A Christmas Cracker
TITLE: A Christmas Cracker
AUTHOR: Fyre
EMAIL: Fyredansa@hotmail.com
SUMMARY: Spike, Darla, whisky, Christmas...nuff said.
FEEDBACK: It's every writer's bread and water...sorta
DISTRIBUTION: Just here at the mo...but anyone can have it :-) Just ask nicely ;-)
SPOILERS: None again.
COUPLE: Not exactly a couple
RATING: G
DISCLAIMER: Ain't mine. Ain't fair. Ain't anything more to say.
CLASSIFICATION: It's nearly Christmas so I had to do something to mark the occasion.
NOTES: The inspiration came from some feedback and comments from the Iprov circle I'm in - Having a Thought - Improv: Sepia, wish, memory, revenge - Written : 13/12/2000
DEDICATED: Blessings upon the improv group!
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Propping his feet on the table, Spike leaned back, swirling the whiskey in his mouth as he regarded the figure slumped on the chair opposite him, a small smirk of satisfaction on his face.
“Fancy another drink, ducks?”
Bleary blue-gold eyes rose to him, fangs briefly appearing and just as quickly disappearing as the blonde’s head thumped down on the table hollowly, a muffled voice mumbling. “Bubberoff.”
“What was that, luv?” Leaning forward, he poured another drink into her glass. “I thought you said you gave up there? You’re letting me beat you?”
Immediately, the blonde vampiress’ head snapped up, a moan escaping her clenched jaw, her eyes straining to focus on her grandchilde. “Gimme.” Her hand swiped out and shakily grabbed the glass, raising it to her mouth and downing it with a grimace, before slumping down on the table again, the glass slipping from her shaking fingers and rolling off the table to shatter on the cold floor.
Spike chuckled wickedly, draining his glass and laying it down on the table top, his head tilted coquettishly at his grandsire as she gave a groan and staggered to her feet, only to collapse in an inebriated heap of limbs on the floor.
“You’re drunk, Darla.” He crowed, grinning widely at her. “You’re as drunk as a skunk! Pissed as a Lord.” Putting on an affected, nasal accent, he smirked. “Sloshed as the posh!”
“I am not drink!” She growled, shakily getting to her feet and swaying as she glared at him. “When the floor stops moving around you’re going to wish you had never been...” She trailed off with a hiccup. “Okay...maybe I is a little drinked.”
The blonde vampire grinned smugly down at her. “Told ya.” He chuckled. “That’s for pinching my underwear and ruining my gig.”
“Rebench?”
“Yep, toots. Revenge.” He poured another slosh of whisky into his glass, admiring the amber colour before downing it in one swift swallow, his mouth burning as it coursed down his throat.
Muttering under her breath, she continued to sway, her eyes half-focussed on him, half-staring into nothingness. “He’s a ittle gimp...pain in the neck...thorn in me side...I ’ate ’is cute little ’sexy...” She halted, her eyes suddenly clearly focused on him, a pained look on her face.
“Sexy, pet?”
Blinking hazy blue eyes, she shook her head vehemently, almost falling as she reeled to the wall and glared at him. “No! I...says...” She frowned, as if searching for the word. “Sepia! I says sepia!”
Rolling his eyes, the younger vampire chuckled, trotting over and taking her in his arms. “Since you’re talking crazy talk, pet.” He purred, his arms the only thing stopping her from sinking to the floor. “How about we dance?”
“D-dance?”
Whirling around, the drunken vampiress clinging to him giddily, he started singing at the top of his voice.
“I’m just a sweet transvestite!”
Those words were still ringing in Darla’s head, as she gave into the dizziness, everything around her melding into a fuzzy, multi-coloured blur until she passed out in his arms.
Plopping her down in the seat, Spike chuckled wickedly, his eyes sparkling with glee. “You know, luv, being unconscious now is really not a good idea at all.”
~~~~~
One hand to her temple, Darla winced at the lance of pain shooting through her skull, the dim light in her room blinding her as she let her blood-shot eyes flicker open, the taste of stale whiskey and blood still on her breath.
Sitting up, she rubbed her eyes, blinking down as she realised she didn’t recognise what she was wearing, the skirt spreading around her like stiff petals, crimson and emerald, shimmering with a sprinkling of white lace snowflakes.
The scarlet bodice was laced up the front with gold ribbons, twin sprigs of holly pinned on either shoulder, the puffy white sleeves barely reaching halfway down her bare arms.
“Uh...” Raising a nervous hand, she pulled what felt like a hat off her head, the conical green number completed by the little brass bell on the tip. Searching her memory, she stared at the hat in dismay, the bell jingling softly.
“Morning, pet.” Turning to the door, she let her vision draw slowly into focus, settling on the half-dressed figure of her grandchilde leaning against the doorframe, a plume of smoke gliding between his lips, his cigarette dangling casually from his fingers. “How’re you feeling today?”
“Spike?” She sounded like a lost little girl, more than a terrifying vampiress and queen on the gang. “What the hell happened?”
Straightening up, he flicked the stub of the cigarette away and stepped into the room, exhaling a low sigh. “You aren’t going to like this, pet.” He remarked, pacing pensively across the room.
“What?” Her fingers strayed to her hair, which she realised – to her horror – was in elaborate, old-fashioned ringlets, hanging around her face.
“Darla, you volunteered to play an elf in the Christmas parade on tenth.” He mournfully shook his head. “I couldn’t get to you until it was too late...three whole hours of the night playing a drunken elf and cavorting with Saint Nick.”
“Oh God...” Flopping facedown on the bed, Darla stifled a wail, kicking the kinky little elfboots off her feet. “I don’t...I can’t...”
“I’m sorry, luv.” Spike drew towards the door, keeping his face straight with a lot of difficulty. “All the boys saw you too...” Her wail crescendoed. “Do you want me to leave, mam?”
“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEES!”
Stepping out of the room, the peroxide vampire, slammed a hand over his mouth to hold in the hysterical laughter that was bubbling up inside. He knew she would remember sooner or later – no vampire ever forgot what they did when drunk – but for now, he could relish in the fact she had believed his cock and bull story.
Pulling the photos out of his pocket, he chuckled again, looking through them with a wide grin. Dressing Darla as an elf AND getting the photos as evidence. It had to be one of his favourite pranks for the moment.
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