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thismazJust a short one, this week. This prompt made me slow down and think about Spike in L.A.
Title: Fooling around with cars
Part 11 of the Blood on a Sundial series. Previous parts, in reverse order, are here or in my memories.
Fandom: BtVS
Prompt: #26 - The Great Unwashed
At:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
tamingthemuse
Disclaimer: here.
Rating: Pg
Word Count: 868
11. Fooling around with cars
The welcome to Sunnydale sign crashed flat under the wheels and the vehicle skidded to a halt, hard up against the curb. 'Right!' He thought, punching the air and incidentally denting the roof of the car. The satisfaction might be childish, but it never got old. The car was a write-off. It had been fun, but he had his own car stashed away safe at a warehouse on the edge of town. This one meant nothing.
Back in L.A., when sobriety eventually hit, like the proverbial ten ton truck, the loss and sorrow had swamped him again, for a while. But he was the big bad and nothing was going to keep him down for long - not the loss of his sire, not the desertion of his grandsire, again, not despair, not 120 miles, not anything. Plus, there was his whole new purpose to consider.
In that musty motel room, he gathered his armour - Levi's, Docs, duster, half-full bottle of Jack Daniel's - and headed out in search of revenge. Once on the city streets, weaving between the early evening crowds, he only had one thought: 'no fucking car'. It was a rough neighbourhood Angel had dumped him in and he pushed his way through the tide of the great unwashed, searching the streets and alleys for a suitable ride. Most of the vehicles were rust-trap wrecks or flash-boy prick substitutes, painted in such poor taste that there was no way he would be seen in any of them.
Something caught his eye and he paused, cocking his head as he gazed across the road at a couple of young lads hanging around next to a sleek, black late model Thunderbird, with no painted flames running down the wings. They looked to be on guard duty, keeping a wary eye on a gang hanging around on the corner a few hundred yards along the street. Spike dodged through the traffic to cross near them. Once back on the side-walk he slowed his pace to a casual amble and wandered up to them. He caught the eye of the older looking of the two and nodded his head in greeting. "Nice wheels. They yours?" As if. The guy who owned this beauty didn't wear a scuffed leather jacket and faded old jeans.
The boy frowned in annoyance, possibly debating if he could carry off the lie, possibly wondering if Spike was going to cause trouble. Then his face relaxed. It wasn't the first time Spike's lack of height and bulk proved useful and it wouldn't be the last. "Nah, man. This is Jimmy DeNozo's car. So you'd better not touch it, or he won't be happy."
Spike shrugged in apparent acceptance. "Don't know who Jimmy DeNozo is." He shared a glance between them and added, with a conspiratorial smile, "but I guess I don't want to, huh?"
The boy laughed. "Oh, he's okay," he said. "As long as you don't get on his bad side." He turned to look at the door of the building next to them. "He'll be back soon. Just doing some business. He won't mind you looking. As long as you don't touch."
Spike nodded and edged forwards, bending over to admire the chrome hub caps and peering in through the side window. The paintwork gleamed and the interior was customised leather. Jimmy was a man of taste. "Manual transmission," he noted, admiringly. "Very nice."
The other guard pup wandered over, attracted by the diversion and wanting a little reflected glory from his association with the object of Spike's admiration. He was ostentatiously tossing a set of car keys up in the air and catching them again.
Leather jacket grimaced in a pantomime of disapproval. "I guess," he said. "I don't much like a stick drive, myself. But Jimmy swears you can get more performance, if you know what you're doing."
Almost there. Spike turned and smiled his understanding. "Yeah. But he's right. Automatics are okay..." He shrugged again. "I suppose it's what you're used to. They're not common where I come from."
The second boy, barely fifteen by the look of him, came closer. "You talk funny," he observed. "Where you from?"
They were right next to him now and he lifted his arms as if he was going to shrug yet again. Before they knew what was happening he had cupped a hand around each of their heads and crashed them together. "England," he said, grabbing the keys from the boy's hand as he went down.
Spike glanced around the street and up towards the door of the building. No sounds of alarm, no one pausing to investigate, just the steady stream of cars driving past. The gang on the corner didn't seem to have noticed anything, either - too busy posing and showing off their street cred. Spike opened the off-side door and piled the two unconscious bodies in the passenger seat, one top of the other, wandered around to the driver's side and got in. As he started the engine he was already planning his route out of the city and remembering a quiet spot on the highway where he could stop for a meal and leave the litter behind.
Next Part
Title: Fooling around with cars
Part 11 of the Blood on a Sundial series. Previous parts, in reverse order, are here or in my memories.
Fandom: BtVS
Prompt: #26 - The Great Unwashed
At:
tamingthemuseDisclaimer: here.
Rating: Pg
Word Count: 868
11. Fooling around with cars
The welcome to Sunnydale sign crashed flat under the wheels and the vehicle skidded to a halt, hard up against the curb. 'Right!' He thought, punching the air and incidentally denting the roof of the car. The satisfaction might be childish, but it never got old. The car was a write-off. It had been fun, but he had his own car stashed away safe at a warehouse on the edge of town. This one meant nothing.
Back in L.A., when sobriety eventually hit, like the proverbial ten ton truck, the loss and sorrow had swamped him again, for a while. But he was the big bad and nothing was going to keep him down for long - not the loss of his sire, not the desertion of his grandsire, again, not despair, not 120 miles, not anything. Plus, there was his whole new purpose to consider.
In that musty motel room, he gathered his armour - Levi's, Docs, duster, half-full bottle of Jack Daniel's - and headed out in search of revenge. Once on the city streets, weaving between the early evening crowds, he only had one thought: 'no fucking car'. It was a rough neighbourhood Angel had dumped him in and he pushed his way through the tide of the great unwashed, searching the streets and alleys for a suitable ride. Most of the vehicles were rust-trap wrecks or flash-boy prick substitutes, painted in such poor taste that there was no way he would be seen in any of them.
Something caught his eye and he paused, cocking his head as he gazed across the road at a couple of young lads hanging around next to a sleek, black late model Thunderbird, with no painted flames running down the wings. They looked to be on guard duty, keeping a wary eye on a gang hanging around on the corner a few hundred yards along the street. Spike dodged through the traffic to cross near them. Once back on the side-walk he slowed his pace to a casual amble and wandered up to them. He caught the eye of the older looking of the two and nodded his head in greeting. "Nice wheels. They yours?" As if. The guy who owned this beauty didn't wear a scuffed leather jacket and faded old jeans.
The boy frowned in annoyance, possibly debating if he could carry off the lie, possibly wondering if Spike was going to cause trouble. Then his face relaxed. It wasn't the first time Spike's lack of height and bulk proved useful and it wouldn't be the last. "Nah, man. This is Jimmy DeNozo's car. So you'd better not touch it, or he won't be happy."
Spike shrugged in apparent acceptance. "Don't know who Jimmy DeNozo is." He shared a glance between them and added, with a conspiratorial smile, "but I guess I don't want to, huh?"
The boy laughed. "Oh, he's okay," he said. "As long as you don't get on his bad side." He turned to look at the door of the building next to them. "He'll be back soon. Just doing some business. He won't mind you looking. As long as you don't touch."
Spike nodded and edged forwards, bending over to admire the chrome hub caps and peering in through the side window. The paintwork gleamed and the interior was customised leather. Jimmy was a man of taste. "Manual transmission," he noted, admiringly. "Very nice."
The other guard pup wandered over, attracted by the diversion and wanting a little reflected glory from his association with the object of Spike's admiration. He was ostentatiously tossing a set of car keys up in the air and catching them again.
Leather jacket grimaced in a pantomime of disapproval. "I guess," he said. "I don't much like a stick drive, myself. But Jimmy swears you can get more performance, if you know what you're doing."
Almost there. Spike turned and smiled his understanding. "Yeah. But he's right. Automatics are okay..." He shrugged again. "I suppose it's what you're used to. They're not common where I come from."
The second boy, barely fifteen by the look of him, came closer. "You talk funny," he observed. "Where you from?"
They were right next to him now and he lifted his arms as if he was going to shrug yet again. Before they knew what was happening he had cupped a hand around each of their heads and crashed them together. "England," he said, grabbing the keys from the boy's hand as he went down.
Spike glanced around the street and up towards the door of the building. No sounds of alarm, no one pausing to investigate, just the steady stream of cars driving past. The gang on the corner didn't seem to have noticed anything, either - too busy posing and showing off their street cred. Spike opened the off-side door and piled the two unconscious bodies in the passenger seat, one top of the other, wandered around to the driver's side and got in. As he started the engine he was already planning his route out of the city and remembering a quiet spot on the highway where he could stop for a meal and leave the litter behind.
Next Part
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no subject
Date: 2007-01-20 05:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-21 05:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-20 06:48 pm (UTC)Just saw NCIS maybe that's where... Anthony "Tony" Dinozzo the last name sounds the same.
Anyway good work.
no subject
Date: 2007-01-21 05:40 pm (UTC)I actually made up the name. I was thinking De Niro, but didn't want to use that. I didn't remember Tony Dinozzo, until after. DeNozo is actually a name - just very rare, probably a misspelling(?) re-spelling(?) of Dinozzo.
no subject
Date: 2007-01-20 06:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-21 05:45 pm (UTC)Thank you for the nice comment. I do like my Spike with a bit of demon in him (well, a lot really) *g*
As for what he plans to do..... I let you know, as soon as I find out.
no subject
Date: 2007-01-20 07:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-21 05:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-21 02:34 am (UTC)But of course he did!
Perfect little cliffhanger. Things go relatively smoothly for the boy for a change. Wonder if his luck will hold... and can't wait to find out. You were very kind to him this week, and I'm sure he appreciates it. *grins*
Something caught his eye and he paused, cocking his head as he gazed across the road at a couple of young lads hanging around next to a sleek, black late model Thunderbird, with no painted flames running down the wings.
Yes. This is just right. I can just see the pause, head to the side. I'm smiling as I sit and re-read the words. Very nicely delivered.
Well done. Let's hope this week's prompt continues to work!
no subject
Date: 2007-01-21 05:51 pm (UTC)Thank you for the comment about him spotting the car. That head tilt is *so* quintessentially Spike, isn't it.
no subject
Date: 2007-01-22 07:29 pm (UTC)But my favourite phrase was definitely "flash-boy prick substitutes" That just made me laugh like crazy.
Excellent update love. Now he's back in good old Sunnyhell things are going to get very interesting me thinks!
no subject
Date: 2007-01-23 06:08 am (UTC)Yes, interesting. I hope so. I just wish he'd tell me what he has planned. *g*
no subject
Date: 2007-06-06 04:22 am (UTC)Thanks for the lovely words, C
no subject
Date: 2007-06-07 04:46 am (UTC)Thanks for reading and commenting.
no subject
Date: 2008-11-11 08:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-11-12 06:15 am (UTC)Thank you.