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estepheiaI spent hours in front of my laptop today, but I didn't really get much done, unless you count work on The Crusader's Veil. Some of it actually makes me cringe. I started writing that thing in July 2001. Of course I rewrote it several times since then. I tried to make it non-shippy and as canonic as possible, like a tie-in novel, just filling in the blanks between "The Gift" and "Bargaining."
(BTW, I love my husband, because when I sit here doing fanficcy things he actually calls it 'working' - *happy sigh*)
Anyway, unearthing the Crusader is interesting because it shows me very clearly where I've improved. My range of vocabulary and grammar has grown, my grasp of the characters is more accurate and I cut more rigorously. I'm also less guided by wishful thinking (I mean, I still am, but I'm more aware of how that affects my writing).
The version I'm posting is only marginally tidied up. There are many things I'd do differently today, but I am only weeding out the most blatant mistakes (and I really ought to get a beta for punctuation). One of the more charmingly stupid things I'm *not* cutting out is Spike's ability to draw and paint (I remembered seeing a few pencil sketches in Spike's S5 Buffy memento collection and assumed that he drew them). And if the whole thing is a tad sentimental, so be it.
On the plus side I can offer some nice Spike/Dru flashbacks.
So, please don't pelt me with tomatos. I know the Crusader is not the best I've ever written, but he's like an ugly stray tom-cat, edgy, scruffy, moody - I can't find it in my heart to kick him out.
Previous Parts:
Prologue
Chapter 1.1
And here's the second half of the first chapter:
CHAPTER ONE (cont)
A few minutes later Xander was back with the drinks.
“Cheers, mate,” Spike said and took a swig. “Oh bugger!”
********
"What?"
Spike scanned the vicinity. "Vampires, three of them."
"Where?" Xander replied, all business, just as Spike spotted a face from days gone by. Bloody hell, what's he doing in Sunny D?
"Actually, make that four," Spike corrected himself. "Two on the dance floor, the black-haired girl with that horrible Willow-like skirt, and the pimply Brad Pitt wannabe. Can you see them?"
"Yup."
"One up there, on the catwalk, brown hair, dressed in black."
"Got him, too."
"And the pretty brunette who is chatting up that bundle of steroids at the bar."
Xander nodded and picked up his cue stick. "So, let's take them out."
"Not so fast," Spike cautioned. "The one on the catwalk is a tough one, goes by the name of Konrad. Also known as the Crusader. And that moniker’s no joke. Fellow’s been around for bloody ages. He’s strong and he’s fast. And his black mojo makes Willow look like small fry."
“An old friend of yours?”
“Unfinished business.”
"Can you kill him?"
"Are you joking? Not a chance." At least not with Harris getting in the way.
"I don't believe mine very own Xander ears. Was that big bad Spike backing down just now? I never thought I’d see the day," Xander mocked-
"Don't act so surprised. Konrad on his own, I'd take on any day. But not when he’s got his fan club with him." Uttered with more bravado than Spike truly felt, because the last time he’d had a run-in with the Crusader only Drusilla's uncanny foresight had kept him from being turned into minced vampire. He’d hadn't exaggerated when he told Xander that Konrad was dangerous and his presence in Sunnyhell was bad news.
"So, now what? We go and get the others?"
"You go,” Spike stabbed him with his finger. “Me I’ll keep an eye on things.” Maybe he could take out some of the Crusader’s goons before making a quick exit.
Xander nodded. "Don't do anything, I wouldn't do, pal."
Would I ever? He watched Xander's back as the young man threaded his way through the bustling crowd towards the exit, then found himself a dark corner and watched the undead quartet go about their hunt. The brunette had successfully charmed her mark into buying drinks and clung to his arm, practically screaming ‘easy lay.’ From the looks of it, the dumb jock had already swallowed hook, line and sinker. All she had to do was haul him in - or rather outside, into the dark alley just outside the Bronze, which the local vampire population had named Happy Hour Lane. Spike caught her exchanging a triumphant glance with her master.
Willow-skirts was also doing well. She had moved away from the dance floor and to a table where three nerdy looking guys (on whose movie discussion Spike had eavesdropped earlier) were almost killing themselves offering her drinks, peanuts and undying affection. Two of the nerds, Spike knew. That Warren guy who had built the Buffy robot and the little runt who’d thrust everybody into a narcissistic alternate reality two years ago. Spike shuddered at the vague memory.
He sighed and walked over with his most bad ass swagger, cue stick twirling like a baton. The black-haired vampire, a pretty girl in her human guise, looked at him questioningly. "Sod off! My turf! Was here first." Sure enough, she was a fledgling and backed off right away, hands raised. She quickly grabbed her purse and disappeared, ostentatiously heading towards the exit but at the last minute making a bee-line to report to her master.
"Listen Superstar,” Spike snarled before the three Stooges had a chance to complain, “take your friends and get lost before you get eaten. That girl? You wouldn’t like her. Really bad teeth. Now, off you go.”
Jonathan was anything but stupid. He grabbed his resisting mates and they left in a healthy hurry.
Spike looked up to meet the Crusader's gaze. Bugger. So much for keeping a low profile. He raised his eyebrow in a mock salute and slowly walked back to the pool tables. Absentmindedly tossing the white ball with one hand and holding a wooden cue stick in the other, Spike waited. As expected, it didn’t take long and he was approached by Konrad himself.
He was wearing a black trench coat and expensive designer clothes that seemed strangely out of place in a place like the Bronze. His followers were nearby, but their presence was an empty threat, because even the Crusader did not pick pack fights in the middle of a flock of sheep.
"Spike! What a pleasant surprise!" Konrad exclaimed with fake enthusiasm. He spoke perfect American English, without a trace of an accent.
"Crusader."
"How long has it been? Fifty, sixty years?"
"Ninety, or so."
"Really? Doesn't time fly? How are you? And how is your enchanting lady, the beauteous Drusilla, these days? I heard you were staying in South America."
"Boring place. Left Russia, did you?"
"Without a proper dictatorship the country just isn't what it used to be. Political change made a relocation advisable. We’ve been in this wonderful fast food country for almost ten years now."
Spike just shrugged. Pompous bastard.
"Shall we just continue, then, where we left off?" The Crusader asked with an inviting gesture towards the exit.
Bollocks! I just knew he'd hold a grudge. Spike sighed inwardly but he set down his bottle. "Yeah, right. I s’pose I can finish this later..."
"I wouldn't count on it," the other vampire said smoothly.
***
Moscow 1910
It was a strange duel. Although it was several degrees below freezing, the only beings whose breath condensed into little misty clouds were the restless horses that were harnessed to the two carriages. All the others, the combatants, their seconds and their admiring ladies were dead. Or rather undead. When they did breathe, in order to speak, the air left their lungs at the same freezing temperature at which it had been inhaled.
Godforsaken weather. Spike thought miserably. He hated the cold, as did Drusilla. His beloved was dressed in a beautiful blood red overcoat lined with a luscious black sable collar. A fur hat and a sable muff completed her expensive wardrobe. She looked stunning, like a delicious splash of blood on snow. He bowed over her outstretched hand and planted a kiss on it. "I will have to draw you like this, my lovely," he murmured. "As soon as I've killed that bloody arsehole over there and gotten us out of this bleedin' cold."
Drusilla merely smiled at his words. She was strangely quiet that day, playing with a polished little silver pendant and staring at Spike's opponent in that strangely attentive way that told Spike that she was studying the situation quite lucidly.
The Crusader and his second were dressed in uniforms of tsarist officers or whatever. Spike didn't really care. Konrad's "Dame" as he called her, Louisa, was dressed in dark green. Her hair was a cascade of blonde curls that reached down to her waist. She, too, wore a fur hat and muff, but their color was white. Spike thought she paled next to the dark beauty of his true love.
Time to get going. Spike was growing impatient. What's he waiting for? He bounced up and down, and whipped his curved saber through the air. If he had to wait any longer, his joints would probably freeze and snap like icicles. The stolen heat from their last meal had left his body much too quickly.
Finally, the Crusader took his coat off, exchanged a few words with his lady and drew his weapon. He walked over, his movements smooth and graceful.
How come the bleedin' ponce didn’t look cold at all? Spike frowned.
The two vampires got into a fighting stance, vamp faces to the fore, and the seconds gave the signal. Spike lunged straight away, hoping to surprise the older vampire with his speed, but his thrust was easily parried and riposted. Spike parried, and so the blades flicked back and forth, their gleaming tips weaving a shimmering pattern.
It was soon all too apparent that Spike was hopelessly outmatched. Their blades had barely contacted more than twenty times, when the tip of his opponent's saber found Spike's skin for the first time, marking his left cheek with a scarlet gash. Spike realized Konrad was not only an experienced swordsman, but also much faster than him. There, another cut, the right cheek this time. The Crusader was playing with him.
Konrad smiled at him in satisfaction. "Your lady will be such an exquisite adornment for my court. I promise I will treasure her till the end of time."
A deep growl rose in Spike's breast. It was time to fight for real. Remembering some of the ballet like moves the Chinese Slayer had used to attack and defend he became a ferocious whirlwind, kicking, slashing, clawing. He used every trick no matter how exotic or how dirty and finally landed a good hit himself, that cut through the other vampire's shirt and nicked his abdomen, drawing blood.
The two vampires separated, circling each other warily. Suddenly the sound of a pistol shot chased a whole unkindness of ravens into the icy leaden sky.
The combatants quickly turned towards the source of the sound, just in time to see Louisa explode in a shower of dust. The acrid smell of gunpowder wafted upwards from the twin barrels of a small derringer pistol that was protruding from a black sable muff.
"You really shouldn't cheat in a duel, you know." Dru said, smiling sweetly at Konrad. "I can smell magic in your blood, keeping you warm and fast."
“A spell, ey?” Spike grinned suggestively. "What else do you need a spell for? Servicing the missus?"
The Crusader snarled in anger. Dropping all play he disarmed the younger vampire with a practiced twist of his own blade, cutting deep into his opponent's forearm in the process. Spike yelped in pain. Helplessly he watched his blade clatter to the ground, way out of reach.
The other vampire smiled condescendingly. Keeping the point of his sword pointed at his enemy, he slowly moved to where Drusilla and the seconds were standing. "Don't worry, insolent cub, I won't kill you, not yet. I'll dust your little trollop first."
Who needs a bleedin' sword anyway? Roaring Spike hurled himself at his opponent, not caring in the least that the point of the saber entered his body about an inch below his breastbone. It hurt like hell, but he let the momentum carry him forward until the hilt touched his belly and the blade protruded from his back. Until he could lay his hands on the older vampire. He gripped the other's head, trying to twist his neck, and when that did not work tried to drive his fangs into Konrad's throat.
Around them the snow was now churned, splattered with blood. They still stood upright, their bodies interlocked in what looked like a ferocious embrace. The Crusader had grabbed Spike by his ponytail and was trying to yank his head away from his throat. With the other hand he was twisting the blade in Spike's body. Spike was half crazy with pain, almost mindlessly clawing at the other's face with his hands and teeth.
Another gunshot sounded. The Crusader screamed as the wooden bullet missed his heart by less than an inch. With one violent, desperate shove he pushed the younger vampire off, and for a fraction of a second, before Spike could grab hold of him again, the older vampire's body shimmered as it transformed into the shape of a black raven. The bird quickly rose to the sky, and was soon out of sight.
Spike just collapsed, underneath him a slowly growing puddle of blood. He was barely conscious, but he knew he'd heal. He heard his love instructing his second to bring one of the carriage horses over for him to feed on. And then she knelt at his side. Drusilla. "My brave warrior, my dark knight," she exclaimed, cradling him in her arms, not caring if his blood stained her beautiful coat. Her embrace was painful, but her adoration warmed his heart.
***
Spike walked ahead, the Crusader at his heel. Knowing the enemy at his back gave him the creeps, but he put on his best swagger, anyway. Even though it felt like he was being marched to his execution. And he kept the cue stick – not that he really expected to play another game of pool tonight.
The air outside was mild. The music from inside was still audible, but strangely distorted. Spike kept on walking along Happy Hour Lane, leading his hostile vampire entourage away from the main exit and other potential innocent bystanders until he reached a cul-de-sac, infamously known as Slayer's Corner - at least among the local vampires. It was a good place to feed, unless the Slayer was nearby. Two houses and a wall provided a certain amount of cover. Unfortunately they also prevented one from running away. Spike sighed. At least there shouldn't be any nasty surprises popping up behind his back. He turned to face Konrad and his gang. Which now consisted of six followers. Brilliant.
"Right then, how 'bout we do it here? Swords again?"
"That won't be necessary." Konrad vamped out, and his gang followed suit.
"I take it you won't be all chivalrous and give me a fighting chance, then?"
The vampires just grinned at him.
Spike shrugged. "Yeah, thought as much."
He grabbed the cue like a quarterstaff and dashed forward. A half turn, a quick poke to the side and one of those toothy grins turned to dust. The others didn't hesitate, though. Armed with improvised stakes and some nasty looking knives they came for him. Not all at once, but always at least two, sometimes even three at a time. Spike managed to land some painful kicks and his whirling cue bought him a little bit of manoeuvring space, but the way he was outnumbered made it impossible to exploit the few situations in which he thought he had gained the upper hand.
They weren't serious about finishing him off quickly. They were cautious. Studied his moves. Just inflicted damage, like a pack of wolves, weakening their prey. Konrad had really trained them well. The Crusader held back of course, and Spike had no chance to reach him. He'd have to go through Konrad's minions first. But the truth was, he couldn't really see himself winning. It was a bloody good fight, though. His opponents were cunning. And he had to use every trick in the book, to avoid getting dusted. Even so, he got cut and stabbed a few times, fortunately not in vital parts of his anatomy.
"Hey, Crusader, do you actually tie your own shoelaces or do you need your minions for that as well?" Spike shouted.
"Hey, Crusadork," another, familiar voice, echoed. "My mom always told me not to poke dead things with a stick...I guess, in this case, I'll make an exception."
"Hey, Crusa-whatever," a third, female voice chipped in. "Say hello to Mr. Pointy!"
Stunned silence. Then Konrad and his fang gang whirled around and saw two...
"Humans?" the Brad Pitt look-alike exclaimed, incredulously. Taking advantage of the element of surprise Xander skilfully dusted him and went after Willow-skirts. The blonde Slayer did a breathtaking somersault, knocking two Vampires over, and dusting another one, en passant.
Konrad pulled a sword from under his coat, but he did not join the fray. Instead, he watched the final death of his minions impassively. "Natasha!" he beckoned. The brunette vampire obeyed and gracefully moved to his side.
Spike tried to take out Konrad, but somehow Willow-skirts got in the way, so he finished her off, instead, turning that horrible piece of clothing to dust along with its owner. Having aimed for the same vampire Xander bumped into Spike and knocked him over. "Careful! Don't wonna fit in an ashtray, yet!" Spike quipped. "Your big mouth would never fit in an ashtray," was Xander's slightly preoccupied retort. Both scrambled to their feet just in time to see the Slayer kill off another vampire. However, Konrad and Natasha, were nowhere to be seen.
"Bollocks!" Spike exclaimed. "Probably turned into a bleedin' bird again."
"He does that? Like you-know-who, Mr. funny accent?" Xander asked, slightly panicky.
"Drac? Yeah. Konrad’s about the same age, maybe older."
"So, in the year twenty-five twenty-five you can expect to turn into what, a fluffy little bunny?"
"Oh, that would be so sweeeeeet," the Slayer squealed.
Both men ignored her completely. Instead Spike frowned at the human. "Don’t be inane," he said dismissively.
"Come to think of it, Anya wouldn't like that at all. But how about a peroxided lab rat?" Xander grinned, quite evilly, actually. He was obviously on a high caused by the heady mixture of adrenaline and victory.
"I'm warning you, Harris." Spike said, torn between a frown and a reluctant grin.
"Eow, rats!" the blond girl whined, trying to sneak her arm round the vampire's waist.
"Oh, stop it, Slayer!" Spike snapped, his good mood suddenly gone. He knew the robot was only following her programming. But every time that damn thing touched him or fawned on him it was like someone twisted a knife in his guts.
“But I just saved you, Spike, and you know fighting makes me all hot. Don’t you want to feel me up?” She grabbed his hand to shove it under her tank top but he yanked it away.
There was an embarrassed silence as both men tried to pretend that they didn’t see the robot’s unhappy face.
“Buffy,” Xander finally said. “Go back on patrol.”
“Patrol, yes,” the buffybot exclaimed cheerfully. She shoved the stake into the sleeve of her leather jacket and marched off, to resume her patrol pattern.
Spike turned to Xander. "Listen, I think it's time we got out of here. The witches might still be up, stargazing and what not. We should tell them what happened. Let Rupert know, too."
Xander nodded.
They headed for Xander’s car.
"Say, Spike?"
"What?"
"How long till you become a shape shifter?"
"Haven’t got the faintest. Not any time soon, I should think."
"How about that thrall thing? You know, making people eat bugs and stuff?"
“Can’t,” Spike answered.
Xander unlocked the car, slid in and leaned over to open the passenger door for Spike. “But if you could?”
“Would I make you eat bugs and spiders? Is that the question?”
Xander shrugged, suddenly feeling stupid for asking.
“’Course I would. How often do I have to tell you guys? I’m evil.” Spike stated automatically, watching with disdain as the human buckled his seat belt. He searched his pockets for his cigarettes before he remembered that he’d already smoked his last. “On second thought, though,” he pondered aloud, “I don’t think I would.”
“Why not?”
“Not my style.”
“I guess I should be thankful for small favors, then.” Xander started the car and turned on the headlights. He drove in silence.
“Say,” Spike said after a while. “You couldn’t lend me a tenner, could you?”
***
Konrad lifted the shroud of invisibility that had protected him and Natasha from being detected.
"Well well, Spike has found himself a new girlfriend. And a Slayer, too. Who would have thought William the Bloody, killer of two Slayers, would join forces with humans or have a Chosen One fall for him. How very interesting."
The undead crusader chuckled, and it wasn't a pleasant sound.
Next update: next monday.
(BTW, I love my husband, because when I sit here doing fanficcy things he actually calls it 'working' - *happy sigh*)
Anyway, unearthing the Crusader is interesting because it shows me very clearly where I've improved. My range of vocabulary and grammar has grown, my grasp of the characters is more accurate and I cut more rigorously. I'm also less guided by wishful thinking (I mean, I still am, but I'm more aware of how that affects my writing).
The version I'm posting is only marginally tidied up. There are many things I'd do differently today, but I am only weeding out the most blatant mistakes (and I really ought to get a beta for punctuation). One of the more charmingly stupid things I'm *not* cutting out is Spike's ability to draw and paint (I remembered seeing a few pencil sketches in Spike's S5 Buffy memento collection and assumed that he drew them). And if the whole thing is a tad sentimental, so be it.
On the plus side I can offer some nice Spike/Dru flashbacks.
So, please don't pelt me with tomatos. I know the Crusader is not the best I've ever written, but he's like an ugly stray tom-cat, edgy, scruffy, moody - I can't find it in my heart to kick him out.
Previous Parts:
Prologue
Chapter 1.1
And here's the second half of the first chapter:
CHAPTER ONE (cont)
A few minutes later Xander was back with the drinks.
“Cheers, mate,” Spike said and took a swig. “Oh bugger!”
********
"What?"
Spike scanned the vicinity. "Vampires, three of them."
"Where?" Xander replied, all business, just as Spike spotted a face from days gone by. Bloody hell, what's he doing in Sunny D?
"Actually, make that four," Spike corrected himself. "Two on the dance floor, the black-haired girl with that horrible Willow-like skirt, and the pimply Brad Pitt wannabe. Can you see them?"
"Yup."
"One up there, on the catwalk, brown hair, dressed in black."
"Got him, too."
"And the pretty brunette who is chatting up that bundle of steroids at the bar."
Xander nodded and picked up his cue stick. "So, let's take them out."
"Not so fast," Spike cautioned. "The one on the catwalk is a tough one, goes by the name of Konrad. Also known as the Crusader. And that moniker’s no joke. Fellow’s been around for bloody ages. He’s strong and he’s fast. And his black mojo makes Willow look like small fry."
“An old friend of yours?”
“Unfinished business.”
"Can you kill him?"
"Are you joking? Not a chance." At least not with Harris getting in the way.
"I don't believe mine very own Xander ears. Was that big bad Spike backing down just now? I never thought I’d see the day," Xander mocked-
"Don't act so surprised. Konrad on his own, I'd take on any day. But not when he’s got his fan club with him." Uttered with more bravado than Spike truly felt, because the last time he’d had a run-in with the Crusader only Drusilla's uncanny foresight had kept him from being turned into minced vampire. He’d hadn't exaggerated when he told Xander that Konrad was dangerous and his presence in Sunnyhell was bad news.
"So, now what? We go and get the others?"
"You go,” Spike stabbed him with his finger. “Me I’ll keep an eye on things.” Maybe he could take out some of the Crusader’s goons before making a quick exit.
Xander nodded. "Don't do anything, I wouldn't do, pal."
Would I ever? He watched Xander's back as the young man threaded his way through the bustling crowd towards the exit, then found himself a dark corner and watched the undead quartet go about their hunt. The brunette had successfully charmed her mark into buying drinks and clung to his arm, practically screaming ‘easy lay.’ From the looks of it, the dumb jock had already swallowed hook, line and sinker. All she had to do was haul him in - or rather outside, into the dark alley just outside the Bronze, which the local vampire population had named Happy Hour Lane. Spike caught her exchanging a triumphant glance with her master.
Willow-skirts was also doing well. She had moved away from the dance floor and to a table where three nerdy looking guys (on whose movie discussion Spike had eavesdropped earlier) were almost killing themselves offering her drinks, peanuts and undying affection. Two of the nerds, Spike knew. That Warren guy who had built the Buffy robot and the little runt who’d thrust everybody into a narcissistic alternate reality two years ago. Spike shuddered at the vague memory.
He sighed and walked over with his most bad ass swagger, cue stick twirling like a baton. The black-haired vampire, a pretty girl in her human guise, looked at him questioningly. "Sod off! My turf! Was here first." Sure enough, she was a fledgling and backed off right away, hands raised. She quickly grabbed her purse and disappeared, ostentatiously heading towards the exit but at the last minute making a bee-line to report to her master.
"Listen Superstar,” Spike snarled before the three Stooges had a chance to complain, “take your friends and get lost before you get eaten. That girl? You wouldn’t like her. Really bad teeth. Now, off you go.”
Jonathan was anything but stupid. He grabbed his resisting mates and they left in a healthy hurry.
Spike looked up to meet the Crusader's gaze. Bugger. So much for keeping a low profile. He raised his eyebrow in a mock salute and slowly walked back to the pool tables. Absentmindedly tossing the white ball with one hand and holding a wooden cue stick in the other, Spike waited. As expected, it didn’t take long and he was approached by Konrad himself.
He was wearing a black trench coat and expensive designer clothes that seemed strangely out of place in a place like the Bronze. His followers were nearby, but their presence was an empty threat, because even the Crusader did not pick pack fights in the middle of a flock of sheep.
"Spike! What a pleasant surprise!" Konrad exclaimed with fake enthusiasm. He spoke perfect American English, without a trace of an accent.
"Crusader."
"How long has it been? Fifty, sixty years?"
"Ninety, or so."
"Really? Doesn't time fly? How are you? And how is your enchanting lady, the beauteous Drusilla, these days? I heard you were staying in South America."
"Boring place. Left Russia, did you?"
"Without a proper dictatorship the country just isn't what it used to be. Political change made a relocation advisable. We’ve been in this wonderful fast food country for almost ten years now."
Spike just shrugged. Pompous bastard.
"Shall we just continue, then, where we left off?" The Crusader asked with an inviting gesture towards the exit.
Bollocks! I just knew he'd hold a grudge. Spike sighed inwardly but he set down his bottle. "Yeah, right. I s’pose I can finish this later..."
"I wouldn't count on it," the other vampire said smoothly.
***
Moscow 1910
It was a strange duel. Although it was several degrees below freezing, the only beings whose breath condensed into little misty clouds were the restless horses that were harnessed to the two carriages. All the others, the combatants, their seconds and their admiring ladies were dead. Or rather undead. When they did breathe, in order to speak, the air left their lungs at the same freezing temperature at which it had been inhaled.
Godforsaken weather. Spike thought miserably. He hated the cold, as did Drusilla. His beloved was dressed in a beautiful blood red overcoat lined with a luscious black sable collar. A fur hat and a sable muff completed her expensive wardrobe. She looked stunning, like a delicious splash of blood on snow. He bowed over her outstretched hand and planted a kiss on it. "I will have to draw you like this, my lovely," he murmured. "As soon as I've killed that bloody arsehole over there and gotten us out of this bleedin' cold."
Drusilla merely smiled at his words. She was strangely quiet that day, playing with a polished little silver pendant and staring at Spike's opponent in that strangely attentive way that told Spike that she was studying the situation quite lucidly.
The Crusader and his second were dressed in uniforms of tsarist officers or whatever. Spike didn't really care. Konrad's "Dame" as he called her, Louisa, was dressed in dark green. Her hair was a cascade of blonde curls that reached down to her waist. She, too, wore a fur hat and muff, but their color was white. Spike thought she paled next to the dark beauty of his true love.
Time to get going. Spike was growing impatient. What's he waiting for? He bounced up and down, and whipped his curved saber through the air. If he had to wait any longer, his joints would probably freeze and snap like icicles. The stolen heat from their last meal had left his body much too quickly.
Finally, the Crusader took his coat off, exchanged a few words with his lady and drew his weapon. He walked over, his movements smooth and graceful.
How come the bleedin' ponce didn’t look cold at all? Spike frowned.
The two vampires got into a fighting stance, vamp faces to the fore, and the seconds gave the signal. Spike lunged straight away, hoping to surprise the older vampire with his speed, but his thrust was easily parried and riposted. Spike parried, and so the blades flicked back and forth, their gleaming tips weaving a shimmering pattern.
It was soon all too apparent that Spike was hopelessly outmatched. Their blades had barely contacted more than twenty times, when the tip of his opponent's saber found Spike's skin for the first time, marking his left cheek with a scarlet gash. Spike realized Konrad was not only an experienced swordsman, but also much faster than him. There, another cut, the right cheek this time. The Crusader was playing with him.
Konrad smiled at him in satisfaction. "Your lady will be such an exquisite adornment for my court. I promise I will treasure her till the end of time."
A deep growl rose in Spike's breast. It was time to fight for real. Remembering some of the ballet like moves the Chinese Slayer had used to attack and defend he became a ferocious whirlwind, kicking, slashing, clawing. He used every trick no matter how exotic or how dirty and finally landed a good hit himself, that cut through the other vampire's shirt and nicked his abdomen, drawing blood.
The two vampires separated, circling each other warily. Suddenly the sound of a pistol shot chased a whole unkindness of ravens into the icy leaden sky.
The combatants quickly turned towards the source of the sound, just in time to see Louisa explode in a shower of dust. The acrid smell of gunpowder wafted upwards from the twin barrels of a small derringer pistol that was protruding from a black sable muff.
"You really shouldn't cheat in a duel, you know." Dru said, smiling sweetly at Konrad. "I can smell magic in your blood, keeping you warm and fast."
“A spell, ey?” Spike grinned suggestively. "What else do you need a spell for? Servicing the missus?"
The Crusader snarled in anger. Dropping all play he disarmed the younger vampire with a practiced twist of his own blade, cutting deep into his opponent's forearm in the process. Spike yelped in pain. Helplessly he watched his blade clatter to the ground, way out of reach.
The other vampire smiled condescendingly. Keeping the point of his sword pointed at his enemy, he slowly moved to where Drusilla and the seconds were standing. "Don't worry, insolent cub, I won't kill you, not yet. I'll dust your little trollop first."
Who needs a bleedin' sword anyway? Roaring Spike hurled himself at his opponent, not caring in the least that the point of the saber entered his body about an inch below his breastbone. It hurt like hell, but he let the momentum carry him forward until the hilt touched his belly and the blade protruded from his back. Until he could lay his hands on the older vampire. He gripped the other's head, trying to twist his neck, and when that did not work tried to drive his fangs into Konrad's throat.
Around them the snow was now churned, splattered with blood. They still stood upright, their bodies interlocked in what looked like a ferocious embrace. The Crusader had grabbed Spike by his ponytail and was trying to yank his head away from his throat. With the other hand he was twisting the blade in Spike's body. Spike was half crazy with pain, almost mindlessly clawing at the other's face with his hands and teeth.
Another gunshot sounded. The Crusader screamed as the wooden bullet missed his heart by less than an inch. With one violent, desperate shove he pushed the younger vampire off, and for a fraction of a second, before Spike could grab hold of him again, the older vampire's body shimmered as it transformed into the shape of a black raven. The bird quickly rose to the sky, and was soon out of sight.
Spike just collapsed, underneath him a slowly growing puddle of blood. He was barely conscious, but he knew he'd heal. He heard his love instructing his second to bring one of the carriage horses over for him to feed on. And then she knelt at his side. Drusilla. "My brave warrior, my dark knight," she exclaimed, cradling him in her arms, not caring if his blood stained her beautiful coat. Her embrace was painful, but her adoration warmed his heart.
***
Spike walked ahead, the Crusader at his heel. Knowing the enemy at his back gave him the creeps, but he put on his best swagger, anyway. Even though it felt like he was being marched to his execution. And he kept the cue stick – not that he really expected to play another game of pool tonight.
The air outside was mild. The music from inside was still audible, but strangely distorted. Spike kept on walking along Happy Hour Lane, leading his hostile vampire entourage away from the main exit and other potential innocent bystanders until he reached a cul-de-sac, infamously known as Slayer's Corner - at least among the local vampires. It was a good place to feed, unless the Slayer was nearby. Two houses and a wall provided a certain amount of cover. Unfortunately they also prevented one from running away. Spike sighed. At least there shouldn't be any nasty surprises popping up behind his back. He turned to face Konrad and his gang. Which now consisted of six followers. Brilliant.
"Right then, how 'bout we do it here? Swords again?"
"That won't be necessary." Konrad vamped out, and his gang followed suit.
"I take it you won't be all chivalrous and give me a fighting chance, then?"
The vampires just grinned at him.
Spike shrugged. "Yeah, thought as much."
He grabbed the cue like a quarterstaff and dashed forward. A half turn, a quick poke to the side and one of those toothy grins turned to dust. The others didn't hesitate, though. Armed with improvised stakes and some nasty looking knives they came for him. Not all at once, but always at least two, sometimes even three at a time. Spike managed to land some painful kicks and his whirling cue bought him a little bit of manoeuvring space, but the way he was outnumbered made it impossible to exploit the few situations in which he thought he had gained the upper hand.
They weren't serious about finishing him off quickly. They were cautious. Studied his moves. Just inflicted damage, like a pack of wolves, weakening their prey. Konrad had really trained them well. The Crusader held back of course, and Spike had no chance to reach him. He'd have to go through Konrad's minions first. But the truth was, he couldn't really see himself winning. It was a bloody good fight, though. His opponents were cunning. And he had to use every trick in the book, to avoid getting dusted. Even so, he got cut and stabbed a few times, fortunately not in vital parts of his anatomy.
"Hey, Crusader, do you actually tie your own shoelaces or do you need your minions for that as well?" Spike shouted.
"Hey, Crusadork," another, familiar voice, echoed. "My mom always told me not to poke dead things with a stick...I guess, in this case, I'll make an exception."
"Hey, Crusa-whatever," a third, female voice chipped in. "Say hello to Mr. Pointy!"
Stunned silence. Then Konrad and his fang gang whirled around and saw two...
"Humans?" the Brad Pitt look-alike exclaimed, incredulously. Taking advantage of the element of surprise Xander skilfully dusted him and went after Willow-skirts. The blonde Slayer did a breathtaking somersault, knocking two Vampires over, and dusting another one, en passant.
Konrad pulled a sword from under his coat, but he did not join the fray. Instead, he watched the final death of his minions impassively. "Natasha!" he beckoned. The brunette vampire obeyed and gracefully moved to his side.
Spike tried to take out Konrad, but somehow Willow-skirts got in the way, so he finished her off, instead, turning that horrible piece of clothing to dust along with its owner. Having aimed for the same vampire Xander bumped into Spike and knocked him over. "Careful! Don't wonna fit in an ashtray, yet!" Spike quipped. "Your big mouth would never fit in an ashtray," was Xander's slightly preoccupied retort. Both scrambled to their feet just in time to see the Slayer kill off another vampire. However, Konrad and Natasha, were nowhere to be seen.
"Bollocks!" Spike exclaimed. "Probably turned into a bleedin' bird again."
"He does that? Like you-know-who, Mr. funny accent?" Xander asked, slightly panicky.
"Drac? Yeah. Konrad’s about the same age, maybe older."
"So, in the year twenty-five twenty-five you can expect to turn into what, a fluffy little bunny?"
"Oh, that would be so sweeeeeet," the Slayer squealed.
Both men ignored her completely. Instead Spike frowned at the human. "Don’t be inane," he said dismissively.
"Come to think of it, Anya wouldn't like that at all. But how about a peroxided lab rat?" Xander grinned, quite evilly, actually. He was obviously on a high caused by the heady mixture of adrenaline and victory.
"I'm warning you, Harris." Spike said, torn between a frown and a reluctant grin.
"Eow, rats!" the blond girl whined, trying to sneak her arm round the vampire's waist.
"Oh, stop it, Slayer!" Spike snapped, his good mood suddenly gone. He knew the robot was only following her programming. But every time that damn thing touched him or fawned on him it was like someone twisted a knife in his guts.
“But I just saved you, Spike, and you know fighting makes me all hot. Don’t you want to feel me up?” She grabbed his hand to shove it under her tank top but he yanked it away.
There was an embarrassed silence as both men tried to pretend that they didn’t see the robot’s unhappy face.
“Buffy,” Xander finally said. “Go back on patrol.”
“Patrol, yes,” the buffybot exclaimed cheerfully. She shoved the stake into the sleeve of her leather jacket and marched off, to resume her patrol pattern.
Spike turned to Xander. "Listen, I think it's time we got out of here. The witches might still be up, stargazing and what not. We should tell them what happened. Let Rupert know, too."
Xander nodded.
They headed for Xander’s car.
"Say, Spike?"
"What?"
"How long till you become a shape shifter?"
"Haven’t got the faintest. Not any time soon, I should think."
"How about that thrall thing? You know, making people eat bugs and stuff?"
“Can’t,” Spike answered.
Xander unlocked the car, slid in and leaned over to open the passenger door for Spike. “But if you could?”
“Would I make you eat bugs and spiders? Is that the question?”
Xander shrugged, suddenly feeling stupid for asking.
“’Course I would. How often do I have to tell you guys? I’m evil.” Spike stated automatically, watching with disdain as the human buckled his seat belt. He searched his pockets for his cigarettes before he remembered that he’d already smoked his last. “On second thought, though,” he pondered aloud, “I don’t think I would.”
“Why not?”
“Not my style.”
“I guess I should be thankful for small favors, then.” Xander started the car and turned on the headlights. He drove in silence.
“Say,” Spike said after a while. “You couldn’t lend me a tenner, could you?”
***
Konrad lifted the shroud of invisibility that had protected him and Natasha from being detected.
"Well well, Spike has found himself a new girlfriend. And a Slayer, too. Who would have thought William the Bloody, killer of two Slayers, would join forces with humans or have a Chosen One fall for him. How very interesting."
The undead crusader chuckled, and it wasn't a pleasant sound.
Next update: next monday.
