in but only succeeded in kicking Xander in the stomach with a hoof. Xander hastily put it down, giving it a little pat. The Luggage wiggled happily.

"Got my clothes in there, then?" Spike asked. The Luggage gaped obligingly, revealing a sea of tangled clothes and shoes. And something - red - and something shiny that Spike dove for with a happy cry. "Bloody brilliant!" He held up his flask and a carton of smokes and Xander rolled his eyes.

"Oh great. Guess Giles packed."

Spike took a surreptitious sniff. "Nope. Glinda. Bless her heart."

"S-spike," the older man said, tugging at Spike's towel.

"What now, Watcher? Fuck - not Watcher. Skald. Bloody bookkeeper of the gods, is what you are."

"Necesse est nobis colloqui de Bestia."

Spike ran that through his head a few times, translating. 'We must speak about the Beast.' Too bloody right, they must. "Vero," Spike agreed - turned and hastily dug through the Luggage for his clothes, sliding on jeans and stamping happily into his boots. Coat on - fags in his pocket - flask in his hand. He felt like himself again. Xander was looking lost.

"You're gonna go talk in some language I don't know and make plans, aren't you? And I'm gonna be going 'huh?' for hours on end. Why couldn't Willow have magiced up a universal translator or something?"

Spike rolled his eyes - lit a cigarette. "I'll tell 'em to find you a nice serving wench or something, keep you occupied."

"Gay now, Spike, for fuck's sake! And - besides - I didn't bring any condoms - what if she got pregnant? I'd be like - the worst deadbeat dad ever!"

"Might have to get her pregnant, eh?" Spike said, letting the skald drag him towards the door, waving a rune-covered scroll at him. "Might have to make your own great-great-great-sodding-something-or-other."

Xander got a funny look on his face for a moment. "I - what? We're not Vikings! We're - we're Episcopalians!"

"Oh, for fuck's sake -" Spike uncapped his flask and drank deep.

Xander dug into the Luggage, hauling out an armful of clothes. "I'm coming with you. You are not going to be alone with Deadboy's ancestor." Xander dressed fast while Spike smoked in hard little puffs and the skald edged away from the Luggage, who was prowling the edges of the room as if looking for something. When Xander shrugged on a heavy, fleece-lined jacket the Luggage sidled up and nudged him - opened its lid.

"Yeah? What is it? Oh!" Xander bent and snatched something - stood up grinning, a box of Twinkies in his hands. "I think I'm in love with Tara."

"You and me both," Spike said and took a long pull of whiskey. Then they were herded out into the snow, back toward the longhouse. The Luggage skittered behind, hooves slipping in the ice.

Part five.

Tags:

odin,
spander

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