Even Spike knew that by now diskettes were stone-age artifacts of an earlier computer era, but someone had stroked this one with a hexed lodestone (Fred: "Thales of Miletus believed that the magnetism of lodestones meant they held souls." Spike: "Got to be one pissed-off soul to give that much juice."), and it looked to have held up pretty well. As soon as they shoved the thing like a Pop-Tart into the system, the entire network was toast--haunted toast--leaving them all at a loss, especially Connor. The boy was accustomed to grabbing a sword, hitting the pavement, and finding something corporeal to maim and kill, and Spike had to fuck him twice in the janitor's closet before he settled down.
Spike/Connor: juice, diskette, pavement
She'd grown up (finally, Giles thought) to be a wise and remarkable woman; no longer a schoolgirl, that precocious walking dictionary who stirred uneasy fears in his breast, and never a lady, but a woman earthy and seasoned, balancing her magic with practical skills he'd never have suspected her capable of--the ability to whip up a moreish curry and plan a dinner party for eight, to choose exactly the right tie for a disreputable tweed jacket, to navigate Bermondsey Market and separate the golden wheat from the naff chaff. She came to him first as a guest, unhired (and if he were honest, unwelcome) help as he recovered the use of his legs, patiently and cheerfully enduring his irascible moods. She stayed as much more.
Giles/Willow: curry, lady, dictionary
Five by Five-Thousand
He was a liar and probably cracked in the head--that's what she'd thought at first. But his loneliness made her doubt her own doubt; that and the ancient knowledge that his eyes held, which even she could sense. He guided her through the Scottish highlands like a shepherd guides a stubborn sheep, sometimes silent for hours at a time, sometimes talking a hell of a lot more than she'd have liked, and always with that small mocking smile that made her want to punch him, that made her itch to uncover him.
Methos/Faith, lonely, liar, shepherd
He'd been the only one who believed in her, a demon willing to give her a shot at redemption. She did the time, came when he needed her, fought to keep him around even when he was at his worst--and his worst was bad, ugly, uglier than her, which was saying something. Now she'd found him again; now she'd keep him around and she'd keep him at his best.
I notice that I went--what, 9 days?--without posting anything, and now I'm posting, like, 9 entries a day. I have mood swings apparently. My god, who knew. I can't even promise this'll be my last post today. I'm so bored and yet vaguely keyed up. If you're contemplating putting me on a yaks-too-much filter, I can understand. I wish I could predict my mood swings better, like, "The weather forecast is 17 more days of hyperactive posting, followed by a 14-day drought." But sadly, I'm more erratic than I can say.
Anna --> is leaving the office now