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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Seeing her, what a strange way to say it. It's only through context that Anne understands what that is meant to mean, and she's reminded of how flippant people are about love in the future. Maybe they don't even realize it, but their phrasing often makes it quite clear to her.

But that doesn't mean they don't suffer just as much from obsession, and that too is as plain to her as the daylight creeping in through the half-opened windows. She's now made curious to think there is another man in the castle who could be similar to Spike.

"How did they...turn out?"

Edited 2014-06-06 04:06 (UTC)

If the answer isn't obvious, he regrets saying that. Even if it is. Wallowing in pity isn't a good look for him, and he's getting dangerously close by his standards.

"I meant here. How they turned out." He gestures to the air for emphasis. Dismissing the notion as quickly as he brought it up. "Although it must be harder for someone with ambition."

By now she can easily tell when he is holding back, as that is most of the time, isn't it? Her look again darkens, and she glances away.

"Is that all you see me as? Ambitious? You think my legacy is what I most heavily mourn?"

He watches her as she looks away, quiet as he considers how carelessly he's been throwing phrases around.

When he'd said something about ambition, he'd been thinking of Vicious, but he could have used that word in reference to her as easily. The festival was only the most recent example.

Wordlessly, he shakes his head. That's not all he sees.

"I met your daughter." Figuratively speaking. He'd never spoken to her, because of what Anne requested. It took him a long time to appreciate why she was so protective. Even an idiot retains a few things.

"I do not mourn her."

Anne looks back to him, hew jaw set as she slowly stands. "And I do not mourn my legacy, for she will carry it and make it her own. She will bring a new age to England that even my lord husband could never have dreamed. She will become so grand that centuries into the future, people hear my name and think of her, and I am proud. A pride so great that it is a sin, and I feel no sorrow for that. She has earned it. She forced the world to know that a woman can rule more fiercely than a man, can carry and send the Lord's will throughout her kingdom and force Spain to kneel, and not just any woman, but my daughter."

Her steps are careful as she moves towards him, and just as slow as her stance had been. She is in no hurry.

"What I mourn are deaths made unnecessary, and knowledge made false. I mourn the deaths of friends. I mourn the death of my brother, which I watched. I mourn my own death, because of lies whispered in my King's ear. I mourn...what any mortal woman should. I mourn most heavily today. Do you know what today is?"

She stops before him, staring down at him with a gaze that could be icy if it wasn't so damp, her tears held at bay by force of willpower alone. Her will is great, and not something easily broken even still.

"Do not shield things from me, not today. Whatever you hide, I will eventually make known, and if you force me to do it against your choice, then I will make it known to all. Do you believe me?"

As miserable as he feels, he can't bring himself to dismiss her questions as easily when she starts hitting the heart of the issue. What he doesn't know about her directly, he's read, more extensively than anyone would feel comfortable with, from books readily available in the library. Search his room, and she'd find at least a couple of them still wedged under his couch. He would have thought having that unfair advantage would count for something, but he constantly lands in the same position. Knowing makes everything more difficult. She has more to hold over him than she realizes.

When she steps closer it becomes more apparent that she's towering over him as he slouches beneath, and he thinks that must be fitting. Only when he can see the tears in her eyes, he fights the compulsion to comfort her in a way that wouldn't be appropriate or appreciated. -- So he rests a hand on the arm of his chair and pushes himself up until he can find his feet again. It may seem like he's planning on walking out the door, but he doesn't make a step towards it.

He's at least thankful that he doesn't fall in the process. The resolve in his tone may be lost if he faltered now, and he speaks through the pain in his temple. "What do you want to know? Who she was? How she died and who was responsible? How I killed him after?"

Anne is a complicated woman, and even with all his knowledge, it's hard to tell what she wants to hear. She probably didn't expect him to bring back to the subject when she had offered a divergence, but at the moment his desire to be done with it outweighs the multitude of reasons to walk away.

"It's all in the past, so why does it matter?" He intended to stare at her to get her exact reaction, but he can hear a hint of emotion enter his voice and his eyes fall back to her throne instead. This was never a place for him.

Edited 2014-06-08 23:38 (UTC)

When Spike stands it almost feels as if the positions are reversed, it's so easy for him to tower over her. But she shows no sign of backing down just because of that, if anything it only makes her stand even straighter, her gaze unfaltering as she searches his face. It has been awhile since she's stood this close to him for more than a passing moment, and seen his strange mismatched eyes for what they are. It's impossible to notice from a distance or at a glance, but she had noticed on their first meeting. What had she said about it? She can't recall, she had been drunk.

As he looks away, she reaches out to roughly grab his hand, the one she had once so carefully wrapped, squeezing and tugging to force him to look back to her again. She feels no remorse if he suffers more pain. The hangover is his own doing, and she thinks so is this old injury.

"Your past would not matter if you left it there, but you do not know how to do such a thing. Even when you claim to reject it, it follows you everywhere like a shadow. Last night is as much proof as one needs."

Anne releases his hand before her touch can be accused of lingering or becoming gentle.

"Was he responsible for her death? Or were you?"

She's successful; Spike looks back the instant he feels her hand on his, unable to recover fast enough to not seem surprised. If she means to hurt or comfort him, he can't be sure. The pain he's feeling runs too deep to narrow down the source, and he's thankful to have a few options to choose from.

This isn't the first time he's heard someone say something like that to him. They were telling him that years ago, and it never sunk in. Few of them understood his reasons. It's not only his past, it's who he is. And who he is has been lost since the moment he died.

For a long while all he can do is stand in silence, keeping his head bowed as if it helped to hold his balance. It's not a fair question for her to ask when he has so many pieces missing. He could mention this, but the answer resonates with him before any other excuse comes to mind.

"I was."

It might not be fair, but nothing between them has ever been fair. Nothing in her life, and possibly nothing in his, because the world isn't built that way. To survive, to hold control, even to love, one cannot be fair. She thinks he understands this.

"You are wrong." Anne pulls away, walking towards the window where the curtains had been drawn to let in the early morning light. Reaching up, she tugs them closed, casting the room in a darkness that can only be soothing for one suffering such a grievous hangover.

"Neither is the correct answer. I do not need to know her, or him. I need only know you." She looks over her shoulder, though her appearance is now muted in the shadows. There's still barely enough light to see. "You would not love a weak-willed woman, nor an ignorant one."

Anne walks from the window, into her bedchamber. She returns only moments later, carrying a lighter. It's difficult for her to call the flame, as he should know, but then that is the very point she is trying to make as she begins lighting candles.

"So then she would have been aware. She would have made a choice knowingly. Him. You. You remove her agency by taking claim over her life and death. Your guilt, much as you may not wish to believe it, is selfish. She made a choice, knowing what could come of it. If you truly love her, memories or no, then you will accept that."

Anne looks back to him. "I promised that I would never lie to you. You cannot make me the same promise... I have accepted this. But you can promise me one thing. Do not ever confuse my choices for your own. Do not ever think to remove my will, as it is now all that I can truly claim to own in death. Your guilt, in any form, serves me no purpose."

Spike doesn't interrupt, at first grateful that she chooses to give him some space that he won't feel compelled to fill with more bad decisions. If she would only talk about anyone else, he could have released some of the tension that instead builds when she continues to dissect a relationship he can only imagine. His own fault, of course, so he can't hold it against her. Not when she's doing her best to sympathize with his ailments.

Anne's kindness always did come in moments when he's not expecting it. Everything from not leaving him passed out in the hall to lighting the candles is a surprise. He won't fool himself into believing it's because she cares about him, but he notices all the same.

More than any of the advice, he wants to believe that he wasn't confusing love with guilt, but it's a difficult line to draw when each seem as selfish as the other. All in all, these are subjects that don't lend themselves well to hangovers, and still he listens.

The exact meaning behind what she says is something he'll need more time to digest. One instance stands out more than the others, and he forces himself not to think of it. Right now, he only nods that he understands, and smiles the way he does when nothing is really funny. Like a man who can't believe he'll be pardoned for his crimes.

"I wasn't sure how I was going to apologize."

"I have never said no to a gift, but apologies on their own are useless." Well, sort of. She still wants them, she deserves them, but not just them alone. "I much prefer action. For instance..."

Anne settles back down to have another cup of coffee, mixing in the ginger, honey, and chocolate while she speaks.

"If you are healed enough to at least tutor, I would have you take a student under your wing. You need purpose, as does he."

Edited 2014-06-14 22:46 (UTC)

By the time she gets around to asking something from him, he's not in any position to turn her down. It's a talent she has that rivals her skill at getting him to say what's really on his mind. Nobody could tell him that it isn't entirely intentional.

He just wishes what she wanted wasn't something he generally avoided at all cost. Rubbing his eye, he moves to a proper leaning wall and drops his hand once he feels like he can look at her without a sour expression. It almost works.

"Who is he?"

She does excel at timing, but she does truly think this would be best for the both of them. Such loner types are hard enough to force out there, not that she wants them to grab too much attention. She thinks Spike ought to focus on something that could help someone else, and Ben needs to find his own strength somehow.

Besides, she had requested Spike to work for her, and he had never really said no. She thinks it might be easier for him to think of it as a job rather than a favor.

"Ben Paul. I have little doubt you have seen him in my presence. He is lost and must find worth, but does not seem to know how to take steps in that direction."

Ben Paul... Spike takes a moment to think back. When he thinks he can picture him, he's not entirely sure it's the right guy, but considering he's some scrawny kid it probably is. Someone who needs a lot of work and would take a considerable amount of his energy. That's worked out so well in the past.

Again with 'the past'. So maybe he does have a problem. His head drops and his tone shifts to something more detached. Back to business as usual.

"I know a guy who was running something like that, you know. Training. I could get them in touch with each other." Although if he hasn't responded to Brock yet, there could be a reason. It's worth mentioning anyway, since he hasn't heard of any of Brock's pupils dying after their first lesson.

Initially she thinks to scold him for questioning her judgment and assuming his is better, and maybe before she had returned home she would have. For now she waits first for him to at least further explain, though that does not make her feel less indignant over his continued disrespect.

"What is his name? How are they more fitting than you?"

Lucky for him; arguing isn't his strong suit at the moment. Explaining his very valid objection to it might lead them down another road he doesn't want to cross, so he shrugs it off.

"He was your king last night." He pauses before going on, already aware that his response won't help her temper. "Unless you don't trust him."

Anne actually snorts at his suggestion, one hand shooting up to half cover her mouth as it dissolves into a fit of laughter. It takes her only a moment to realize he's being honest, and that only makes her laugh more. She stops only so she doesn't have to risk spilling her drink all over her dress.

Almost like a coin flip, though, her tone immediately becomes flat and her gaze sharp. "What Master Paul does in his own time is by his choice, but I will be angry with you if you choose to take him to Brock Samson just so that you can avoid putting effort into anything. I do not wish to associate with that brute more than I must. I have requested that you do this, and I expect you to. I do not just mean for gunplay, but true combat as well."

Besides her dislike for Brock, she also imagines Spike would simply be a better option. His build is more like that of Ben's, while Brock is built like a bull. She is no battle expert, but she would think his 'style' to differ.

He'd expected her to yell, so her laughter puzzles him until he thinks back on what he said. Either she would trust anyone more than him, or she and Brock had more of a history than last night. Thankfully she seems angry again before he's left to settle on the more obvious reason.

Just as well. Spike owes Brock too much as it is. Although he doesn't remember throwing up on his floor. So while Spike doesn't verbally agree, he doesn't refuse.

"He must have done something big for you to go so far out of your way to teach him."

Anne sniffs, smoothing out her skirt despite it not needing it in the least. She does it now whenever she has the urge to chew her nails, a poor habit brought on by stress. Spike always brings stress with him, but somehow she keeps letting him in.

"He saved me in a way that a Godless fool like you could scarcely understand." She doesn't say this with any venom, simply matter-of-fact. "But I cannot tolerate such a low value of his own character. It is most irritating; a level of humility that is not Christian, but pathetic."

Not that she would speak the words this way to Ben, for fear of hurting his self-esteem beyond repair. Most of the time she can understand how far 'too far' is. That doesn't always stop her, but he is young, and earnest, and that much she can respect.

"In beside, it is not one step out of my way. It is only out of yours. But what else have you to spend your time with, hm?"

He feels a little less special, the way she insults Brock and Ben in a way that he thought was reserved for him. Although he still gets the catchier nicknames. He'll have to decide if he prefers 'Godless fool' to 'lunkhead'.

As if he'd be jealous of a kid like Ben, who more than likely doesn't know what he's getting himself into.

"Nothing at all." With that, he turns his back to sit in the chair. They'd already established exactly what he spends his time doing, so he doesn't feel the need to revisit that territory. -- Maybe all of the talking he did earlier left him short on words. He can hope.

Spike is still special enough to have a certain amount of her venom always in reserve; a whole armory full of insulting 'nicknames'. Enough that she is surprised he keeps showing up, having no law saying he must swear fealty to her as he would in England. But then he has to ruin it by talking about more important people in his life; she is selfish enough to dislike it.

Watching him with narrowed eyes that are meant to dissect, Anne brushes her knuckles beneath her chin thoughtfully. He's been awake for several minutes, now, and yet?

"You are not smoking." Had the water ruined his cigarettes? That wouldn't keep him from wishing for more.

Anne brings up a good point. It was bad enough when the castle decided to interfere with his drinking habits, now he has to find opportunities to smoke. He opens one eye shortly after he'd closed it, not about to let this one slip by.

"Now that you mention it." He's careful in how he uses his words, as simple as they come out. "I don't suppose you have any left."

She certainly does not, having gotten rid of her entire stock shortly after Event Horizon had claimed her sanity, and the look she offers is about as deadpan as it can get before she stands up, waving a hand dismissively. It should be enough that she would even let him smoke in her presence again.

Anne had preferred cigars, anyway.

"Wish for some from the castle."

With that she's disappearing into another room again, having waited long enough to let his stomach settle before she fetches breakfast.

Edited 2014-06-15 05:19 (UTC)

Tease. Spike watches her go, but with her back turned she may miss the way he's pouting. Wishing for cigarettes isn't the problem, it's always lighting them. He hasn't entirely figured out what the trick is, but it's become one of his least favorite games that he plays with the castle. To think he used to believe that it would encourage bad habits.

He wishes for some anyway, leaving a pack on the table beside him, for torture's sake. Either Anne will come back and he can test his skills at talking her into offering him one, or she won't and he'll wait to fall back asleep until it doesn't bother him any more.

For all the grief he gets, he really doesn't ask for much.

That's a good thing, really, because Anne would allow him a lot more if he did ask, and he's better off not knowing that. What grief he does get has more to do with what he's held back from her, both answers and a respect for royalty he will never actually have...and, of course, what he never could have predicted to go wrong one year ago. That much isn't his fault, but it's easier to blame him.

When she returns carrying a tray of fruit tarts and and sliced up pheasant, she's surprised to see him sitting in the same spot without a cigarette. Hadn't she given him leave to smoke to his heart's content? Or was her suspicion correct?

"Were they ruined? I hope you do not wish for me to feel guilt."

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