Cherries
By: JavawolfAuthor's Note: Right well, I've been thinking about this little story for some time now, and I believe I will continue it though I am not impressed with how the first chapter turned out. Spike's character seems a little too down-to-earth if you ask me. (Let's assume you did.) Ah well, the fact is I'm a mediocre writer, so I should expect no more than mediocre stories. In any case, please read and review. Flames are fine, criticism is appreciated. Thanks.
"Could use some wheels."
"Fine. Just not the viper."
"Viper it is then. Any message for Buffy?"
"Tell her you're a moron."
Spike ran their last argument through his head. He would miss him, Angel. No one was aloud to know he could actually tolerate the bastard, let alone admire him, though admire him he did. Even if only a minuscule part of him admitted it. Angel was his grandsire after all, and he had experience and wisdom. Well . . . experience. Anyway it didn't matter. That was finished now. Spike was leaving and nothing would stop him. Back home to Europe, the mother country he preferred to call it. Back to Buffy. Los Angeles was for wankers out to find themselves, not for a swank, attractive, brave, intelligent, sleek, funny, and possibly gay vampire like himself. Spike shook his head violently in hopes of dislodging the gay thought.
The night was warm with a cool breeze drifting from the water. Spike never much cared for the ocean. It was big and loud and wet, and he wasn't a terrific swimmer. But as he stood against a pillar beneath the pier, he began to wonder; what was down there? Down in the places no one's ever been? It was probable, he thought, that under the water there was a load of mud and plants and fish, but deeper than that there must be something more. Something awe-inspiring and poetic, yet excruciating; like the sun. All that meaning hidden deep inside something so seemingly simple. A terrifying beauty waited underneath the surface.
Spike called to the water for no reason, not with words but with shouts and notes. Hearing no reply he called again. This was again met with a comfortable silence. He pushed his hands into the pockets of his dark jeans and smiled to himself. The ocean is a proud thing, he thought. It has every right to be.
Acceptance will be founded
On the ships that ever gleam
With hope that one has hounded
To see the moonlight's beam.
"Eeuuugggghhhhhhh . . ." Spike thought out loud, making a face at the water and sticking his tongue out. "Absolutely terrible." Bad poetry was something that Spike could not escape from. And it seemed that his love poems were especially bad, given that he was never a particularly flowery person. He was a bit of a poof for romance, true, but he couldn't get any of it onto paper no matter how hard he tried.
"Oi! You th're!"
Spike turned from the water pulling his hands out of his pockets and crossing them over his chest. He was looking at a rather short, lumpy man with a carefully combed mustache. The man walked toward him now that he had Spike's attention.
"Forgimme me for shoudin'!" The man said in a very loud voice close to Spike's ear. "I tri'd callin' to you, but I didn't realize you were hearin' impaired!"
"I'm not hearing impaired." Spike assured the man, who made a confused little huff and backed away so he could see him. From his accent, Spike figured he must be European, or more likely Canadian.
"I was just thinking." He said.
"Thinkin' pretty hard, eh?" The man put his hands on his hips and studied the vampire, eyebrows raised. "Well, weren't you waitin' to get on th' ship?"
"Oh, sorry mate. Yeah, I ment to. Is it leaving?" Spike asked quickly, stowing the cigarette he was just about to light into his shirt pocket.
"In a few min'tes it'll be gone. Best get aboard." And with that the man waddled off to his vegetable stand at the foot of the long pier.
Spike gave one long sigh before climbing the ramp. Leaving behind him his worries, his problems ... and Angel ...