January 8th, 2005


The Spike and Angel Channel

After contemplating dovil's icon story, I've decided that Spike and Angel can fight over anything.

Angel, holding papers, looking around desktop: "I just had a paperclip." Looks up, sees Spike bending a paperclip. "Hey!"

Spike: "What?"
Angel: "That's my paperclip."
Spike: "So what? You've got a dozen boxes in your desk."
Angel, growing the great stone face of simmering rage: "You don't take things off my desk. Got that?"
Spike: "It's a bloody *paperclip*!"

They snarl, fight, dust each other simultaneously.

Angel: "Give me the remote."
Spike: "Sod off."
Angel: "Spike."
Spike: "Angel."
Angel: "Give me the remote and I will not shove this very large whiskey bottle up your--"
Spike: "Oi!"
Angel: "I'm not kidding around here."
Spike: "You know, if you need an auxiliary penis, you might want to try a gun. I hear they're very--"

They snarl, fight, knock over the couch, crash together into the TV rendering the whole argument moot but without noticing, then wind up in a compromising tangle on the rug at which point Buffy walks in and raises her eyebrows.

Angel: "Stop it."
Spike: "You stop it."
::mutual seethe::

Angel: "Eggs aren't round, Spike, they're...ovoid."
Spike: "Same thing."
Angel: "No, it's not."
Spike: "Ovoid. Oval. Round."
Angel, grimly: "Globes are round. Balls are round."
Spike: "Not looked down there in a while, have you?"
Angel: *punch*

Spike: "Hey. This parrot likes me!"
Angel, muttering: "I could have a parrot. If I wanted." ::sulks::

I could do this all day.


I'm rereading the last noir story as prep for writing one of the contribution stories and...jeez. With perspective of time, I have to say I don't care how many readers were flummoxed by it. Reading it again, I remember all the fun I had writing it. It still makes me giggle. Of my own stories, it's one of my favorites. All the identity switching--it's the kind of stuff I'd have loved to see in canon, sort of a variation on "Tabula Rasa."
Angel knelt next to Anya. Her face was turned halfway into her pillow, mashed and obscured by curls. Wheezing sighs and mutters filtered out from behind the veil. One arm was thrust under the pillow, hand curled up behind it like a dead spider; the other hand, the one he wanted, rested on the floor. He lifted it and held it with care, then slid the ring off.

"Bees!" she gasped, tearing her hand away and swatting at the hair in her face. "Bees, bees, bees!"

Meanwhile I'm about seventeen minutes in to the third Harry Potter movie (interrupted for this) and marvel again at how beautiful it is. Such a subtle and satisfying use of special effects that often annoy me. They even make the dementors beautiful in their way. Such a fantastic view of the train ride in the sleeting rain as it curls around the mountain. HP is one of those fandoms where I forget a lot of plot until I revisit it, so I look forward to remembering all the backstory of Sirius so that I can bring that to reading more S/R fan-fiction. And The Thewlis, it is true, is to sigh and die for.

ETA: I continue to amuse myself:
"When I was little I thought cat burglars stole cats," Xander said as they climbed into Lady Elked's townhouse through a second-story window. "My Uncle Rory stole cats. I'd hold the bag. He told me the Army needed them to carry canteens of water to the wounded. Later I found out he was studying taxidermy. And that we weren't actually at war."