Whoever was living here believed in marijuana, garlic, and chickens. And not in baths.
Oh, dear. I think I've been to that particular dorm room. . . .
*In a minute, in a minute, almost done...almost out...* There was nothing Xander hated more than zero gravity. The inner hatch blinked a green light at them and then whipped open, revealing a clutch of Outsiders. Armed, armored, and every muzzle - organic or otherwise - pointed straight at them.
"Bloody fucking hell! Rrahn!" Every dog - and every gun - suddenly swung around and Rrahn was there, looking extremely Samurai, Xander thought, in layers of ceremonial brass-toned armor.
*I have a very, very bad feeling about this. Was it the Force that made Luke and Leia say that, or just their twinness? And didn't Han say it too? Gonna have to force Spike to have another movie night.*
Spike was popping the seals on his helmet - wrenching it off with a snarl over com that Xander lost as he broke the seal on his own - pulled free of it and took a deep breath. And coughed. Whoever was living here believed in marijuana, garlic, and chickens. And not in baths. Ferro coughed too, hooking his helmet to his belt and drawing a gun in a series of smooth moves that had a couple Outsiders belatedly turning back on him, guns swinging uncertainly into true.
"Huch!" Rrahn snapped, and the guards finally stood down, long guns falling to a rest position - stepping back with a click of jointed, armored feet. "My a'ologies. Things arre...'ense."
"What things. Damnit, Rrahn -"
"William Rowe, called Spike? Captain of the Drusilla?" New voice - human voice - and the dogs stepped back further, clearing a path. Older human guy in what was probably the latest in Earth formal dress. That was topped with an armored vest, which didn't seem to be fitting too well. The man was - paunchy.
Spike glared at the man, who visibly flinched. "Yeah. Who the fuck are you?"
"I'm Albert Peacher. I'm the assistant to the ambassador of Human-Demonic relations on Earth."
"Assistant? I don't talk to assistants, mate."
Peacher shifted uncomfortably and Xander realized that wasn't a shadow on his face - it was a bruise. "I'm - sorry, Mm - Captain. But the Ambassador is -"
"He wass taken." Rrahn interrupted, and Xander finally realized something. That high, sharp smell wasn't more of the unwashed masses, it was the dogs, and they were afraid. "We need him back. And 'oo are going to get him, Sss'ike. 'Oo and 'oo're crew."
Okay, if they're scared, this can't bode well at all. But it's probably too late for Spike to pull out of this, no matter how hinky!
*Jee-sus....Christ.* Xander put his hand on Spike's arm, not able to feel anything but knowing, from the look on Spike's face, that he was practically vibrating with tension and rage.
"This is not worth six-hundred million," Ferro muttered.
"Not even six-hundred billion," Xander muttered back, and Spike twitched under his hand.
"Well - billion -"
Xander gave Spike the evil eye. "Not. Worth it."
"We have a lot to talk about, gentlemen," Peacher said, fiddling with the straps on the body-armor.
Spike sighed and straightened his shoulders - pushed his hand back through already-rumpled hair. "Don't think talking's gonna fix this mess, mate. But you can try." Peacher nodded and turned away - started walking toward what looked like an exit in the dim, cavernous space. The Outsider troops fell into line around him. Rrahn gave a short bow before turning to go as well and Spike stepped up to her fast, taking hold of a piece of the elaborate armor and jerking her to a stop.
"You are gonna have to do a lot more than try, Rrahn. You fucking owe me."
"All in good 'ime, Sss'ike."
"Got nothin' but, Rrahn."
And you leave off here?
Is this ambassador the person from Spike's past? And this Peacher -guy . . . what's his story? And why would dogs care that the a human, even an important-ish one was kidnapped?
Post more very soon. Is five minutes from now good? Awesome! *sits back to wait*
no subject
Oh, dear. I think I've been to that particular dorm room. . . .
*In a minute, in a minute, almost done...almost out...* There was nothing Xander hated more than zero gravity. The inner hatch blinked a green light at them and then whipped open, revealing a clutch of Outsiders. Armed, armored, and every muzzle - organic or otherwise - pointed straight at them.
"Bloody fucking hell! Rrahn!" Every dog - and every gun - suddenly swung around and Rrahn was there, looking extremely Samurai, Xander thought, in layers of ceremonial brass-toned armor.
*I have a very, very bad feeling about this. Was it the Force that made Luke and Leia say that, or just their twinness? And didn't Han say it too? Gonna have to force Spike to have another movie night.*
Spike was popping the seals on his helmet - wrenching it off with a snarl over com that Xander lost as he broke the seal on his own - pulled free of it and took a deep breath. And coughed. Whoever was living here believed in marijuana, garlic, and chickens. And not in baths. Ferro coughed too, hooking his helmet to his belt and drawing a gun in a series of smooth moves that had a couple Outsiders belatedly turning back on him, guns swinging uncertainly into true.
"Huch!" Rrahn snapped, and the guards finally stood down, long guns falling to a rest position - stepping back with a click of jointed, armored feet. "My a'ologies. Things arre...'ense."
"What things. Damnit, Rrahn -"
"William Rowe, called Spike? Captain of the Drusilla?" New voice - human voice - and the dogs stepped back further, clearing a path. Older human guy in what was probably the latest in Earth formal dress. That was topped with an armored vest, which didn't seem to be fitting too well. The man was - paunchy.
Spike glared at the man, who visibly flinched. "Yeah. Who the fuck are you?"
"I'm Albert Peacher. I'm the assistant to the ambassador of Human-Demonic relations on Earth."
"Assistant? I don't talk to assistants, mate."
Peacher shifted uncomfortably and Xander realized that wasn't a shadow on his face - it was a bruise. "I'm - sorry, Mm - Captain. But the Ambassador is -"
"He wass taken." Rrahn interrupted, and Xander finally realized something. That high, sharp smell wasn't more of the unwashed masses, it was the dogs, and they were afraid. "We need him back. And 'oo are going to get him, Sss'ike. 'Oo and 'oo're crew."
Okay, if they're scared, this can't bode well at all. But it's probably too late for Spike to pull out of this, no matter how hinky!
*Jee-sus....Christ.* Xander put his hand on Spike's arm, not able to feel anything but knowing, from the look on Spike's face, that he was practically vibrating with tension and rage.
"This is not worth six-hundred million," Ferro muttered.
"Not even six-hundred billion," Xander muttered back, and Spike twitched under his hand.
"Well - billion -"
Xander gave Spike the evil eye. "Not. Worth it."
"We have a lot to talk about, gentlemen," Peacher said, fiddling with the straps on the body-armor.
Spike sighed and straightened his shoulders - pushed his hand back through already-rumpled hair. "Don't think talking's gonna fix this mess, mate. But you can try." Peacher nodded and turned away - started walking toward what looked like an exit in the dim, cavernous space. The Outsider troops fell into line around him. Rrahn gave a short bow before turning to go as well and Spike stepped up to her fast, taking hold of a piece of the elaborate armor and jerking her to a stop.
"You are gonna have to do a lot more than try, Rrahn. You fucking owe me."
"All in good 'ime, Sss'ike."
"Got nothin' but, Rrahn."
And you leave off here?
Is this ambassador the person from Spike's past? And this Peacher -guy . . . what's his story? And why would dogs care that the a human, even an important-ish one was kidnapped?
Post more very soon. Is five minutes from now good? Awesome!
*sits back to wait*