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code by [personal profile] transilience
humblecowboy: (024)

From: [personal profile] humblecowboy


God. What kind of word is that?

[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.
humblecowboy: (017)

From: [personal profile] humblecowboy


[The weight is answered with a bounce of Spike's brows. He looks over at Vicious, looks him up and down, and takes the beer.]

Yeah... Maybe I'll ask them when you opted back in to your subscription to gravity.
humblecowboy: (006)

From: [personal profile] humblecowboy


[He stares at Vicious for a moment, and then sighs. Shakes his head.]

Guess they wouldn't. Maybe you should answer for them.
humblecowboy: (022)

From: [personal profile] humblecowboy


What conversation? You were just accusing me of putting a tree in the living room.

Not nearly as interesting as—

[He knocks on Vicious's shoulder like it's wood.]
humblecowboy: (011)

From: [personal profile] humblecowboy


[Spike attempts to fend off the pinch with his elbow, then swats at Vicious as he leans to douse his half finished cigarette in the nearest ash tray.]

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.
humblecowboy: (37)

From: [personal profile] humblecowboy


[An ugly snort.]

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.
humblecowboy: (021)

From: [personal profile] humblecowboy


[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.]
humblecowboy: (011)

From: [personal profile] humblecowboy


Guess so, huh.

[He opens the cupboard, proceeds to scrounge through as though he's anything like casual.]

Well, you like them, don't you?

humblecowboy: (36)

From: [personal profile] humblecowboy


[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—]

Happy Valentine's.

Or— whatever.
humblecowboy: (52)

From: [personal profile] humblecowboy


Fuck off.

[A cheesy, puffed-corn daisy comes flying Vicious's way. He can't take it as anything but teasing.

This was supposed to be sweet. Smooth, even. Now it just feels— lame.
Like a kid showing his babysitter a cut-up paper heart. Or at least, what he imagines that must feel like.]


Turned out shit, anyway. Just— forget about it, alright?

[But then, as he exits the kitchen and stares at the damn thing, another cheesy puff raised to his mouth, he mumbles—]

Or— forget about it when I get it out of here.
humblecowboy: (72)

From: [personal profile] humblecowboy


[Spike stands there, arms spread in a question, cheese puff still pinched between his blue fingers.]

Oh, you're not?

[And with a roll of his eyes, he adds—]

I would. Shit. Haven't fucked up like this in a while.

[He finally crunches on that cheese puff, regarding the tree with a distasteful turn of his nose.]
humblecowboy: (66)

From: [personal profile] humblecowboy


[It still feels strange. "Fearless" does. The name of a man who should be dead— barely a name at all, but still the only actual name Vicious had ever really known of him. The last time he remembers Vicious saying Spike it was with such vitriol, sharp as the name itself. Now how the same man says Fearless— it's gentle, sweet, timid.

That man, that child, sweet and timid, within that vicious exterior. Isn't that who he'd even tried this for? Because of the miracle it is that person hasn't truly bled away?

Because... they had the chance, this time, to be different?

Fearless—Spike—Six— he takes a slow, sauntering, cowboy step between him and Vicious. Another. He studies the tree again, and as if Vicious's gratitude has changed his mind, he adds—]


...Well, it is a fine looking— whatever it is.

[Before popping another cheesy puff daisy in his mouth. Another swinging, slow step, fidgety. One of the two vine tails unwraps itself from around his legs, swinging and curling like a cat's, like it's calling Vicious closer.]

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