[Raising his brows. No, of course he doesn't believe him.]
I just wanted to make sure, because I was home for a bit last night and... that wasn't here. I'm just saying it's a little large for it to be something that just appeared in the last, oh... twelve hours.
[Crossing his arms under his chest now. Leaning against the bar that separates the kitchen and the living room.
He sees the blooms on Spike's arms match the ones on the tree, and he's eying them pretty hard-- though that might be hard to tell since he doesn't actually have irises anymore.]
Right. Well, I wonder where it could have come from.
[If he gets close enough, he might find this shadow is more solid than usual. But he does look good, even if his outfit is a little out of sorts; tie undone, vest opened, shirt mis-buttoned. Whatever he was busy with before he got home was clearly eventful.
Covering his mouth with his hand, he stares long and hard. Is he serious? He doesn't remember?
Taking a deep breath, that hand moves to pinch the bridge of his nose.]
Krākaskron. What happened just a few weeks after we got here? When those awful flowers started popping out of our skin?
...I mean, before that became your whole deal. Remember?
[He tilts his head, settling back into the couch and crossing his legs. Teasing him is all well and good, but poor Spike looks frustrated. For real.]
Really? Was that what you were trying to do?
[He chuckles, lifting a hand to inspect the blooms across Spike's arms. They're so soft, frail looking, enough to make him worried he could bruise them.]
They may not be roses, but they're lovely all the same.
What were you trying to grow them for? Trying to woo someone?
[He frowns, taking a swig of his beer before setting it on the side table. Folding his hands over his knee, he sighs and allows his head to fall back against the couch cushion.
He knows Spike to be a bit of a schmooze, he has been as long as they've been friends. Always trying something cheesy to get a cute girl's attention. He's even tried to land a date or two on Valentine's Day if there was already someone he was interested in, but it's not terribly often either of them actually celebrated it without a girl being involved. It doesn't occur to him at all any of this is out of the ordinary.]
Don't you think she'd like them anyway? "It's the thought that counts"? Plus, you grew them yourself. That's pretty meaningful, if you ask me.
[Spike only seems to hunch over himself even more. The vines trailing from his back like tails start to squeeze around his own legs in his mild humiliation. Somehow, though he's nearly completely a plant, there's a cat-like sense of indignation at his own embarrassment.]
I think the person it's meant for would like it entirely too much,
[He protests, scowling.]
And never let me live it down. So it's— fine.
[...At least he still thinks they're lovely.
Spike pushes up off the couch anyway, lumbering toward the kitchen.]
[It's his turn to snort, but he doesn't move from his place on the couch. His head simply lolls to the side so he can watch Spike sulk across the room. And enjoy the view.]
Oh yeah? [Smirking.] Who's harassing you over flowers? They sound fun.
[He snickers before he sits up a little more fully, reaching for his beer again.]
But isn't that the point, though? That the person you want to give them to would like them?
[By now, Spike has found something to shove in his mouth. Cheese curl-y, 50's daisies in one of those cardboard cans. It's a little muffled when he manages—]
[He leans forward, placing his elbows on his knees and his hands over his mouth. He's... surprised, to say the least. But-- Christ, this man really needs help on the delivery doesn't he. Yes, Vicious knows he wasn't raised or whatever it is he says, but he knows he's better at it than this-- Then again, he's never tried to make his own flowers, before. These blooms were born of him... They really are as meaningful as he'd said. The thought... actually counts.
Not that it stops him from laughing. It starts as a stifled snort, then a barely audible giggle, holding his hand tighter over his mouth as if it's going to help. He has to look away-- it's the only thing that will save him.]
Y-you're so thoughtful, Fearless. [S-snicker.]
[Though, now... he's. Nervous. He never knows when to expect Spike to be home-- the stray cat that he is --much less for Valentine's Day. Their relationship has been in a rocky spot since... well. The second time (in V's recent memory, anyway) that he killed him, even if they'd had a chance to talk it out... He hasn't been entirely sure where they stood.
This little display just... definitely makes him feel worse about where he'd just come from. Crap. ...Shit, fuck.]
Really-- I-- I wish I'd known. I... would've gotten you something, too.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
transilience
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...You just got here, and it was just like this.
[He's almost apt to believe him, but that shifty look of his is already giving him away.]
Did you... happen to come by after I left for work last night? Was it here, then?
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I said 'just now', didn't I?
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I just wanted to make sure, because I was home for a bit last night and... that wasn't here. I'm just saying it's a little large for it to be something that just appeared in the last, oh... twelve hours.
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Fucked up.
[He knows. He knows Vicious knows him too well for this to work.
He also knows Vicious knows that he won't go down without a fight.
Granted, there are also little buds trailing up his arms, just one or two on each. Very much related to this tree.]
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He sees the blooms on Spike's arms match the ones on the tree, and he's eying them pretty hard-- though that might be hard to tell since he doesn't actually have irises anymore.]
Right. Well, I wonder where it could have come from.
[Lifting a hand to tap at his chin.]
Maybe it's Kräkaskron 2.
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Always. Unfair.
That said, Kräkaskron isn't a name Spike committed to memory. Mostly because it sounds like a bad sneeze.
He blinks, brows furrowed, obviously thrown off his game, and asks;]
Gesundheit?
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Covering his mouth with his hand, he stares long and hard. Is he serious? He doesn't remember?
Taking a deep breath, that hand moves to pinch the bridge of his nose.]
Krākaskron. What happened just a few weeks after we got here? When those awful flowers started popping out of our skin?
...I mean, before that became your whole deal. Remember?
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[Annoyed, Spike heaves a sigh and blows out smoke through his nose. He notices; the little details, how much of a form Vicious seems to have.
The way the corner of his collar flips up in a way Vicious wouldn't usually let it.
Annoying.
Spike turns to shuffle away back toward the couch.]
Yeah, I remember.
Probably not that.
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[He knows that was rhetorical but he couldn't stop himself from answering.]
...so, why don't you ask it where it came from? Can't you talk to plants or something, now?
[He needs a drink. This might take a minute.
He turns to head into the kitchen, rummaging around for two beers in the fridge before taking one to Spike and plopping down next to him on the couch.
Wow, there's even weight to him now. How weird, right?]
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Yeah... Maybe I'll ask them when you opted back in to your subscription to gravity.
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What...? Why would they know?
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Guess they wouldn't. Maybe you should answer for them.
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How... is that relevant to this conversation, exactly?
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Not nearly as interesting as—
[He knocks on Vicious's shoulder like it's wood.]
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I wasn't accusing you, I was making an observation. I thought I'd give you a chance to fess up on your own.
[Reaching over to pinch his side--]
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Alright already. You're not stupid. I get it.
[With a defeated sigh, he leans his elbows against his knees. He looks tired.]
Turns out I can't grow roses.
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Really? Was that what you were trying to do?
[He chuckles, lifting a hand to inspect the blooms across Spike's arms. They're so soft, frail looking, enough to make him worried he could bruise them.]
They may not be roses, but they're lovely all the same.
What were you trying to grow them for? Trying to woo someone?
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You could say that.
["You aren't stupid," he'd said. Now, he regrets it. Still;]
I don't even know what these things are.
Doesn't matter. Didn't turn out.
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[He frowns, taking a swig of his beer before setting it on the side table. Folding his hands over his knee, he sighs and allows his head to fall back against the couch cushion.
He knows Spike to be a bit of a schmooze, he has been as long as they've been friends. Always trying something cheesy to get a cute girl's attention. He's even tried to land a date or two on Valentine's Day if there was already someone he was interested in, but it's not terribly often either of them actually celebrated it without a girl being involved. It doesn't occur to him at all any of this is out of the ordinary.]
Don't you think she'd like them anyway? "It's the thought that counts"? Plus, you grew them yourself. That's pretty meaningful, if you ask me.
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I think the person it's meant for would like it entirely too much,
[He protests, scowling.]
And never let me live it down. So it's— fine.
[...At least he still thinks they're lovely.
Spike pushes up off the couch anyway, lumbering toward the kitchen.]
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And enjoy the view.]Oh yeah? [Smirking.] Who's harassing you over flowers? They sound fun.
[He snickers before he sits up a little more fully, reaching for his beer again.]
But isn't that the point, though? That the person you want to give them to would like them?
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[He opens the cupboard, proceeds to scrounge through as though he's anything like casual.]
Well, you like them, don't you?
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[A curious frown. Wait a moment.]
...Why-- wait.
Are they for me?
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Happy Valentine's.
Or— whatever.
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You--
[He leans forward, placing his elbows on his knees and his hands over his mouth. He's... surprised, to say the least. But-- Christ, this man really needs help on the delivery doesn't he. Yes, Vicious knows he wasn't raised or whatever it is he says, but he knows he's better at it than this-- Then again, he's never tried to make his own flowers, before. These blooms were born of him... They really are as meaningful as he'd said. The thought... actually counts.
Not that it stops him from laughing. It starts as a stifled snort, then a barely audible giggle, holding his hand tighter over his mouth as if it's going to help. He has to look away-- it's the only thing that will save him.]
Y-you're so thoughtful, Fearless. [S-snicker.]
[Though, now... he's. Nervous. He never knows when to expect Spike to be home-- the stray cat that he is --much less for Valentine's Day. Their relationship has been in a rocky spot since... well. The second time (in V's recent memory, anyway) that he killed him, even if they'd had a chance to talk it out... He hasn't been entirely sure where they stood.
This little display just... definitely makes him feel worse about where he'd just come from. Crap. ...Shit, fuck.]
Really-- I-- I wish I'd known. I... would've gotten you something, too.
[Fuck, fuck fuck--]
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