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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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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)

... Was that a yes? Sometimes it's harder to understand Anne's creative way of speaking, and this would be one of those times that he isn't operating at full capacity anyway. Possibly not as empty as she's implying though. For example, he ignores the temptation to comment on how he isn't that drunk, now when he looks back up at her. Why ruin a perfect excuse?

"That would be a tragedy." Then he says something like that instead. Sometimes he gets so caught up in watching someone's reaction to him that he loses track of what may be insensitive or not.

The silence following is palpable, as she merely holds onto her cup, staring down towards him with a look one would better fashion for someone set for the gallows. But he is a fool, and in her own foolishness, she gives him the benefit of the doubt for that matter.

But her coffee might get cold before she takes another drink.

"Have you ever burnt alive, Master Spiegel?"

Insensitive was the right word. His experience and the months of recovery that followed doesn't totally compare to being burnt alive, so he supposes he can't truly relate. Most people may have finally given up on smoking at that point, but he has so few opportunities to make bad decisions.

He says nothing in response, either deciding that is the safest course of action, or that he's too unsure that he won't show some form of emotion if he starts down that road. The way he looks back at her may say enough for him, but he's smart enough to look away before giving too great of a hint.

For once his silence is welcomed, understood, and appreciated. She takes a drink of coffee and lets it continue to hang there, never having undervalued the power of silence any more than that of words.

But Anne doesn't wish to linger on her many deaths here, nor force him to imagine his. It's done, and settled, and she must finish up her light breakfast before readying. Despite looking as put together as one might out of a storybook, Anne is amazingly going to change into a completely different outfit and hairstyle before their excursions.

"Take more if you wish, and then you are best to go and prepare yourself for a day looking less of a villain."

Fingertips brush beneath her chin as she glances him over in the candlelight.

"Bathe, and change. You will have my horse ready within an hour's time, beside the front gate." She imagines he's seen which one she rides enough times.

Spike sits there, staring at the ceiling as he contemplates everything that just transpired. He wouldn't usually wonder if her timing in the subject change was to make it harder to refuse, but if it was, that was a masterful move.

"I think I've had enough." The words come out as he finds his feet again, still not looking her way in case his expression hasn't changed since she made her request.

Sometimes it's almost a shame he isn't more of an asshole. One more wrong comment could have spared him dealing with horses. (Like he knows what 'ready' means.) -- Of course, she isn't holding a gun to his head and he could ignore it anyway. That illusion of choice makes him feel a little better about doing her a favor.

Once standing has been accomplished, he shuffles in the direction of the door at an unhurried pace, slouched even more than usual. He turns his head back to her eventually, before his charm wears off. "I'll see you in an hour."

When he looks back, he'll find that she's already looking his way with a stony silence and a dazed expression that she just barely catches, only a moment too late, to quickly deaden. It's true that one of these times she is waiting for him to deny her, but she doesn't look forward to such an event. It's why she's careful, most of the time, in keeping from asking for too much.

What she asks for might be considered too much from anybody not her subject. As disrespectful, as odd, as curious as he is, he has given her almost as much as he has taken away from her. Almost.

Anne doesn't hurry her gaze away, not wishing to show shame in staring when she can do whatever she pleases in her own chambers. Instead she holds, as much as one can in the dim light, before turning her eyes back down to the food in front of her and reaching to tear off another small shred of meat as if nothing has ever occurred.

"Do not let anyone see you leave here."

He catches her expression just before it shifts, as he always does; even after a miserable night, his eyes are as sharp as they ever were. For that moment, he wonders if that was genuine surprise that he agreed. It won't be good for him if she breaks the code that he has a problem with denying her anything.

Not that he thinks he couldn't. This time it's mostly payback for throwing up on her floor, that's all.

"I'll do my best." He'd like to be offended that she wouldn't want him to smear her reputation, but his tone reveals that he sort of gets it. There are certain people on this floor that he'd rather not find out about this either.

So before she can ask him to go out the window, he opens the door a crack and peers down the hall. Then with a practiced stealth, he slips through and silently closes it behind him. She's free at last.

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