thismaz | Prompt 107 - Arrival

My question earlier in the week, about spelling, garnered more comments than any story I've written. Are y'all trying to tell me something there? *g* (kidding, okay?)

I've been off work this week and this here is my 100th consecutive post to

tamingthemuse. I think I might bow out, once I get my two years in. It's been fun, but I fancy the luxury of having more than a day to write, so I can polish up my stories a bit, at least for a while.

Title: Arrival
Fandom: BtVS
Prompt: 107 - In absentia
Rating: Teen
Summary: Spike and Dru arrive in town
Some dialogue borrowed courtesy of http://www.twiztv.com/scripts/
Word Count: 2,915
Disclaimer: here.

Arrival

For a moment, as they roared down the hill, Spike wondered if knocking over the road sign was worth risking more damage to the paintwork, but a quick glance at Dru, slumped in the passenger's seat, decided him.

"Hey babe," he shouted, over the noise of the engine and the music blasting from the stereo. "Look out, here it comes!"

He veered smoothly to the right and aimed straight at one of the support poles. As they hit the verge the rear wheels spun on the loose earth and he applied more acceleration. The old car rose to the occasion. Finding its traction again it ploughed straight through the 'Welcome to Sunnydale' sign and knocked it flat. He let out a yell of triumph and accelerated into town, brought them to a screeched halt in front of a small patch of waste ground and switched off the engine. Hands braced on the wheel in the sudden quiet, it took him a full second to realise that Dru hadn't squealed with delight at his antics, that she hadn't, in fact, made a sound. Looking across at her, he saw that she hadn't even raised her head to watch.

Swallowing his frustration at her sickliness he reached over and stroked the back of one finger down her cheek. "You missed it," he said. Her eyes flicked to his face, but he couldn't read their expression before she had withdrawn into herself again and was staring blindly at the black painted windscreen. With a sigh he gently brushed a lock of hair back from her face. "Stay in the car, love," he suggested. "I'll go see what's what."

Dru turned her head then, pressing into his caress as she gazed solemnly up at him. His heart tore a little at the expression of weary resignation on her face. "Once you're well again," he said fiercely, "we'll drive across America, burning every town we pass to the ground until we reach New York. You remember the smell of terrified humanity in a burning town, don't you, pet? We'll drink our fill everywhere we stop, until we can't drink any more. You'll like that, won't you?"

His words didn't seem to penetrate her preoccupation because her reply wasn't really an answer. "I'm not hungry," she complained. "I miss Prague."

"You nearly died in Prague!" he growled. He took a steadying breath and let most of it out again; he wasn't going to shout, he wasn't, so he didn't need that much air in his lungs. "No," he continued firmly, "this is the place for us. The Hellmouth will restore you - put colour in your cheeks, metaphorically speaking." He smiled encouragingly, but the corners of her mouth merely drooped further. "There's power here, you said it yourself." He bent down and dropped a soft kiss on her forehead. "Just you wait and see," he added as he opened his door. "This place will restore you."

Dru raised her hand towards his face, her movements slow and laboured. "Shh. Shh," she whispered. "You'll make it right. I know. There's lots of things here - all sorts of pretty toys." She smiled faintly. "My Angel's here."

Spike paused, one foot already on the road outside; that was news. Briefly he wondered if Dru had known her sire's location, before she suggested the Hellmouth as a place to help with her cure. Then he shrugged. It didn't matter. Whether she had or not, it was him she was with and it was with him she'd remain. Angel didn't want anything to do with either of them.

Getting out of the car he pulled his fag packet out of his pocket as he strolled over to the curb. One deep breath to absorb the scents of the place and locate his destination, before he polluted the atmosphere with burning tobacco, then he set off in the direction of the building carrying the strongest marker.

He threw his half smoked cigarette away when he was still more than twenty yards from the warehouse and continued with more care after that. A quick scout around the perimeter showed that there was only one guard and he silenced him with a simple knife slice across his larynx before knocking him out. He wouldn't die, but it would be a while before he'd be able to push meaningful sounds through his voice box. Considering the way Spike had been able to creep up behind him without his noticing, it would have been easy to kill him, but until he'd taken his measure of this anointed character Spike didn't want to create too much of a ruckus by killing off all the drones. He dragged the unconscious vampire around the side of the building, out of sight of the door, and digging in his pockets pulled out a couple of lengths of piano wire. One went around the minion's wrists, tying them together behind his back. Opening his victim's trousers, he wrapped the other around his balls and stretched it down to attach to his shoe laces. As long as the fool didn't move too suddenly on first waking up, he wouldn't be singing soprano once he got his voice back.

Climbing quietly to his feet and keeping his back to the wall, Spike edged around the corner towards the now unguarded door. It was closed, but there was a faint chink of yellow light showing around its ill fitting edges. He reached out and carefully twisted the knob, pushing the door open while standing off to the side, protected by the brick of the wall. No crossbow bolt skimmed past him, nor was there any sound to suggest he had triggered some other trap. He let out a silent sigh of relief. The Master may have had the raising of this one, but it would appear that he hadn't passed on all his tricks.

Pulling out his fags and lighter, Spike lit another. He took a deep breath in and expelled a long plume of pungent grey smoke into the room, reckoning that, with such an intro, the king and his courtiers would be instantly alerted to his presence. Then, hitching the lapels of his coat to straighten it on his shoulders, he stepped through the door and swaggered inside.

The room beyond was dark, except for a single area in the centre which was lit by fluorescents hanging low from the high ceiling. As he walked forwards Spike avoided looking directly at the lights, gazing around with an apparently casual air that allowed him to log the number and location of all those present. It was a surprise to see Angel, held between two minions who each had a grip on one of his shoulders. Not that their efforts at restraint were necessary, considering the way his grandsire was wrapped in chains from his upper arms to his kneecaps.

A long, stringy minion in a shapeless grey jacket that looked more like an old man's cardie, was pacing around under the central light, holding forth before the boy king who was seated on an oil drum throne. He seemed to have been talking for a while, which might explain why, in spite of all Spike's efforts, no one had noticed him yet. Spike paused to listen.

"On the night of St. Vigeous," stringy shanks was saying, "our power shall be at its peak. When I kill her, it'll be the greatest event since the crucifixion. And I should know. I was there."

That was just too much. Spike almost burst out laughing. He managed to hold it back, but then he thought, 'what the hell' and did it anyway. He walked up behind the speechifier. "You were there?" he asked with a derisive snort to show what he thought of that claim. "Oh, please! If every vampire who said he was at the crucifixion was actually there, it would've been like Woodstock."

The string bean spun around. "I oughta rip your throat out," he growled.

Raising his cigarette to his lips Spike took another long drag, before walking past his challenger, dismissing him in the most insulting way possible.

Although focused primarily on the small figure of their promised saviour, Spike still managed to keep an eye on the rest of the crowd, for signs of a possible attack. "I was actually at Woodstock," he continued conversationally. "That was a weird gig. I fed off a flower person and spent the next six hours watchin' my hand move." Just to illustrate the point, he raised his hand to chest level and waved it through the air, miming the flow of water in a brook.

A small movement by the child king alerted Spike to danger behind him, even if Angel's gasp as he sucked in breath hadn't been sufficient warning. He swung his arm up and hit his attacker on the chin with his fist, without looking, knocking him down and out. A couple of the other courtiers took unconscious half steps backwards and, reassured by that that another attempt was not imminent, Spike paused.

He could continue to approach the throne, or he could reinforce the lesson. Cocking his head and raising one eyebrow, he looked over at the child who gave an almost imperceptible nod. Spike shrugged and nodded back. Spinning on his heel he returned to the fallen vampire.

Standing next to the man, Spike studied his face, watching the sluggish trickle of blood work its way down his cheek from his smashed nose. Stupid bugger deserved what he was about to get for thinking he could ambush Spike. Turning his head slowly, so he was staring the child straight in the eyes, he raised his right foot and brought it down on the fallen minion's head as hard as he could. There was a cracking sound, followed by a squelching, and when Spike stepped back the minion's face was gone and his brains, mixed with splintered bits of bone, were making a mess of the floor.

Spike wiped the bottom of his boot on the grey jacket and returned his attention to the boy. "So, who else d'you kill for fun 'round here?" he asked. Beside him the body collapsed in upon itself, leaving nothing but a smear of ash on the concrete.

The child glanced around at the rest of his gathered followers, but they weren't going to jump until he gave them a direct order and, as Spike had known, he wasn't going to do that yet. The silence was just beginning to stretch uncomfortably when the child spoke for the first time. "Who are you?" he asked.

Spike smiled. "Spike," he replied, making it clear that that should be enough to inform anybody of his identity. "And you're that Anointed guy. I read about you. What's going on here, then? What're you doin' with Angelus?"

A stocky black vampire dressed in some sort of fancy dress parody of Russian peasant wear stepped to the edge of the clear space around Spike. "Angel," he corrected, "has been found guilty of the crime of fratricide."

Angel struggled in his chains. He didn't have a hope of getting free.

Spike allowed a pleased smirk to twist his lips. "Yeah? Neat! Have a trial did you?"

The Russian growled, "Yes!" just as Angel found his voice at last and shouted, "No!" Spike returned his attention to the child and raised an eyebrow in question.

The Anointed One looked back and forth between the Russian and Angel a couple of times before turning back to Spike. "He was found guilty in absentia," he announced. He might have thought he was explaining to the interloper, but it sounded to Spike more like an attempt at justification. His voice was high pitched with prepubescent bravado. The words were enunciated with the precision of one who has been coached without understanding, and Spike could hear the uncertainty behind them. This one may be powerful, but he was young - never intended to come into his own so soon and totally unprepared for the role of leader that had been thrust upon him.

Spike smirked and took another step forward. "Big words for a little man," he observed. "Studied Latin at school, did you?"

The black Russian growled at the obvious insult, but before he could move all eyes were suddenly focused on a point behind Spike's back. Spike spun around, ready for an attack and wondering who had managed to move without him noticing, but he froze when he saw Dru tottering into the light.

Immediately he went to her, placing a hand carefully around her shoulders, in case she needed support. "Drusilla," he crooned. "You shouldn't be walking around. You're weak."

Dru took no notice. "Look at all the people," she said. Her voice had that dreamy quality she adopted to disarm the unwary and Spike felt a wave of relief wash through him. "Are these nice people?"

Spike gave a small chuckle. "We're getting along."

Staring at the Anointed One, Dru nodded absently. "This one has power. I could feel it from the outside."

"Yeah. He's the big noise in these parts. Anointed, and all that."

She pulled away from him and stepped closer to the boy. "Do you like daisies?" she asked in a confidential tone, as if she was imparting some special secret. "I plant them, but they always die. Everything I put in the ground withers and dies." She gazed around, apparently noticing where she was for the first time. Her eyes passed over her audience without stopping. She didn't even allow them to pause on her sire. "Spike?" she moaned. "I'm cold."

Stripping off his coat, Spike placed it around her shoulders. "I've got you," he promised.

Dru smiled up into his face. "I'm a princess," she said, her voice was still dreamy and light, but there was a message in her eyes.

Holding her carefully Spike nodded. "That's what you are."

She turned into his embrace, raising a hand to his face. With one sharp finger nail she scored down his left cheek, drawing blood and raising herself onto her tiptoes she reached up and licked it off. Spike felt a shiver of familiar desire and leant down towards her mouth. Just as their foreheads touched, they both turned their heads and instead of kissing they stared over at the Anointed One.

"Me and Dru," Spike announced, "we're movin' in." Pulling back from his sire, he turned to the rest of the gathering. "Now, any of you want to test who's got the biggest wrinklies 'round here... step on up." No one moved.

Spike folded his arms across his chest and walked over to the boy king. "I know what you are," he observed. "Powerful, yeah, but you've still got dirt under your finger nails." The kid looked confused and even raised his hands to inspect his fingers, before he registered Spike's meaning and looked back up at him with a scowl. Spike didn't give him time to get angry. He needed to keep the whole lot of them off balance. "Lots of chanting, yeah?" he asked. "Lots of prayers and other mumbo jumbo?" Bringing his hands apart he pulled a stake free of the sheath strapped to the inside of his right forearm. His right hand shot out and grasped the child's throat, tipping him onto his back across the top of the oil drum and he brought the stake in his left hand down squarely into the child's heart.

As the dust settled Spike glared around the room, making sure he caught the eye of every single one of the remaining minions. "Not a move," he said. "Not a peep. Not a whisper." When none of them attacked he slipped the stake back into its sheath and rubbed his hands together gleefully. "Good. From now on, we're gonna have a little less ritual... and a little more fun around here. Anyone got a problem with that?"

The gathered minions all shook their heads, a few of them backing away. He allowed those that wanted to run, to get out. It didn't do any harm to have the story of tonight's doings broadcast around the Hellmouth. Returning to Dru, he snaked his arm around her waist and pulled her in to his left side. Turning at last to Angel, he smiled. "Why is it," he asked, "that every time I see you lately, I'm rescuing your arse?"

Angel struggled inside his cocoon of chains. "What?" he asked. He sounded confused. "You haven't seen me lately at all."

Spike scratched his cheek where Dru had drawn blood; the cut had already closed. "On the sub," he explained. "Remember? You'd have been dead meat without me there." Drawing on Dru's right hand he pulled her around to face him and she spun with him into a couple of waltz steps. "Did I ever tell you the story of the submarine, pet?" he asked.

She lifted her left hand off his shoulder and stroked it up his cheek, through his hair to the back of his neck and pulled his head towards her for a brief kiss. "You tell me all your clever stories," she replied. Smiling broadly she snapped her teeth together in a playful, mock attack on his nose. "Shall you unwind Daddy from his web now?"

Spike laughed. "Sure, pet, why not?" Helping her to sit on the vacated throne, since she was still weak for all that she could put on a show, he gestured to the minions holding Angel prisoner and they immediately began to undo the chains.

"So, tell me 'bout this Slayer," Spike said. "Is she tough?"