"I'm not – look, Spike, I wouldn't have even come here if –"
"If Saint Buffy hadn't pouted her pretty mouth at you? Christ, you're pathetic." Spike turned his back on Angel and picked up the other glass – filled it and drained it and considered throwing it, too, but he actually liked these glasses, and he'd be damned if he was going to break them all over Angel. *Had enough of that three years ago...*
My mind races and imagines, discarding hypotheses--just like for Thou Art Born. . . .--and I wanna know, but I don't, cuz it's gonna be all hurty, but I gotta know, so I'm all balancing on knife's edge, a-quiver.
I hate you.
"Spike, just shut up and listen, for once. There's something big coming. A whole new level of evil. Worse than –"
"Wait - let me guess." Spike stalked to the fireplace that bulked against the far wall, staring blindly down at the shimmering bed of coals that was all that was left of his afternoon's fire. "This is worse than the First? Than the Circle of the Black Thorn? Worse than some sodding wanker of a worker bee bringing his favorite Old God back to life? Been there, Angelus, done it, got the bloody scars to show for it."
"This is different, Spike! This isn't some apocalypse we can fix by – by killing the right thing or chanting the right spell."
What's amazing is Angel's ability to not be jaded by all the apocalypses. He loses his way, sometimes--when W&H brought back Darla, when he signed on with W&H--but at heart, he's a starry-eyed idealist. Even that last speech in NFA proves it. And we're seeing it here, now. He believes it's all in fighting evil, not necessarily winning, though he's in it to win it, too.
Spike, on the other hand, younger, born from a much more naive man than Liam was, has a fatalistic streak a mile wide. Rightfully so, but if he's got right, Angel's got the right, let's face it. He's gone through some shit.
You know that the Slayers are getting more...organized. Starting to use military tactics –"
"Yeah, I've heard it," Spike snapped. He'd heard more than that. Heard that they were sidling up to the government – heard that they were starting to take on the trappings and tricks of a certain secret military organization and Spike...did not approve. For a lot of reasons.
Yeah, if anyone could get a world's worth of Slayers and turn them into major league players on the world scene . . . it'd be General Buffy, with her adviser, extraordinaire, Giles.
But it's scary, though. I mean, the Initiative probably started out with the best-ish of intentions, but the road to hell, and all. No one fucks up like an idealist.
He kicked at a sliver of wood that had fallen onto the grate and turned to face Angel. Was a little dismayed to find him not five paces away. "They're making themselves damn unpopular, too. What's your point?"
"The point...my point – is that the demon world is starting to organize, too. It's going to be war, Spike, and she - they - need every soldier. Every champion."
Onward Christian soldiers, marching as to war. . . .
*God. He really believes it, too. Look at him – like a school boy asked to lead the bloody procession...*
like I said, he's an idealist. And when he fucks up, it'll be big. Same goes for the Slayers cum Initiative 2.
"That right, Angelus? That what they need? Soldiers and champions... Heroes."
Otherwise known as cannon-fodder.
Spike took a long breath – let it out on a short, shaky laugh. "Well, that's too damn bad, Angelus. Just too bloody bad, 'cause I'm not either of those." He pulled out a cigarette and lit it – blew the slate-blue smoke in a plume up over his head. "And neither are you."
no subject
"If Saint Buffy hadn't pouted her pretty mouth at you? Christ, you're pathetic." Spike turned his back on Angel and picked up the other glass – filled it and drained it and considered throwing it, too, but he actually liked these glasses, and he'd be damned if he was going to break them all over Angel. *Had enough of that three years ago...*
My mind races and imagines, discarding hypotheses--just like for Thou Art Born. . . .--and I wanna know, but I don't, cuz it's gonna be all hurty, but I gotta know, so I'm all balancing on knife's edge, a-quiver.
I hate you.
"Spike, just shut up and listen, for once. There's something big coming. A whole new level of evil. Worse than –"
"Wait - let me guess." Spike stalked to the fireplace that bulked against the far wall, staring blindly down at the shimmering bed of coals that was all that was left of his afternoon's fire. "This is worse than the First? Than the Circle of the Black Thorn? Worse than some sodding wanker of a worker bee bringing his favorite Old God back to life? Been there, Angelus, done it, got the bloody scars to show for it."
"This is different, Spike! This isn't some apocalypse we can fix by – by killing the right thing or chanting the right spell."
What's amazing is Angel's ability to not be jaded by all the apocalypses. He loses his way, sometimes--when W&H brought back Darla, when he signed on with W&H--but at heart, he's a starry-eyed idealist. Even that last speech in NFA proves it. And we're seeing it here, now. He believes it's all in fighting evil, not necessarily winning, though he's in it to win it, too.
Spike, on the other hand, younger, born from a much more naive man than Liam was, has a fatalistic streak a mile wide. Rightfully so, but if he's got right, Angel's got the right, let's face it. He's gone through some shit.
You know that the Slayers are getting more...organized. Starting to use military tactics –"
"Yeah, I've heard it," Spike snapped. He'd heard more than that. Heard that they were sidling up to the government – heard that they were starting to take on the trappings and tricks of a certain secret military organization and Spike...did not approve. For a lot of reasons.
Yeah, if anyone could get a world's worth of Slayers and turn them into major league players on the world scene . . . it'd be General Buffy, with her adviser, extraordinaire, Giles.
But it's scary, though. I mean, the Initiative probably started out with the best-ish of intentions, but the road to hell, and all. No one fucks up like an idealist.
He kicked at a sliver of wood that had fallen onto the grate and turned to face Angel. Was a little dismayed to find him not five paces away. "They're making themselves damn unpopular, too. What's your point?"
"The point...my point – is that the demon world is starting to organize, too. It's going to be war, Spike, and she - they - need every soldier. Every champion."
Onward Christian soldiers, marching as to war. . . .
*God. He really believes it, too. Look at him – like a school boy asked to lead the bloody procession...*
like I said, he's an idealist. And when he fucks up, it'll be big. Same goes for the Slayers cum Initiative 2.
"That right, Angelus? That what they need? Soldiers and champions... Heroes."
Otherwise known as cannon-fodder.
Spike took a long breath – let it out on a short, shaky laugh. "Well, that's too damn bad, Angelus. Just too bloody bad, 'cause I'm not either of those." He pulled out a cigarette and lit it – blew the slate-blue smoke in a plume up over his head. "And neither are you."
Do tell.
No, seriously. Do tell, or else.