Writer's Block
TITLE: Writer's Block
AUTHOR: Fyre
EMAIL: Fyredansa@hotmail.com
SUMMARY: Spike reminisces...
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: Perhaps some of season 4, when Spike is still staying with Giles care of the implant in his noggin.
COUPLE: Not exactly a couple
RATING: PG
DISCLAIMER: I can wish, but nothings gonna happen...*le sigh*
CLASSIFICATION: Yet more weirdness emerges from the Spike-fan camp.
NOTES: This was actually another improv from Having a Thought - Improv: Sepia, wish, memory, revenge - Written : 13/12/2000
DEDICATED: The improv group for letting my insanity loose!
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Glaring at the screen furiously, the tiny black letters on the vivid white positively screamed at the vampire, as he leaned back in his seat, steepling his fingers under his chin, deep in thought.
“Whatcha doin’, Spike?” Willow walked through from the kitchen, cleverly balancing two plates of cookies atop the three mugs she was carrying, her eyes focused on the leaning tower of chocolate chip, as she weaved between the furniture.
“Hmm?” Looking up, he grinned ruefully at the redhead. “I’m trying to remember what a word means. I’m positive I’ve heard it somewhere before, but I just can’t remember where.”
“What word?” Peering out from behind the stacks of books, Giles looked mildly surprised that the vampire was thinking about anything, let alone a word.
Leaning forward to peer at the screen, Spike frowned again. “Se-pee-ah...I think that must be how you say it...it’s so bloody familiar and I’ve been picking at my memory for hours, but I just can’t figure out where it’s from.”
“Sepia?”
An excited look crossed the Witch’s face. “Ooh! Ooh! I know this one!” Waving her hand, she was practically bouncing off the seat at the idea of telling them something useful. “It’s a colour!”
“Are you sure?”
Spike gave a muffled snort of laughter at the Witch’s indignant expression, Giles’ doubt bringing out a spark of annoyance in her that he loved seeing. The redhead was so timid and yet, she could be so bloody funny.
“It’s that horrible olive-brown colour.” She replied primly. “Or a weird dark brown ink that was originally made from the secretion of a cuttlefish.”
“You need to get a hobby, Wills.” Xander grinned, snagging a mug from her and raising it to his mouth only to halt with an exceptionally explicit. “EEEEEEW!”
Willow bit back a grin. “Uh...that’s Spike’s mug.”
“Hmm?” At his name, the vampire cocked his head, one hand floating inches above the computer keyboard, his eyes still fixed on the screen thoughtfully. “You said it was olive-brown, pet?”
“Uh-huh...um...” Three pairs of mortal eyes exchanged baffled glances as the one-hundred-and-twenty-six year old vampire starting laughing, clutching at his sides, dark bloody tears of mirth streaming down his cheeks. “Spike?”
“Of course!” His laughter didn’t stop as he started typing frantically, his amusement bubbling over as he bit into his lip, his hands flying over the keys, eyes focused completely on the screen.
“What are you doing, Spike?” Her fingers curled around her own mug as well as his, Willow made her way round to the computer, peering over the vampire’s shoulder as he typed frenetically.
Pausing to take the mug from her and down a mouthful of the cool blood, he chuckled. “Getting my bloody revenge, pet.” He replied, a fiendishly naughty look in his eyes. “They gave me improv...I’ll show them bloody improv...I can write anything they throw at me.”
“I won’t be the only one thinking this when I say...whu?” Xander spoke around a mouthful of cookie.
“I wish they would use easier words.” The vampire was muttering under his breath, his frustration apparent. “I can humiliate her, but they have to keep on using such bloody ridiculous words.”
“I repeat,” Xander spoke up again, sans cookie. “Whu?”
The speedy tap-tap-tap of the keys never stopped as Spike quickly replied, his tone abrupt. “I’m a member of a fanfiction writing group...every two weeks they give us a few words to fit into fics and this weeks are a bloody nightmare.”
“A fanfiction writing group?”
Spike nodded with a broad grin. “They think it’s fiction...I know it’s not, but it still makes Darla look like a effin’ bitch.”
“So you write under a pseudonym about your grand-sire and-and people actually like to read it?” Giles looked more than a little surprised. “You didn’t really strike me as...er...the literary type.”
Raising a scarred eyebrow, Spike recalled just what he had been doing the night he was turned. “You’d be surprised , mate.” He replied with a rough laugh. “Very bloody surprised.”
Finishing his latest ‘work’, he grinned, wondering just how many people would actually believe the story about the blonde vampiress who had her hair dyed a strange colour by a grandchilde who was high after drinking from some hippie at Woodstock.
Not many, he wagered, rubbing his neck as he looked at the blank space that was still waiting for the illusive title.
“A-ha!” Typing swiftly, he chuckled in satisfaction, hitting the send key. “A Bad Hair Day.”
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