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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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."

Coffee was one thing, but seeing her come back with food is almost too much. She's going to overwhelm him with kindness at this rate. Which is why he ignores the way his stomach rumbles at the smell of... well he'll have to taste it to be sure.

Sitting up, Spike reaches for the pack to start the second phase of his plan, only now it seems to be stuck to the table. He frowns and pulls on them, but gives up quickly, his expression quickly mellowing before he gives himself away. Castle games.

"...Yeah, they are. It happens." He turns his attention to the tray. "What are those?"

"Pies, with strawberry and lemon, and pheasant."

She's hardly pretending to serve him in this case, setting the tray on the table by the window. This food is for her, mostly, but he's welcome to walk over and eat if he feels he can make the trip. She isn't even sure he can, and out of morbid curiosity, she walks over to look down at him and then the cigarettes. The pack looks a little damp, but it doesn't look that bad.

Anne picks it up and opens it, then looks at him with a new irritation. "Are you so in love with lies that you must lie even about this? As if it is a sickness in you."

He'd be more inclined to get up if she'd brought out bacon and eggs. If they're as unique as the coffee, his curiosity might get the better of him. He'll see how it goes.

Which isn't well, at the moment. Again he finds himself looking up at her, but this time he's mildly amused by her need to check. It's a wonder she believe anything he says when she always needs proof.

"What do you know. They aren't ruined for you."

Anne's glare is sharp, but not lingering, soon overcome by her own amusement. He would know she no longer smokes, though if he ever put two and two together as to why is something she's never thought to ask about. She's under no obligation to explain herself to anyone, save Henry, and fortunately for both of them he isn't here.

Flipping the pack closed again, she turns and heads back to the table carrying it with her and setting it next to the candle nearest the food.

"I suppose then that you do not want them after all. They do not smell pleasant, anyway."

If he's disappointed that she walks away without leaving him an opening, he doesn't show it. Although it's not a few seconds later that he's daydreaming about the smell of cigarettes wafting through a smokey room. He assumes that usually he would have smelled the same, back when he was too used to it to have noticed. Now he has no idea what he smells like. Alcohol, probably.

Sitting up straighter with his interest focused, he smiles in that deceptively charming way of his. It only works on people who can find him charming, but old habits.

"If you wanted one, all you had to do was ask."

Sitting down, Anne pushes her hair back over her shoulders with a flourish, to keep it from getting in the way of her food. She doesn't eat much; even less when stressed or upset, so she'll be insulted if he expects her to eat all of this. But she would rather him have an empty stomach if the alternative is throwing up on her floor again.

Brushing out her skirts so they're arranged and she can sit comfortably, Anne helps herself to one of the fruit tarts without bothering to look at him. All of the food is set so that one can eat with their hands. There isn't any silverware to be seen except for knives.

"I preferred the...cigars? Yes? They have a better flavor."

After the trial he just went through, he enjoys seeing her odd royal quirks again. It may not have been worth spilling his guts like he did, but now that it's done with, he can make the most of a bad hangover.

It reminds him of how things were before they got complicated. Before they really knew each other.

"I could have guessed that. They're more expensive, too."

Well it makes perfect sense to her that something bigger and with better tasting ingredients would be more expensive, but it's not like she's ever had to pay for them. She just wished for them from the castle, but when....yes, back before they really knew each other.

She pours herself a cup of ale, seeming to have no trouble drinking the morning after a bender of her own. But her hangover is rather mild in comparison to his, and the ale is weak.

"If you are not to smoke," though the cigarettes are right there at the center of the table, "then you ought to at least eat something. We are to go on the hunt today."

It isn't that he hasn't been thinking of the food between his fantasizing about smoking, it's getting his motivation back up to walk the few steps it takes to get to it. The ale doesn't go without his notice either, and he vaguely considers the benefits towards making himself a prairie oyster.

At her prompting, he finally decides he can make it and stands. He eyes the cigarette carton, then his hand passes over it, but eventually it settles on the... oh, he grabbed a tart. He really needs to stop getting distracted.

"--The hunt?" Automatically he thinks she's talking about a bounty, but he knows that's wishful thinking. Well, another time and it'd be wishful thinking; he's perfectly happy staying in a dark room doing absolutely nothing but nurse his head for the next day or two.

Really, Spike, the eel and almonds weren't cure enough?

"After mass," she answers, reaching for the pheasant to tear the pieces up into even smaller bites with her hands. "We will go hunting. The meat tastes better when you know where it has come from. I cannot even guess what world the castle wrenched this from, or whose table. The poor folk."

Wouldn't it be something if he maintained his tolerance for disgusting cures? It helped, but he still needs something.

More than a tart. He stuffs it in his mouth in one bite so he can move on to the meat, and as a result responding to Anne comes out slightly muffled.

"Did you plan all this while I was sleeping?"

"I had planned as much yesterday."

It had been all she could do to think up ways to occupy herself the following day, the cursed marked day on a calendar that would always represent her arrest and ruin the joys of May Day only one day earlier. Most of the planning had been at the end of the night, when she was drunk and staring at the bonfire like she wished for the flames to consume her a second time.

His manners, or lack thereof, are easily ignored, so long as he doesn't spit up any food. That much she won't tolerate.

"Mass, hunting, then to cook what we find and have a full dinner." She means lunch, but cultural confusion is still impossible to abandon even after this much time. "Then I will go swimming."

It is the only way she can defy the date, really; to keep her mind off the grim affair and to have fun despite. Or at least pretend she is.

Edited 2014-06-15 07:57 (UTC)

He makes a note of the way she continues to use the word 'we' with certain activities, which he can assume to mean he's being invited along. Except for swimming. If she thinks he's well enough to go hunting, he's surprised he didn't get a pass for that too.

It occurs to him that she's been taking it easy on him ever since that incident. Whether she means to, or if she's only dealing with her anniversary, he isn't sure. It could be that any company is better than none, and he just happened to show up first.

When he thinks she isn't watching as carefully, he absently grabs the box of cigarettes again, giving it a good tug before he comes to a similar discovery of it being stuck. Giving up, he stocks his hands in his pockets.

The protest he had in his mind dies before he ever starts. He could guess why she filled her schedule up.

"Sounds like a fun day."

Anne isn't aware of how well Spike might be progressing in his health, as she had left him blindly in The Doctor's hands after an altercation. In it she had gotten her way, but only in making The Doctor feel completely responsible. It's her smugness that keeps her from pestering the man on Spike's injuries, but more often than not it's also a paranoia. Show too much interest in anyone, and anyone else will eventually be left to draw conclusions. Already The Doctor had poked and prodded too far on a suspected favoritism bestowed upon Spike, so there was that she was now forced to ignore.

Not to mention that the last time she had filtered to him, somebody else had responded. It was alarming, and so she didn't know how to contact him properly. She wasn't about to go to his bedchamber with gold in her hand and a pout on her lip.

"It will be a distracting day. An act within an act that all can respect at one time or another, no?"

Anne watches him seemingly tug at the box of cigarettes while she speaks, her words slowing as the wheels turn in her head. Spike is an odd creature, and while some things she can now read and predict a mile away, other aspects can still make her curious, even if that often leads to frustration. It's a reason he would have no doubt been one of her favorites in court, had things turned out differently.

This oddness is just too irritating to allow unchecked for much longer, and she abandons her food to reach and pluck up the paper container, reading the brand on the front with a bored face before looking back up to him. The pack waves a little to emphasize his silly little issue, whatever that may be.

"What do you play at, Master Spiegel? If this be a game, it is rude to leave your opponent so abandoned in darkness."

He frowns at how easily she lifts the pack of cigarettes. Whatever the game is, it's not his favorite.

And like the other truths that he's reluctantly shared in the midst of what could have ended in a simple overdose, Anne won't let go of anything he's hiding. This one is possibly the most embarrassing, since he hasn't worked out exactly what's happening here.

For lack of any other reasonable explanation, he lifts one hand from a pocket and flexes his fingers.

"Just a handicap acting up." Because that's somehow better than admitting to a curse from the castle.

Then, in trying not to stare too longingly at the pack, he promptly turns his back and takes a seat on the floor by her throne, like that's the most natural position to take. Obviously it's nothing to be concerned about.

Having mellowed somewhat since her return, she still becomes irritated at his lack of respect. Him failing to perceive it is no less an insult than if he were trying to purposely rile her up.

"Already I have tolerated your nonsense and your mess. Do not further press me by hovering about to swipe what treats you may steal before turning your back upon me."

He looks back up at her, mildly confused. She offered them, didn't she? -- Must be the vague answer again, but he doesn't see why her tolerance is so low. Throwing up probably had something to do with it.

"I don't suppose you could light me one of those, then?" Asking her that is just giving her another reason to smack him, of course. Part of might even do it for that very reason, if only to have a game he can call his own. He's more perceptive than he looks.

Before she answers, he adds with all due respect. "I've had to cut back, but I have a hard time giving things up."

She most certainly had offered them. But he wasn't supposed to take them like a little urchin and then sneak off to sit by his lonesome with his back to her. Even if it isn't that far, the rudeness is too much for any queen to ignore, even when being lax with friends.

Her look is rather deadpan, denying him an incensed response. Instead Anne just wipes at her mouth with the linen before reaching for more coffee. Times like these she feels she can never have enough, for the fools she must suffer.

"Then let me not be Eve with her apple, hm? You are like to burn down your bedding in a drunken stupor, no doubt."

Edited 2014-07-16 22:47 (UTC)

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