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Saturday, September 10th, 2005
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11:30 pm - Quiet
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Not much more'n two weeks ago, you couldn't walk to a bloody 7-11 in this burg without gettin' nipped by a soddin' vamp or three.
These new wankers, they were sloppy. Never even tried t'hide that their victims were put upon by a vampire. Just rip their necks open an' have at 'em. Sloppy.
Catch 'em after th' deed, just follow 'em back to their nests, dust th' whole lot of 'em at once. Sloppy.
But now...all quiet on th' Western front.
Don't need t'remind nobody of what that means, when these rubes go quiet. Usually means troubles on th' horizon, if not already parked at th' local Holiday Inn.
Folks got quiet 'round th' time me an' Dru first blew into town, long time ago. Got quiet when that Stone wanker thought he was somethin' special, too. And Sunnydale went abso-friggin'-lutely silent when Angelus showed up. Both times.
Come t'think of it, whenever somethin' bad's comin', that's usually when all the vamps crawl under a rock somewhere an' wait for a winner 'tween them an' the Slayer.
Something's on th' wind. Can smell it in the air, feel it in my blood. Somethin' nasty on the way.
Bring it on, then. Tired of this waitin' bollocks.
current mood:  anxious
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| Friday, August 26th, 2005
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8:25 pm - Action
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Nightlife's been a li'l more active this week. More vampires 'round lately. Lots of li'l nests here an' there.
Could be on account of Richie Boy. Maybe not. Bloke had a habit of hirin' help that liked t'work nights.
Or maybe there's somethin' else stirrin' these days.
Not like that never happens on a bloody hellmouth.
Been waitin' on word from th' Slayer. She's bound t'dig up enough t'decide whether or not t'hit Richie where it counts, what with Rupert eggin' her on an' Cap'n America providin' recon.
'Bout time th' ponce made himself useful.</a>
An' if she doesn't? There looks t'be enough goin' on t'keep a bloke from gettin' bored.
current mood: predatory
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| Tuesday, August 23rd, 2005
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12:25 am - Stirrin' the pot...
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Didn't know Rupert was such a bloodthirsty git.
I wasn't around th' last time that Wilkins ponce decided t'go on meltdown. I was busy chasin' Dru 'round Europe after she ripped out my bloody heart thought she'd get uppity with ol' Spike. So all I got's what I hear from Buffy an' the Slayerettes 'bout what went down, and I get that he's bad news.
Find 'em, pound 'em, bury 'em. Sounded like a good plan. Fun, too.
Just didn't expect Rupert t'suggest it.
'Course, that's not how things shook out at his powwow th' other night. Buffy an' Harris played Jiminy Cricket an' voted for a more rational route t'deal with this wanker. Don't know how Rupe's been dealin' with it, but I wasn't too torqued.
After all, Slayer wants information. Best way t'get information is by beatin' it outta th' tossers who look like they oughta have it.
Unfortunately for th' White Hats, ain't much known on the demon-and-vampire front. Either they don't know, or they're not talkin'. Could be good, could be bad. But I reckon it's a good idea t'keep askin'.
Most fun I've had in weeks, mate.
Aside from that, though, I've been gettin' pretty bloody irritated lately, with all these looney twits followin' me around. First was that London bird that was taggin' alongside Buffy an' Red lately. Bad enough she turned into my shadow for a few nights, but when she decided t'play stalker, I almost staked th' bint outta spite.
And then there was that Andrew wanker, who caused some trouble a ways back. Run across him one night an' he starts spoutin' off that he's goin' away on some soddin' quest or somesuch. Not really sure what he was blabberin' on about, but I think th' gist was that he was leavin' town. Good riddance, I say.
And what the bloody hell is a Gimili, anyway...?
current mood: predatory
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| Saturday, August 13th, 2005
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2:15 am - Almost ashamed t'have fangs these days...
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Soddin' rookies.
Y'go out on patrol, y'find a bunch of vamps in this burg, y'expect a decent scrap, right? At least one or two of 'em's bound t'be a pisser t'put down. That's just bloody percentages.
But these tossers we been runnin' across on patrol lately? Not even enough t'break a sweat. If I still had t'sweat, of course.
Almost makes a bloke embarrassed t'be undead.
Don't help matters when they all go skittish, start runnin' around their li'l holes in the walls, as if they've been suckin' more double-pump mocha lattes lately than Happy Meals with legs. Y'say "Boo" an' they jump twelve feet high. Almost think something's got 'em scared...'sides th' Slayer, anyway.
An' speakin' of the bloody Slayer, what the hell's with that bird what's been taggin' along with her these days? Buggered in th' brain, that one is. Reminds me of Dru, an' I'm not talkin' in a nostalgiac kinda way.
Doesn't help matters that she stares at my hair all th' bloody time, either.
Hear tell Rupert's gone and called a powwow for the Slayerettes about the ol' Hizzoner. Might sit in on that one. Oughta be interesting t'see if any of those tossers got th' stones to do what needs t'be done, or if they're gonna hold hands and get all group sing about him.
But if that bird's around again an' she starts starin' at my noggin, I'm done.
current mood:  irritated
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| Tuesday, August 2nd, 2005
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12:55 am - There y'go...
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Was wonderin' when th' other shoe was gonna drop 'round here.
Guess this wanker qualifies.
Wasn't in town when he got his panties in a twist an' pulled his own Big Bad routine. Actually, I'm surprised we never crossed swords th' year before, what with me an' Dru an' Peaches runnin' around.
But I reckon if he's back, 'specially a few years after th' Slayer turned him into sauteed rattlesnake...well, things like that don't exactly mean sunshine an' rainbows 'round here.
Figure things are about t'get sticky.
current mood: predatory
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| Thursday, July 7th, 2005
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12:05 am - Change in the Air
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Trouble's comin'.
I can smell it. On th' air. Somethin' wicked this way comes, boys an' girls.
Been havin' a quiet time of it, lately. Nothin' really gruesome crawlin' around. Nothin' nasty tryin' t'pull an apocalypse outta their arse.
Right boring, if y'ask me. Which nobody did. Tossers.
Ever since I got back from LaLa Land an' Peaches' eternal ray of bloody sunshine, I've been itchin' for a good scrap. All I've been able to stir up, though, was a bunch of squatters in my crypt an' a N'med demon out near th' docks.
An old N'med demon, t'boot. Not even worth workin' up a sweat for, really.
Heard there was a mess with a buncha th' li'l bit's mates...but I stayed outta that one. Too much trouble tied t'that bloody high school for my tastes.
But I've got a feelin' in my gut that whatever those anklebiters had goin' on will be tiddlywinks compared t'what's comin' upwind.
'Bout bloody time I was able to work these kinks out again.
current mood: predatory
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| Thursday, June 23rd, 2005
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1:40 am - Predictability
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Been back in Sunnydale for a few days now.
Had t'clean up th' crypt since I got some bloody squatters. Restock th' fridge an' all that nonsense. An' it's not like folks thought I was dead, like with Peaches and th' Slayer. Just goes t'show how far my soddin' rep has fallen 'round here.
Haven't had much in th' way of demons or an apocalypse or anything like that since I got back from La La Land. Truth be told, I'm somewhat surprised th' whole bloody town didn't just up an' nuke itself. But then, I figure one Slayer's as good as th' other when it comes t'protectin' the Hellmouth.
Not t'say it's been all quiet on th' western front. Still get wind of some vampire wankers causin' trouble every now an' then. Strictly stake-and-run kinda things. Nothing earth-shatterin'.
I hear talk that th' high school prom got in a twist, too, but I figure I'd've heard if th' li'l bit got herself in a bind.
If I didn't think it'd jinx this burg back to th' Stone Age, I'd say it was gettin' pretty bloody boring 'round here. If it didn't mean th' world would end, I'd almost wanna ask for somebody t'hit town, lookin' t'stir th' pot.
After all, I'll be buggered if Peaches an' Midnight have more fun than me back in Hell-A.
current mood:  bored
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| Saturday, June 11th, 2005
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5:35 pm - 'Bout bloody time!
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Got a phone call from Harris th' other day, tellin' me to expect company in a bit. Seems Peaches had managed t'get un-lost, so he an' his brood crew were headin' home.
'Course, not all his mates were headin' back. Oz was already here. Faith's gone on walkabout. And Gunn...well, don't think he's in a place t'be fussin' right now.
Few hours later, they come in, lookin' ragged an' glarin' daggers at Peaches. 'Cept for Harmony, who started makin' th' goo-goo eyes at Nerd Boy once she found out 'bout his oversized...bankroll.
Match made in bloody Heaven, that is.
So Peaches comes over, says I can go home t'Sunnydale. No handshake, no pat on th' back. Bloody ponce didn't even say "thank you" for lookin' after his city, an' better'n him, I might add.
Thought that might've been why he was a touch raw 'bout matters. Bloke doesn't like bein' shown up, an' all that. But Oz mentioned in passin' that it turns out that when Gunn and Red were muckin' about in th' past, Peaches was th' one who did ol' Chuckie in, when he was in his Angelus state o' mind. Which, all things considered, might make a fellow a bit short-tempered.
Normally it'd give me a warm fuzzy t'see Peaches twistin' in th' wind like that...but even that was a bit on th' harsh side. Felt a little guilty afterwards for jabbin' at him like I did.
Though I'll be buggered if I tell him that.
So, since I wasn't needed in the City of Angels anymore, thanks t'Sheriff Peaches ridin' back into town, I headed back home t'where a bloke can tell what's a demon and what's a bloody botox job gone rotten. Good riddance t'that city. Didn't get a chance t'give those lawyer wankers a good comeuppance, but they'll get theirs when the wheel goes 'round.
An' if I'm lucky, maybe Midnight'll decide t'stick around an' not come back t'Sunnydale. Better with Peaches than anywhere 'round me, I say.
'Course, haven't had much chance t'rest on my laurels. Had t'sweep out a nest of vamps who'd decided t'claim my place for theirs. Th' soddin' nerve of some blokes...I mean, that's just bloody rude. Tossers.
Messy, too. Bloody hell. Gonna be sweepin' cheese doodles outta here for weeks.
current mood: aggravated
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| Sunday, May 22nd, 2005
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12:00 pm - Bloody technological garbage...
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TO: oz@angelinvestigations.net
FROM: sodoffyoubint@hotmail.com
RE: Help
Oz--
Sorry it's been so long in getting back to you, mate. Been trying to call you at Buffy's house, but the bloody telephone line is always busy. Figured the little bit was tying up the line with tales of teenage woe.
Was not too keen on seeing Soldier Boy show up unannounced. Good egg, I reckon -- and I'll trust you not to pass that along -- but I'm still a little testy when it comes to the bloke, given that that he's tried to kill me on more than one occasion. I only leave him alone on account of his snogging the Slayer, otherwise he and I would've gone round and round ages ago.
In any case, he found whatever he was looking for, as you probably know by now. So I figure you lot are well on your way to bringing Peaches back from the void. Never thought I'd say it, but the sooner, the better. He can have this bloody cesspool of a city. Better him than me.
As to your question, would welcome some sane help around these parts. Since Harris went back home, it's just been me with Wood (AKA Wanker #1) and Nabbit (AKA Wanker #2). Bloody painful. Though Wanker #2's been more tolerable ever since he got thrown through a wall here face-first. So, if you're so inclined to come back to LaLa Land, would not turn you away.
Hopefully this gets to you. Have tried five times and gotten error messages every time. Would have tossed the bloody computer out to the curb if I didn't think Wanker #2 would cry like a little girl. Take it from someone who's seen a lot of it, sometimes progress isn't what it's cracked up to be.
Tell the others good luck, especially Red and Blondie.
--Spike
P.S. Remind me to tell you about the Z'ra'el demons next time I see you. Bloody disgusting. Turned Wood a couple of shades of green. Good times.
current mood: cranky
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| Monday, May 9th, 2005
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10:35 pm - Wankers, wankers everywhere...
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Not happy here.
Bad enough havin' t'deal with Midnight on a daily basis. But now who pops into town but G.I. Joe himself?
'Least Midnight makes for good cannon fodder. Finn's bloody worthless.
As evidenced by his runnin' off t'find something of Peaches' t'help bring him home. Bloke thought he was bein' a big shot, when he's so dense he didn't figure out they gave him Harris' old job as Errand Boy. Wonder if they asked him t'bring back donuts, too.
So now Finn's goin' through everything, tryin' t'find something Red an' Blondie can use. I guess bottles of hair gel won't cut th' bloody mustard when it comes to th' mojo.
Bollocks. Even Nerd Boy's not this irritatin'.
current mood: aggravated
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| Thursday, May 5th, 2005
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2:00 am - Right, then...
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Guess that book Faith an' Twiggy came t'grab worked out, after all.
Got a phone call from Harris earlier. He said Blondie'd been able t'use Dawn's blood t'help grab hold of Buffy an' Anya an' dump 'em back home. Not too keen on 'em usin' th' li'l bit like that, but as long as it didn't hurt her, I suppose everybody got what they wanted outta th' deal, what with folks comin' home an' all.
Almost enough t'make me forgive Harris from roustin' me from my nap, in fact.
Still some blokes missin', though, so I figure Blondie'll keep th' home fires burnin' for th' rest of 'em...though it wouldn't bother me none if she blew out whatever candles in th' window she's got for Peaches. On th' other hand, I'm gettin' right sick of Midnight's holier-than-thou attitude, so maybe it'd be fine if th' twit came back an' took back his town.
If it wasn't for Midnight, I'd be havin' a right fun time of it. And I haven't even started in on those lawyer wankers for what they did a few months back.
So maybe if Blondie doesn't find Peaches right off, it's not altogether a bad deal...
current mood:  relieved
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| Wednesday, April 27th, 2005
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12:20 am - Bollocks.
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Wanker wants t'stick around.
Don't think there's much I can do t'change his mind.
An' truth be told, with Harris gone back t'Sunnydale an' Nerd Boy still limpin' around...wouldn't be wise t'turn away cannon fodder help.
Not t'say I couldn't go it alone, of course. So don't go thinkin' I'm soft.
Matter of fact...just got a call 'bout some kinda vamp problem out in Covina. Figure me an' Woodsie, we'll handle it.
Good a time as any t'see if he really wants t'stick around.
current mood: irritated
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| Wednesday, April 13th, 2005
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11:35 pm - Bugger.
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Well, isn't this a kick to th' knickers.
Find out Cap'n Midnight wasn't spillin' everything on this Lomboko wanker. Par for th' course with him, as it happens.
Then Lomboko himself shows up here in th' bloody hotel, fire in his eyes, lookin' t'turn Wood into his own private Slinky toy. Just by default, me an' Harris get in between 'em, but that lasts for about a minute 'fore we get trounced, but good.
Wake up t'find we've had our fat pulled outta th' fire by Faith and Twiggy, who just happened t'pick right then t'come fetch some book from Wesley's private stash. Everybody's alive an' Lomboko's dust, though Twitchy got a bit too acquainted with th' office walls.
A bit odd, th' timing on it all. But then, I feel like I used t'see this stuff once a week.
This book th' birds were lookin' for? Supposed t'help bring back everyone who got buggered a while back, includin' Buffy an' unfortunately Peaches. They got off on this book kick when Red popped back, which proves they're out "there" somewhere an' not dead.
Well...most of 'em, anyway. Turns out Red got jiggered out with Charlie Boy, an' he didn't make it back with her. Don't know th' details, as th' ladies weren't exactly burstin' t'chat about it. Damn shame. Liked th' lad. Good in a scrap.
Anyway, on hearin' about Red, Harris puts his broody Peaches imitation in his pocket an' decides t'ship on back home with th' birds. He pulled his weight while he was here, which is th' only reason I don't rip him a new arse for leavin' me alone with Nerd Boy.
Speakin' of bein' here alone, now we gotta figure out what t'do with Woodsie. After all, the wanker gunnin' for him's been tagged, so he doesn't need anybody watchdoggin' him. Far as I'm concerned, he can hobble on outta here, th' sooner, th' better.
An' if he takes Nabbit with him, all th' better.
So...what's next 'round these parts? I'm eager for a scrap where I don't get walloped 'fore th' end of Round One.
current mood: annoyed
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| Tuesday, April 5th, 2005
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1:40 am - Now th' real fun starts...
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Got a bit of bad news th' other day when Wood finally decided t'wake up.
Aside from th' fact th' wanker woke up at all, that is.
Seems he went an' riled up some tosser outta Vegas, vampire bigwig name of Lomboko. Turns out Lomboko runs pretty much everything in Sin City, and ol' Woodsie went an' pissed him off.
Turns out Lomboko isn't as forgivin' as I am.
Gotta hand it to Wood. He knows how t'pick some hellacious fights.
So now we're all on pindrop alert 'round here, since we didn't let Wood bleed all over th' carpet an' we know Lomboko won't just let what his goons did stand as a warning. We're probably gonna get a visit from his bloody collection agency any day now.
Y'see, this is exactly why I oughta be allowed t'be a bastard every once in a while.
Even if we manage t'keep Wood's neck from swingin' on top of some Vegas hotel, I've got a feeling there's more'n meets the eye here.
Wood's keepin' something quiet.
Which, I don't have a problem with. Long as it doesn't cause any problems. Then I'll beat it outta him myself.
Best t'see if Lomboko'd be willin' t'pay anything first, though. No harm in askin', if it comes t'that.
current mood: annoyed
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| Thursday, March 17th, 2005
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11:50 pm - Luck o' the Irish
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Bloody hell.
Was lookin' forward to throwin' back a few pints tonight, seein' as it's St. Patrick's Day an' all. Fine time t'be out carousin'.
But nooo.
It's not 'cause I'm th' resident bloody champion in this town these days. I'm pretty sure even Peaches didn't live like of a soddin' priest all th' time, so I'm sure as hell not wastin' a chance t'get good an' plastered.
But...
I'm on wanker duty.
Coulda done without him walkin' collapsin' through th' door th' other night, sayin' somebody's out t'nick him an' that he's lookin' for Angel. Coulda done without ever seein' the tosser again, after the mess him an' Finn pulled back in Sunnydale.
Though it was funny t'see Rich Boy squirmin' like an underfoot fish when Wood fell on him.
Much as I hate t'say it, though...can't turn him out, much as he probably deserves a good swift kick to th' curb. Bloke comes lookin' for help, bloke gets helped. It's what Peaches would do, right?
'Course, Peaches might have second thoughts, too, if Mr. Principal'd tried t'shove a stake in his arse.
An' I don't plan on lettin' Woodsie here live down th' fact that it's gonna be me haulin' his fat outta th' fire. Once he wakes up...wanker might wish whoever'd rolled him woulda finished th' job, if he's gonna owe me one down th' road.
Still steamed over not gettin' out tonight, though. Hell, even Harris took off tonight t'go...somewhere. Probably went t'drown his sorrows in a pint of green beer.
Best not t'think about pints. Just get me rankled again...
current mood: thirsty
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| Sunday, March 13th, 2005
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1:20 am - Sod off.
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I've had it. This is th' last bloody time I get left alone with Space Cadet. If I get a choice between dealin' with him an' lettin' the world go down th' loo, then flush away, mate.
He's been wanderin' in and out of this place the past three bloody days. Poppin' into th' office. Walkin' through th' lobby. He's like a bloody nightcrawler, just appearin' when you least expect it.
And he's always yammerin' about some random thing or another. Yesterday he comes in and and starts rattlin' off the names of his vampire movies, askin' if I'd seen any of 'em. Like I'd give a toss.
Though I'd personally like t'hang that Anne Rice bitch for makin' my kind look like a bunch of bleedin' pansies.
I'm honestly surprised Peaches gave him th' time of day, really. Back in th' day, he'd've been lunch after about sixteen seconds. Guess he also got a better sense of patience with that shiny soul of his.
Harris has it easy. He decided t'go down to th' basement an' track down whatever's been shufflin' around in the air conditioning. Probably somethin' nasty down there...more'n likely'll hear him screamin' for help any minute now.
Lucky bastard.
current mood: irritated
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| Tuesday, March 8th, 2005
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4:10 pm - Alive
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Buffy's alive, accordin' t'Harris, accordin' t'Blondie.
Well, prob'ly not now. News means less'n nothing unless someone gets th' stones t'get her an' her travelin' companions back to th' here an' now. Otherwise, might be lookin' t'head to Europe t'pay respects to a grave marker somewhere.
But, it means they weren't killed by that Rayne wanker, either.
Had a feelin' gettin' rid of Peaches wouldn't be that easy. Tosser's got a lucky streak th' size of Australia.
Still means there's no one mindin' th' store here in Hollyweird, except for me an' Harris...an' Space Case. Suits me just fine, that does. Plenty of brawlin' left t'go around.
Good bit o' news t'hear, though. Damn good.
current mood: relieved
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| Wednesday, March 2nd, 2005
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12:00 am - You've gotta be kiddin' me...
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Gettin' bloody tired of steppin' over Richie Rich lately.
Bugger practically invited himself along on patrols. Yeah, so he's pluggin' money away at diff'rent things around this place...decent computer system, security in case any nasties come callin', that sort of thing. But he's been hangin' around th' bloody hotel every day, yammerin' away like some li'l bit on a sugar high.
Isn't there an office or something he can go to an' annoy people there?
...seven hells, here he comes again.
Sod it. Gonna kill him.
...
Nope. Wouldn't be right. Don't think anyone'd blame me, but it wouldn't be right. After all, if Peaches could put up with him, so can I. Damned if this'll get th' best of me.
Bloody hell, never thought I'd meet someone more annoying than Harris.
Speakin' of which...lad's doin' all right by himself. Always thought he was a wisecrack away from gettin' his neck snapped by Rupert or someone else with more common sense, but nowadays...well, let's just say I owe him a couple, since we got here, him watchin' my back an' all.
He could stand t'lighten up, though. He's makin' Peaches look absolutely looney tunes by comparison. Though, with what's happened lately...not much reason t'smile, I suppose.
Oh, for th' love of...
Can somebody tell this gibberin' twit with a fat checkbook that I've never heard of, nor do I give a toss about, anything called "Deep Space Nine"?
current mood: aggravated
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| Thursday, February 17th, 2005
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1:55 am - Tough Crowd
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Shoulda done this years ago.
Was in this town for a spell a few years back, right before Finn's mates snatched me up an' put that chip in my noggin, lookin' for a trinket that Peaches had tucked away.
Wasn't a fan of Los Angeles then.
I wound up back this way a few months ago, not of my own choice, but 'cause a buncha soddin' lawyer-types were pokin' around Sunnydale an' decided t'start a Spike collection. Not many more things in this world're as humiliatin' as havin' t'let Peaches help you out of a pickle. Soon after that, I got tangled up with some possessed li'l rugrat who needed an attitude adjustment.
Still wasn't a fan of this bloody town.
Now? Me an' Harris are down here, helpin' the bloody helpless. Rightin' wrongs. Playin' the big damn heroes.
L.A.'s not so bad th' third time 'round.
'Course, I won't lie here an' say it's all been peas an' carrots. Folks in this burg don't have any shortage of problems dealin' with the wrong kinda nightlife. Soddin' phones won't stop their ringin', and that's not considerin' all the bloody messages folks were leavin' after Peaches and his mates went on walkabout.
But it's been like my own private fight club with some of these demon wankers. Demon after vampire after...well, whatever those things were. Set 'em up, knock 'em around.
And I get paid.
Is this a right beautiful world, or what?
Harris, though, has a point. We could use a li'l extra oomph around here. Peaches and them had their way, but it's time for bigger, faster, better.
Plus, I don't fancy playin' secretary the rest of my eternal life.
He said he was bringin' a bloke in he thinks could help out a little. Called in a favor or somethin'...I dunno. Long as things keep comin' up roses 'round here, he can bring in a bloody squad of cheerleaders for a group shag, for all I care.
Like the man on the telly sings, I love L.A.
current mood: predatory
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| Sunday, February 6th, 2005
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3:20 pm - Bollocks...
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Bloody hell.
Li'l bit wants t'stay in Sunnydale, in case big sis Slayer an' everyone else who up an' went poof decide t'make a return trip.
Soddin' teenagers.
Well, can't blame her, t'be honest. S'pose she's got mates here. And it ain't like she's th' only one holdin' a candle in th' window. Blondie an' Twiggy, they're already tryin' t'figure out what happened so they can maybe flip it back.
Maybe Buffy an' the others're still floatin' in the ether somewhere. But it's not mine t'reason how or why, only mine t'do.
Li'l bit should be safe here. 'Tween Faith, Wolf Boy, Harris...an' Finn...she'll be all right.
Peaches' ol' stompin' grounds, though...that place is bad enough even without all th' supernatural gobbledygook floatin' around. Figure I owe it to th' ponce t'keep up his neighborhood.
I'd never let him hear that, though.
'Sides, I promised those lawyer wankers a ways back that they hadn't seen th' last of ol' Spike. An' nobody can say I go back on my word.
Time t'head to Hollywood.
current mood: disappointed
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| Friday, February 4th, 2005
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7:40 pm - Merry-go-round broke down...
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Don't believe what happened at that bloody party, what with the flashy-thing an' all. Buffy's gone as if she never existed. Just gone in a flash of light, not even given th' decency of a bloody puff of smoke.
She's not th' only one. Half th' bloody party up an' disappeared. Rupert. Red. Anya. Along with half those blokes from L.A., includin' Peaches himself.
Just goes t'show, Slayer can't have herself a normal birthday, where people just get liquored up an' shag like bunnies.
Everybody's goin' nuts right now. Finn ain't stopped babblin' since his better half went poof. Blondie and th' werewolf bloke are havin' a powwow with th' skinny bird, all of 'em in denial an' sayin' their sweeties can't be dead.
Now, y'might think I'm takin' this a li'l too lightly, but truth is, Slayer's been dead before. Granted, she came back, but that was a one-shot deal. Doubt she'd let herself get pulled back from th' great hereafter twice in one go, not after th' fuss she kicked up last time.
So whether all these folks, Buffy an' Peaches an' everyone else, are nothin' but memories or not...I'm not lettin' myself get sucked into some false hope. Hard as it is, gotta move on.
That's what Buffy'd want us t'do.
Way back in th' day, right before we all went toe-to-toe with that Hellgod bint, I made a promise. Told th' Slayer I'd look after th' li'l bit. That's what I'm aimin' t'do.
But I don't think I can do it here.
Right before everything was overexposed like a bloody Polaroid, me an' Peaches were havin' a civil moment...or what amounts to "civil" for us, anyway. Ponce was tryin' t' figure me out, an' I told him that it just boiled down to th' fact that I can do what he can do better'n what he can do it.
Looked forward t'provin' that to him one day. Seein' th' look on that git's face woulda made my eternity.
Now I figure I'll be doin' it after th' fact.
Faith has th' whole Slayer thing t'take care of here in Sunnydale, what with th' bloody Hellmouth gapin' open like it usually does. An' I figure all th' Suddenly Single Sweethearts Club's gonna be holdin' meetings for a while, till they're proven right an' their sweeties come home, or...
In any case, all that leaves Peaches' ol' stompin' grounds a li'l empty.
So that's where I'm headed. Hopefully with th' li'l bit in tow.
Even if I didn't exactly have a boatload of fun there th' last time.
current mood: focused
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| Saturday, January 29th, 2005
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10:55 am - I'm not wearin' a li'l hat...
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Red an' Blondie went an' cooked up a li'l surprise belated birthday shindig for th' Slayer later today. Folks were a bit preoccupied when th' real big day rolled 'round, what with that deluded wanker runnin' about an' th' li'l bit gettin' nicked an' all.
Maybe a party is just what these people need t'stop draggin' their rumps in th' sand. Been too bloody morbid 'round these parts lately. I figure Harris has a good excuse, what with his lady love an' all, even if him an' me went an' took care of th' wanker responsible. Th' rest of 'em? Saved th' bloody world, people!
Even if th' big bad did have a few screws loose when it came to his master plan. Git.
Long as Red an' Blondie remembered t'stock th' bar a bit for later, I won't be complainin' much...even if they did insist on lettin' Peaches bring his wet blanket to th' festivities. Yeah, it's Buffy's party, but it woulda been a lot more entertaining without that sod.
Though I'll give anyone ten bucks if they get a snapshot of th' wanker in one of those goofy paper hats or puffin' on a party favor. If he's gonna be there, I might as well make my own bloody fun...
current mood:  devious
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| Thursday, January 20th, 2005
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2:50 pm - Short 'n' sweet...
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Helped Harris take his pound of flesh from the ol' fart for what happened to his sweetie. Buried what was left of th' bloke out by the bluff south of th' crypt, an' may th' bastard rot alone in Hell. Even if that'd be too good for him.
Harris managed t'get a little information outta th' sod 'fore he croaked. Seems he was in cahoots with th' other big bad, which brings things 'round full circle a bit.
Then we get back to th' Slayer's house an' find they've had a bit of a row with Stone's private army. And in th' ruckus, they lit off with th' li'l bit.
Wanna destroy th' world? Take a swing, be my guest. But nobody touches th' li'l bit.
Bloke already got under my skin once. Now he's gone an' pissed me off.
Let's take th' bugger out.
current mood: predatory
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| Monday, January 17th, 2005
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5:30 pm - Wankers!
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Bloody hell. The nerve of that git.
Got t'my crypt last night t'find he'd sent one of his toadies with a message. Join or die, what it boiled down to. Seems ol' Stonehead wants t'show a united front for his new world order, some kum-bay-ya crap like that.
Bollocks on that.
Me an' the errand boy went 'round and 'round for a while. Had his armored knickers on and all. Couldn't shove a stake where th' sun don't shine, but I sent him off t'lick his wounds with a heartfelt "no bloody thanks" tattooed across his arse.
Things must be gettin' ready t'pop with th' wanker, if he's lookin' t'recruit. Might need t'give Buffy a heads-up on matters.
'Course, me an' Harris'll have other fish t'fry.
I tracked down th' wee ol' man.
Took some legwork, it did...an' some armwork, an' a bit of dental work on a coupla demon blokes down by th' wharf. But they told me what I needed t'know.
Figure I'll collect th' lad a bit later. He'll likely wanna pay ol' Doc a visit tonight. An' I'd wager it'll have a different outcome than th' last time we saw that tail-swishin' dandy, an' ol' Doc won't be makin' any more house calls...
current mood: predatory
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| Tuesday, January 11th, 2005
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9:45 pm - Hunting Season
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So Sherlock Giles an' Li'l Watson apparently put their noodles together t'figure out what happened to Harris' squeeze.
I'm surprised G.I. Git had enough juice in his noggin t'remember his bloody name, let alone play defective detective.
They got all th' li'l Scooobies rounded up in a room an' gave us a speech right out of a soddin' courtroom drama from th' telly. And at the end of it all, they still couldn't tell us who did it. Though they could tell us it prob'ly wasn't that Stone bugger who everybody's not been findin' lately.
Oh, they laid out evidence, walked 'round and 'round, wrung their hands a li'l bit...everything but pictures, prob'ly 'cause nobody in th' room could stomach seein' that sort of thing. No big reveal, though.
Was surprised there weren't graphs or charts or somethin'...but Finn prob'ly wasn't allowed t'use th' sharp scissors.
Looked over at Harris when it th' dog-and-pony show was over, an' everyone got into li'l groups t'suss out the whodunnit. Saw th' look in his eye, I did. He knew, just like me...so maybe there's a brain boppin' around in that skull of his, after all.
Only one bloke we ever ran across got a bee in his bonnet over th' Hell-Bitch gettin' popped. Figured he was a greasy smear on the pavement after he took a header off that tower. Then again, I took that doozy of a first step 'fore he did, and I shook out all right...an' I always heard rumors ol' Doc was a li'l tougher'n most.
Now comes th' fun part: Findin' th' sadistic tail-swishin' bastard.
Let Buffy an' the others keep lookin' for the other bloke for he tries t'eat th' world or whatever's got his knickers in a twist. I told Harris I'd help him bag whoever sliced an' diced his lady love, just him an' me, an' that's just what we'll do.
Lad owes a bit of comeuppance, I figure.
Time t'go huntin' for little ol' men who don't know how t'stay dead.
current mood: predatory
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| Sunday, December 26th, 2004
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5:40 pm - A dish best served cold...
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Day after Christmas.
Wankers over here in th' States like t'go bloody bonkers after swappin' presents. Don't like what someone gave you? Go trade it in for somethin' bigger...literally, for some folks, dependin' on th' size of their arse.
S'pose I shouldn't go on like that. Boxing Day back across th' pond's almost as bad. Folks these days just can't be satisfied.
'Specially folks who're as twisted as their knickers.
Harris got some bad news th' other day. Somebody grabbed his sweetie an' tore her up like so much wrappin' paper.
Me an' him, it ain't like we're mates or nothin'. He gets on my nerves more often than not, t'tell the truth.
But bein' somebody who's had a lady love ripped away from 'em a time or two, I can say even Harris doesn't deserve t'go through that kinda grief.
I met th' girl once. Back when Harris'd been rolled by Ripper when Ripper wasn't Ripper. Nice girl, I thought. Never heard none of th' Slayerettes speak bad of her. Frankly, she an' Harris seemed pretty perfect for each other, in an annoyingly perky kinda way.
Stopped by his place th' other day. Red hadn't been gone for too long, could still smell her in th' air. Didn't wanna have a heart-to-heart or anything nauseatin' like that, just wanted t'deliver a message, 'tween him an' me.
We find th' tosser responsible, I'd help take 'em out.
Just him an' me, one or a hundred. Slayer doesn't need t'be in on it, she's got her mitts full trackin' G.I. Jugular. Harris'll need this more'n anybody...an' since he'd likely get himself killed in a scrap and I live for nothin' but, I figured I'd lend him a hand.
Don't mean we're bosom buddies now or nothin'. So don't get any ideas...
current mood: predatory
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| Friday, December 3rd, 2004
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12:05 am - The Worm Turns
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Well, ain't this a pretty li'l picture.
Seems ol' G.I. Finn got rolled by this Stone bloke but good. Turns out they're both from that bloody Initiative mess, an' were runnin' buddies back in th' day.
With all th' bloody trouble those Initiative gits've caused even after they've blown town, wouldn't surprise me none t'see that Adam bloke come strollin' back into th' picture.
As it turns out, ol' Stone's got more military know-how in his noggin than Finn or anybody else. Prob'ly got Buffy all mapped out t'where he can predict everything she does, too...psychological mumbo-jumbo or somethin'. An' it looks like he's got some vampire prophecy to carry out, his destiny to fulfill, a world to bugger...blah blah blah.
Been there, tried that, used th' bloody T-shirt t'clean my backside.
So after gettin' his hand busted an' his dignity carved up like a soddin' goose, who does Finn turn to for help with this git?
Me. Hostile 17 himself. The bloke he tried t'help Cap'n Midnight dust behind th' Slayer's back.
Bloody hysterical, it is.
Don't know exactly what he had in mind yet. Was havin' too much fun makin' th' wanker grovel a bit. Told him I'd think on it a spell, but it's not like I won't help 'em out.
Finn don't know that, though, an' it's a lotta fun makin' him sweat it out like that...
current mood: amused
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| Monday, November 29th, 2004
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2:15 am - If it wasn't for th' bloody Pilgrims...
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Thanksgiving. Ain't had much use for it th' past few dozen years. 'Cept for that time Dru wanted a bloody turkey t'snack on.
Word t'the wise: Drinkin' turkey blood's like drinkin' dishwater. So don't, if y'know what's good for you.
Wanna know how nuts a day it is? A few years ago, back when I first got that chip stuck in my noggin, I was trussed up in a chair, watchin' th' Slayer go batty tryin' t'fashion an edible meal for her Slayerettes while stavin' off a buncha pissed-off Indian ghosties. Thank you, no, I'll pass on goin' through that every bloody year.
Though it was funny when Harris was cursed in his nether regions. Almost made th' day bearable.
So this year, I decide t'mind my own business. Stay outta the way. Let Buffy an' her mates have their holiday, I'd leave well enough alone.
Then Red's girl shows up at my door Thurday afternoon, all by her lonesome, with a coupla pints of butcher juice an' a tiny wad of cash. Said she just wanted me t'know I was appreciated.
I'm not used t'that.
So maybe there's a point to all this holiday nonsense this time of year, after all.
Gotta do something about th' soddin' turkeys, though. Aside from th' taste, it's an ugly damn bird, if y'ask me.
current mood: thankful
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| Friday, November 19th, 2004
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5:30 pm - Rules
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That tosser Stone's boys've got everyone in this burg lookin' over their shoulder every other bloody minute.
Can tell Buffy's frustrated 'bout all this. Folks keep disappearin', or turnin' up dead with a couple of strawholes poked in their throats. Then there's the blokes what don't stay dead. 'Tween that an' havin' t'deal with th' li'l bit hittin' the Terrible Teens, an' she's been runnin' 'round like a chicken with her noggin cut off.
And on top of that, ol' Stonehead's master plan's still somethin' we can only guess about. For all we know, he's just got a bloody eatin' disorder and a fetish for armor platin'.
Lovely time t'be a white hat 'round these parts.
Best be gettin' back t'patrol. Been gettin' a funny feelin' lately. Somethin' familiar, can't quite put my finger on it...but it's like I'm bein' stalked or somethin'.
Hope it's that Stone wanker tryin' t'take a peek. See if he can toss ol' Spike around like he can a tiny li'l Slayer lass...
current mood: frustrated
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| Thursday, November 11th, 2004
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11:35 pm - Right, then...
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Clowns.
Bloody clowns tryin' t'eat people, or some such thing. As if we don't got enough worries with Superfang toilin' about.
Even for Sunnydale, that dials an 11.
An' that's all I bloody well have t'say about that.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I gotta wash clown goop off my knuckles.
current mood: accomplished
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| Thursday, November 4th, 2004
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12:39 am - Yank Wankers
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You bloody Yanks are right amusin' when it comes to pickin' somebody out t'lead you. Best damn reality show on th' bloody airwaves. Always gotta have some drama when you're pickin' your head muckety-muck.
Y'ask me, you oughta just put whatever two blokes y'decide on every four years into a pit somewhere, like in some croc-infested swamp in Louisiana. Or Florida, maybe. There'd be some irony for th' folks on the telly t'chew on. Drop 'em in a pit somewhere, strip 'em to th' waist, an' let 'em have at it. Winner gets his Secret Service tagalongs, loser feeds a croc that night.
That's some real ultimate fighting, mate.
At this rate, though, I wonder who's gonna be the ones t'destroy th' world first. Blokes back east in Washington, or blokes here on th' Hellmouth. Smart money'd be here, but you never know with those politician types. Never trusted a suck-up, myself.
Best be gettin' on, though. Buffy's got the Slayerettes on alert these days, what with this Stone fella runnin' around. And now we've got folks turnin' up lookin' like mummies without their soddin' bandages.
Always somethin' with this town.
Was told t'keep an eye open at th' carnival what's been in town. Lotta folks runnin' 'round, eatin' cotton candy, feelin' up their dates...yeah, if I was still runnin' on th' wrong side of th' fence, I'd be lookin' there for target practice, too.
current mood: amused
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| Thursday, October 21st, 2004
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11:45 am - Posers...
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For th' record, I was th' first one t'hit the bloody high school during tea an' crumpets with the professors. These other blokes? Stealin' my thunder.
Not that I'm in that business anymore, but y'see my point.
Wankers think they can come in t'town, run around in their li'l suits of armor, spooki th' li'l bit an' all her li'l friends, and not get a whalin' from th' resident Slayer?
Hmm. Guess they do.
Right. Well, then. Best somebody better figure out how t'put these tossers back under th' ground but quick. Next thing y'know, somebody'll try diggin' up Acathla again. Sunnydale's Greatest Bloody Hits. Operators standin' by.
Soddin' wannabes better be glad th' original big bad wasn't around th' other night...
current mood: grumpy
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| Monday, October 4th, 2004
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2:26 pm - Bollocks.
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Rupert came home th' other night.
Bloke was all cranky from his vacation. Prob'ly from th' jet lag. Or maybe he just needed a nip of scotch...which, if his stock hadn't run dry, I'd've been happy t'pour for him.
Maybe that's why he told me my housesittin' services were no longer required.
Actually, his exact phrase was, "Thank you, Spike, but now please get the hell out of my flat." Ungrateful ponce.
So now I'm back in th' crypt. Got used t'havin' a flat. Central air, fewer bugs, better smell. Y'can only do so much with a hunk of stone in th' middle of a graveyard.
Had a note slid under th' door when I got here, from th' local stoolie. Said he wanted t'know if anyone'd noticed if a buncha new vampires had made their way into town.
Bloody wonderful. No wonder folks think vampires are a bit dense in th' head. Takes a real dolt t'wanna put down roots in th' town where th' soddin' Slayer lives!
So much for that quiet summer. Bollocks.
current mood: grumpy
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| Wednesday, September 29th, 2004
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3:15 pm - Maybe crypt livin' is best...
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In th' past year, I've been harassed by demon plants, midget demons, an' blokes wantin' my head on a platter.
None of 'em have been as irritatin' as these soddin' telemarketers.
Bloody hell, they start callin' 'round th' crack of dawn! Honestly, I dunno how people stand 'em, 'specially in this town. I'm surprised Rupert or Red never turned 'em into toads or somethin'.
An' they call at all hours of th' day, too. Don't think I've been able t'watch Passions from beginning t'end yet without getting calls about somethin' or other. Surveys. Donations. Subscriptions to every soddin' newsrag on th' planet.
Finally took th' phone off th' hook an' left it. I figure if anyone wants t'find me, Buffy knows where I'm at.
Woulda ripped it outta th' bloody wall, but y'know...Rupert an' toads an' such.
current mood: aggravated
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| Wednesday, September 22nd, 2004
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11:40 am - Could get used t'this...
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Rupe's flat sure beats th' hell outta th' crypt any day.
Pretty swanky for a librarian. Bloke's got cable. Y'know how bloody hard it is t'get cable out in th' middle of a soddin' cemetery? I knew a vampire once, used t'be one of those cable techies. He tried t'wire th' place. Zip.
Rupe's got a nicer bedroom than me, too. Thought's crossed my mind more'n once t'see if Anya wanted t'go for a roll on that nice plush mattress upstairs...but last thing I'd need is ol' Ripper gettin' a mad-on for defilin' his place.
Yeah, I could get used t'livin' th' cushy life. Wouldn't bother me none if Rupe decided he liked that side of th' ocean.
'Cept for th' rent part. That'd get a li'l sticky after a while.
current mood: comfortable
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| Tuesday, September 14th, 2004
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5:20 pm - Kids these days...
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Got stuck with babysittin' th' li'l bit last night.
Seems all th' bloody sweethearts decided t'have a group sing 'fore havin' their evenin' shag. 'Course, nobody wanted t'leave li'l sister behind all by her lonesome. Prob'ly figured she'd get nicked when nobody's watchin'.
So who'd they call? Good ol' Spike. Said if I didn't want ol' Rupert t'know I been takin' care of his flat lately, I'd be a right quiet watchman.
Thought Buffy had better taste that t'take up again with Cap'n America. Guess not.
Me an' th' li'l bit, we get along fine. I figure we got somethin' in common, how everyone looks at us as their bloody pet. Or maybe we just don't care what either of us were before now.
Coulda done without her goin' on about bein' in high school now. Bloody hell. Kids these days are so bloody insecure with themselves. If I had t'deal with half what I heard about last night, I'd walk down Main Street at sunrise. Or I'd eat some cheerleaders. One or th' other.
I figure things'll get back t'what passes for normal 'round here, now that Harris went an' put another high school on top of th' Hellmouth. Talk about settin' th' table. Only a matter of time 'fore some demon gets a bug up his arse about tearin' open a hole t'Hell.
Me? Can't wait...
current mood: restless
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| Wednesday, September 8th, 2004
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10:50 am - Nice digs...
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Bloody Jais'n'ti demons learned not t'mess with Spike, they did. Did everything but lay into 'em with a soddin' blowtorch. Though it crossed my mind. Woulda been fun.
Trouble is, now my crypt smells like a bloody outhouse, what with all the midget guts lyin' about.
Slight miscalculation on my part, not takin' th' fight outside.
Fortunately, gettin' into Rupert's pad was a snap. Bloke really oughta look into some better security, especially what with bein' Buffy's Watcher an' all.
I guess I should see if Anya's got any magical Clorox in stock...or maybe if Red's got a spell that'll help get all that goop outta my crypt.
In th' meantime, I figure I can stay here till ol' Ripper gets back from his walkabout. Kick my feet up, watch th' telly. Use th' microwave t'thaw out a pint or two every now an' again.
Don't guess he'd mind. Not like I'm gonna break all his prissy stuff he's got lyin' about. Think I'll make a right nice housesitter. Won't even charge him too much.
current mood: relaxed
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| Friday, August 27th, 2004
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1:50 pm - War
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Soddin' Jais'n'ti demons been gettin' underfoot of late. Bloody boots stink of their guts from when I squish 'em. But they keep comin' 'round.
Ain't nothin' but teeth with feet. Don't got the sense God gave a bloody rutabaga. Most things'd learn once you showed 'em who's boss. These wankers just keep comin'. Like talkin' shop with a wall.
Last straw came when I found th' buggers'd chewed a hole in my bloody duster. Tiny hole. Wouldn't notice it 'less you were lookin'. But it's there.
Tiny li'l four-armed bastards. Don't much care if you're lookin' t'stir up th' Hellmouth now, or if you're just lookin' t'cause some mischief.
Nobody touches th' duster.
This means war.
current mood: predatory
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| Friday, August 20th, 2004
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1:05 am - Pest Control
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Maybe I shoulda kept my bloody mouth shut.
Been findin' Jais'n'ti demons 'round every bend th' past coupla days. One here, a pair there...worse'n rats. At least y'can scare off th' rats.
They prob'ly don't have any kind of grand plan or nothin' of that sort. Jais'n'ti are more or less teeth with feet. 'Course, this bein' the Hellmouth an' all, these're prob'ly the ones with the brains in the lot, lookin' t'cause trouble.
An' it don't help matters that they're quick li'l bastards when they get underfoot.
Maybe I should've gone south t'bug Peaches when I had th' chance. Woulda been a lot more fun.
So I figured tonight that it'd be best t'let Buffy know 'bout these gits 'fore anything noticably evil an' world-endin' happens. I get over there an' she's doin' the happy dance with th' li'l bit. Seems those Council wankers she an' Rupert had words with a while back decided t'give her a paycheck for her troubles.
She was so bloody giddy over bein' gainfully employed that even hearin' 'bout the Jais'n'ti didn't bring her down. Kinda creeped out th' li'l bit, though.
Wonder if she'll spot me some cash for a pint or two, now that she's solvent an' all...?
current mood: irritated
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| Wednesday, August 18th, 2004
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12:28 pm - Tiny Li'l Ratwankers
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Had a run-in with some Jais'n'ti demons last night.
Ever seen a Jais'n'ti? Nasty bugger. Four arms. Claws. Long snout. Fast 'n' mean. Like t'pick fights without bein' provoked.
They're also 'bout ten inches tall.
I need a new pair o' shoes. Don't think I'll ever get th' gunk cleaned outta these.
Wasn't much of a scrap, obviously, but then, that's been 'bout th' biggest excitement we've seen 'round here since Rupert went mental. I hear tell things get quiet in the dog days of summer, but this has been abso-bloody-lutely stagnant.
Almost took a trip down to Los Angeles t'harass ol' Peaches. Thought better of it, all things considered. Only be fun for about an hour, an' then it gets repetitive.
Still...maybe there's more of these wee li'l midget blokes lookin' t'cause some trouble. Could tell th' Slayer, of course...
...or I could just keep th' fun t'myself...
current mood: predatory
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| Tuesday, August 10th, 2004
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12:10 pm - Even th' lowlifes ain't low anymore...
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Used t'be that when a bloke wanted a good scrap 'round these parts, all he had t'do was go roust some of th' wankers over at th' snitch's place. Wanker had a respectable class of riffraff what hung out there. Nothin' cured a case of boredom quicker'n goin' down there, shakin' some trees, an' lettin' a brawl spill outside to th' street.
So I'm sittin' in th' crypt last night. Ain't heard a peep outta th' Slayer since her Watcher went walkabout an' her ex started tryin' t'make nice.
Nobody's lookin' t'end th' world at th' moment. Got no demons or hellgods or Darth Vader wannabes runnin' around.
Nobody's abusin' any love potions or tryin' t'flip reality around like a pair o' knickers caught in a twist.
You'd think for a Hellmouth, thing'd be a whole lot less quiet, mate.
So I head over to th' stoolie's. Figure that even though he an' his missus gone respectable, there oughta be enough left over from th' good ol' days t'satisfy a li'l bloodlust. Get a good workout, if nothin' else.
Sat in a soddin' booth in th' back an' nursed a bottle o' Jack for an hour 'fore I had t'leave. Place is so bloody sanitized, it's nauseatin'.
Bein' a do-gooder's boring as all hell, y'know?
current mood: bored
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| Friday, August 6th, 2004
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10:25 am - Right bloody boring 'round here...
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Been a slow week on th' Hellmouth. Had one chance t'get into a scrap, an' with a L'lak creature, t'boot. But it turned out th' bloody thing just got hold of some sour milk an' had gone all cuckoo, so it wasn't nothin' once he sobered up.
Those L'laks get soused on th' damnedest things. Nice enough blokes, till they get those claws goin'.
Never realized how boring this bloody town can get when there's not a big bad runnin' around. Almost enough t'make a bloke turn his white hat back in, just for a li'l excitement. Almost.
I hear tell Buffy's still sore at her Watcher for skippin' off t'England. Word is that Soldier Boy's tryin' t'get back in her pants by givin' her a shoulder t'cry on of late.
Wanker.
Girl just needs some time t'get over things, is all. She's a bloody Slayer, for cryin' out loud. She don't need coddlin'. What she needs is a good row, get her head back in th' game. She don't need folks walkin' about on eggshells around her, and she sure doesn't need some namby-pamby farmboy cooin' in her ear. Finn can go get bent.
An' nobody better be goin' on about me bein' jealous. I just don't like th' tosser, is all.
current mood: bored
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| Monday, August 2nd, 2004
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11:05 am - Hmmph.
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So Rupert took off for th' motherland. Figured he'd have th' stones t'stick things out here, 'specially after th' last time he turned tail an' ran home to queen an' country. Ain't like he never dealt with th' dark before.
Now Buffy's gone cold an' th' li'l bit's thrown for a loop. Don't know how all the other Slayerettes took th' news. Prob'ly not much better.
Me? Well, bloke needs some space. All there is to it, really. He figures he needs some Broom Hilda wannabes to give his brain some kinda magical enema, more power to him. 'Specially if it means I don't get buried under a cave wall again.
On th' other hand...wonder who's watchin' his flat nowadays...?
current mood:  curious
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| Saturday, July 24th, 2004
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1:10 am - Time for a row...
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| Tuesday, July 20th, 2004
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5:33 pm - This oughta be good...
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Got back t'my crypt this mornin' right before sunrise. Still nothin' as far as not-Giles went. Th' women folk were still planin' t'call up Anya's ol' boss for a powwow. Way our luck's been runnin', he'll prob'ly help Rupert over us.
That's th' trouble with us demon types. Never can tell which way our wind'll blow.
Caught a glimpse of somethin' under a rock near th' door. Somebody'd left me a love note. Grabbed it just before th' sun started pokin' over th' horizon.
Turns out that wanker Finn was askin' t'help find Rupert. Prob'ly wanted t'get even with him, or some wannabe macho thing like that. I figure he left me th' note as a way t'get to Buffy, in case she's still got a mad-on for him.
Don't figure th' Slayer'd turn down help right now. She's already lettin' th' li'l wormy bloke throw his two cents in, so it's not like she's bein' particular 'bout who helps get her Watcher back.
'Sides, I couldn't call Finn myself if I wanted to. Wanker forgot t'leave his bloody number...
current mood: amused
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| Monday, July 19th, 2004
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11:55 pm - The world is bloody well doomed...
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So after weeks of turnin' over every bloody rock in this town an' lookin' through every flat, after th' Slayer an' I been wadin' through every vamp nest an' demon nest we could find, after Red an' Blondie done gone through every spell in th' Witchcraft for Dummies playbook...
...we're listenin' to this li'l weasel on how t'find Giles?
Oh, sorry. Rupe rolled him good a few nights ago, prob'ly th' same night he made Finn cry like a li'l girl. Makes perfect sense now.
What's that? Bloke wearin' th' Giles suit made off with a magic green flashlight or somethin'? Somethin' outta one of Harris' funnybooks? Well, hide th' women an' tots, 'cause that's sure a pisser. We'll need Mighty Mouse or Richie bloody Rich t'help with this one.
An' now th' big plan is t'ring Anya's ol' boss, th' one she had before Rupert when she was evisceratin' folks for a hobby. Like he's gonna give a toss about what happens on this side of th' veil.
Sometimes I wonder why I threw in with you lot.
Me? I'm gonna sit in th' bloody corner an' drink till I can't feel my toes no more. If there's a scrap t'be had, y'know where t'find me.
current mood: frustrated
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| Wednesday, July 14th, 2004
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5:45 pm - Gettin' Itchy
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Been out combin' this bloody city for ages, lookin' for Rupert. Nothin'.
Try t'stir th' pot by roustin' some vampires outta their nests an' startin' a row with 'em. Nothin'.
Finn catches wind of him by bloody accident. Me? Nothin'.
Red an' her sweetie been hittin' th' books, tryin' t'come up with a way t'knock this wanker outta Rupe's skin. Nothin'.
Bloody frustratin', in what it is.
Sometimes I wonder what th' bloody point is. Prob'ly won't get a bead on him till he up an' decides t'make his move, an' then we'll be on a bloody time crunch, as usual.
Just lemme catch another whiff of him. Run across him in an alley somewhere. Just one bloody shot at th' ponce 'fore things get dicey!
Sod it. I'm grabbin' Anya for a shag soon as I see her. That's about th' only thing I can count on, is that she'd be up for a roll.
current mood:  listless
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| Saturday, July 10th, 2004
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11:00 pm - When do I get a bloody turn?
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Got word from Buffy tonight when we met up for patrol. Seems Cap'n America tangled with Rupert th' other night outside a funnybook store.
Ol' Finn didn't save th' day, of course. Got his head handed to him. That's what he gets for playin' superhero when he don't have th' super no more.
What steams me was that I missed th' show. Woulda been nice t'see somebody show Finn what it's like t'be a real man, even if that man was possessed by somethin' mysterious an' spooky an' altogether ooky.
But what really steams me is that I had th' wanker's scent just th' night before, an' I missed him completely! How can Finn just stumble across him an' not even be tryin', while me an' th' Slayer been lookin' high an' low for days an' can't turn him up?
When th' hell am I gonna get a crack at whatever's playin' Giles these days?
Even when he gets hiss ass kicked, that corn-fed wanker has all th' bloody luck...
current mood: aggravated
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| Thursday, July 8th, 2004
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5:55 pm - Stench
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Got a whiff of ol' Ripper last night.
Me an' Buffy had split up t'cover more ground. She took th' east, I took downtown. Don't right know how we came t'that arrangement. Neither one of us really blended in, I'd wager.
Caught th' scent off by th' stoolie's bar. Tracked him up t'Main Street, but never could get a bead on him. Must've wandered 'round downtown for a coupla hours 'fore th' trail went cold. Don't even know if I missed him or if he passed me right by.
Somethin' off about his scent, though. It was definitely Rupert, but there was somethin' else, clingin' to him like some bad aftershave. Somethin' old. Somethin' evil.
So unless Rupe's got a dead grandmother draped over his shoulders while he's toolin' about town, I'd say what's gotten down his pants is definitely lookin' t'stir th' pot 'round here...
current mood: determined
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| Monday, July 5th, 2004
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11:10 pm - Can't find trouble unless you're not lookin' for it...
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Been out huntin' librarians lately with th' Slayer.
You'd think it'd be easy t'find ol' Rupert, no matter what was sittin' in his driver's seat. All y'gotta do is follow th' scent of th' tweed, right?
Bugger that. The bloke's gone underground, I'd wager, an' there's not a trace of him anywhere around.
Buffy says her Slayerettes tagged our boy as bein' possessed by some kinda shadow demon. Makes sense he'd prob'ly like t'keep to th' shadows, then. Must be like ol' home week for him.
Still, we should be able t'get a bead on him somehow. It's like th' wanker don't have a scent at all anymore. Can't track him, can't find him, and if we can't find him, we can't have a row with him.
An' where's th' bloody fun in that?
'Course, if we were just sittin' around, drinkin' tea an' munchin' scones, well, Ripper'd be sure t'pay a surprise visit, catchin' us with our pants down 'round our ankles like some miserable sod sittin' in th' loo. Trouble's got bad timing in this town.
Still, best we keep our eyes open. This thing playin' puppeteer with Rupert, it ain't here for a song an' dance. It's here t'get its hands dirty with somethin' here on th' Hellmouth, an' until we get a clue as t'what it's doin', we'd best be on our toes, me an' th' Slayer.
Don't fancy wakin' up in Hell just 'cause Rupert got a mad-on.
current mood: irritated
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