paradisalogs | just take a look at us

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just take a look at us

Who: Spike Spiegel and Anne Boleyn
What: Loss and drunks and drunken losses
When: May Day, after the celebration
Where: By room 206
Rating: PG at least

Sometimes things hit Spike harder and more suddenly than he can account for. The party he'd mistakenly been a part of was nearly out of his mind as he walked away from it, distracted by a disturbing thought that's just beginning to take hold.

He's drunk. This past month, he'd come close a couple of times while sorting out what the hell was going on with him, but this time there's no denying. The fact that he nearly stumbles as he walks down the halls of the castle reassures him of this point. Thankfully, as a self-aware drunk, he should know how to keep himself from making any more mistakes along the way. Also thankfully, he only has to make it to the second floor.

Just down the hall. All he needs to do is to to his room to sleep, and yet the door he's standing in front of currently is a little far off from his destination.

That quickly, he decides he no longer has the will to keep going, and he peels the mask from his face to hang loosely around his neck. It of course occurred to him that she might not even be back yet (or it occurs to him now), but if she doesn't answer to the pounding on her door (louder than he means), he'll wait. With any luck, she'll slap some sense to him and he can get some proper sleep.

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Spike watches her sit in her throne with one eye open, and for a moment he entertains himself by imagining this as a trial, arranged at the worst possible time. Putting him on the spot is one thing, but she could at least stand next to him so he doesn't have to raise his voice above a mumble for her to hear.

Maybe that's how she's thinking of it. Some poor excuse for retribution.

"My loss changed." Generally, 'losses' are his least favorite subject, which is why it comes out so bluntly. He has to force himself not to talk around it. "But first I thought an enemy was my best friend. One fed into the other."

Fortunately for him, the room isn't big enough that he has to overly raise his voice. In the silence of her chambers, with not even a fire to crackle, his voice carries easily with such large acoustics.

She just lets out a light scoff at his admission, understanding nothing of how that relates to why he's punishing her. She even waves her hand as if to dismiss the idea entirely, because so what? She doesn't even know what he had lost before, to be honest.

"The enemy that left you for dead?"

He could lie and nod, but so far that's come back to bite him enough times. Everything is so complicated that he even has a hard time sorting out the truth for himself.

"A different one. Someone from home." And if that makes her roll her eyes, he's stopped looking to see. The dismissive wave was enough for him to guess her opinion. Besides, the more his brain is working (as painful as it is), the more things start to surface. "And something else."

Her nails click together as she flicks absently at nothing, maybe a nervous tick or a sign of irritation, otherwise it's as audible as a pin dropping when words aren't exchanged. And she does let the silence hang for another moment. How many enemies does this man have? How many enemies should a criminal have?

Probably still not as many as a queen.

"Another excuse? Hiding behind enemy turned friend is not good enough? Pray tell."

"I can't be sure, but...," he trails off though, since even he doesn't know what he's talking about. Whatever he's missing, whatever pushed him to take things as far as he did, he can't mention to her. If there's one thing he can't stand being thrown in his face, it's this.

Not much of a story, is it? Spike resolves to finish it, regardless, even if he puts an abrupt spin on the ending.

"When I drank last night, it was the first time I've had anything affect me in months." Which should be enough to explain the extent of his loss, if not why his tone changed. "The only reason I came here is because I was too drunk to remember my room number."

"But you remember mine," she sneers out, the glint in her gaze a sharp cut between disdain and pride. Nails click and clack again, and she watches him like a hawk.

"A shame then that such a loss changed. You are less of a fool when sober. Did your newfound friend drink with you, only to set you loose like a dog?"

He can feel his temper flaring, which does nothing for the pounding in his head that her remedy hasn't worked out yet. She's smart enough to know just what comment will set him off, and he's a bigger fool for handing over the ammunition.

Remaining in control is an exercise in itself, and he only manages a short reply through clenched teeth.

"We broke up."

"This is a faulty explanation. I will give you a chance to explain yourself again."

And as if needing to give him extra time just to consider how he must change or expand upon his words, Anne stands and walks out of the room with soft steps, to the little kitchenette connected to her bedroom. With the coffee having had enough time to brew, it doesn't take her long to retrieve it. She had already arranged the presentation while he was still asleep; little bowls carrying chocolate, ginger shavings, and honey, alongside two cups and a steaming pitcher of dark coffee.

Even with her looming judgment, she's still kind enough to make him a cup, though it's undoubtedly not fixed the way he's used to, including all three condiments before it's handed over and she returns to her seat.

"Explain to me why such a thing would ruin you to a wretched state. Are you so easily undone by your home? It is but a shadow now."

How much more of an explanation does she need? Spike annoys himself by thinking of that question after he resolved to only offer what he could stand her knowing. It's his own fault for making it too obvious that he's holding back.

Her exit is timed well, giving him a moment to calm himself before he really has something to regret about his drunken choices. When she returns to hand him a cup instead of throwing hot coffee in his face, he's confused yet again.

"I live in the shadows, don't you know that?" Mumbled, of course. "I've had one too many things taken from me. I'm sure you've experienced the feeling."

His dark half jest, half truth, leaves her outwardly unaffected. She had found him in the shadows, after all, quite literally. And since they two have never fully danced outside of their dark reach, because the warmth beyond was not sunlight, but Hellfire.

"Do not think to compare your ilk to mine. There is a stark difference you forget."

If she's going to weigh in that she can't possibly relate to the likes of him, he wonders why she asked at all. Why she didn't push him into the hallway while he was passed out and called for a nurse if she didn't want him on her conscience.

"I forget a lot of things." He drinks his coffee, and he can't help the face he makes at the unexpected taste. "What did you put in this?"

He does forget, or maybe he just pretends to in order to make her irate, but she keeps her expression calm. She would never forget; she is innocent of her crimes. He is not.

"Chocolate, and ginger."

Spike sniffs at it, like he's trying to verify the ingredients, then takes another gulp. He's careful not to tell her it's too sweet; anything to get that last taste out of his mouth.

"It's definitely unique."

The ginger should help cut into the sweetness a little bit, adding the bit of sharpness that she so enjoys, but there is no ignoring the chocolate. Of course Anne must even take her coffee in a unique way, there's no helping it. His commentary just gets a deadpan look, though, because really.

"I do not wish to talk of coffee." Her cup is set down on the table next to her. "Tell me of what you have lost, other than your newfound friendship."

Spike lifts his eyes to her, miserable expression more sedated from the warm drink. He's still damp, but drying out now. Better than he would have done on his own.

Even then, he shuts himself off a moment later, and sinks his head back into his palm. Throwing him out isn't such a bad alternative to the truth after he's already gotten what he needed. There's no reason to pretend he had another reason.

"The same thing I lost before."

It's forever more and more tempting to dump this coffee on him after all, but she's not about to get back up and let him have the upper hand over her temper.

"And what is that?"

Her temper never seems to get him to spell things out any quicker, even if her persistence helps to drag more out of him than most were ever able to accomplish. Not that she needs to be aware of that. Faye would have been jealous.

"Memories." As much as it pains him to say it, once he's pinpointed the thing that's wrong with him, the more it makes sense and the easier it gets to continue. "Memories of her."

Anne's lips purse, but she shows no passion in her emotion. Maybe just consideration, accompanied by the gift of silence while she reaches to drink more of her coffee. There are times she drinks a lot more than coffee just in order to forget, but in this she knows the truth, and is always glad to be lucid again. It is bittersweet.

"The castle's cruelty is worthy of note in the most masterful of ballads. I should never trade a thing for memories with my lord husband, but then it would never take something you wanted it to. Of course, how can you miss something you do not remember?"

This time he doesn't have an answer for her question, or if he does, he doesn't voice it. As if his mind needed to be filled with more gaps in time, all surrounding someone who's face he can't recall. It's only be deduction that he found the answer, almost by accident. That and the familiar feeling of something he experienced once already.

When enough time has passed that it seems like he should say something, he's already forgotten what she asked.

"That makes sense." At least, he feels like it did at the time. "Should have come to you first."

"No," she responds, perhaps more sharply than needed, as if having to force it. She digs her thumbnail against her cup, scraping the ceramic in irritation before taking another drink as if to temper her words.

"I have no interest in coddling your lost memories. You only insult me by suggesting as much." Anne has no interest in being a replacement for some woman, she's far better than that. "I had told you to never come here with such intentions before."

Her way with words is on point, as always. Exactly as he saw coming when he chose to tell her something that's too personal to be mocked; so he can't be completely justified in grinding his teeth when she takes the opportunity.

"You know that's not why." If she wants to force him into a corner, he's not going to let her run wild with assumptions that are only partially true. "There's a difference between then and now."

Anne rolls her eyes and looks away, as uncomfortable as he is on the subject matter for numerous similar and different reasons. Everything is different, and yet nothing else. It's maddening, and she will not go into insanity in solitude.

"And what is that, pray tell?"

He exhales, frustrated for reasons he has no right to have. Part of him must have thought that if he let go of what he's been hiding, she'd understand somehow. Now that he can't take it back, he's left in a worse position than he was in before.

"I didn't come to take advantage of you, alright?" Not that way. He feels like it's important to note, even if it implies something he only realizes after the fact. "I could barely stand when I got to your door."

"That much was clear."

Not that she could fear him 'taking advantage' of her in reality, as she would never let any man have that level of control of her. Even Henry couldn't take her when she didn't want. Still, the idea that he might have thought along those lines is as insulting as it is flattering, but...mostly insulting, especially if his thoughts have been stuck on some woman Anne has never even met.

"Tell me of this enemy of yours, the one that is also your friend. He knew her?"

At least that was clear. As much as he's sure she's clear on how painful it is to try to remember anything when his head is throbbing; either from the alcohol or the holes in his brain.

At first he only nods, like that would be enough to satisfy the question. But there's a lot more that he could say about Vicious. As dormant as he's been, Spike should have warned her a long time ago that someone who lives on her floor wants him dead and everyone around him to suffer... or used to. Things change, and he isn't always the quickest to adapt.

"If you want specifics, you'd have to go through him." --Now there's a horrifying prospect. Hopefully his dry sarcasm comes across just as well when he's hungover. "His room is down the hall."

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