He turned to find Fred’s face crumpling into a wail, the sound hitting him a second later at a pitch that made him stagger back in horror. The downside to vampire hearing had always been that loud noises were, well…loud, but the tremulous wailing of a four-year old had just taken him to a whole new place of pain.
This is great - I haven't seen a lot of writers who've thought about the downside of super-hearing!
“Fu-dge! Boulders! Sons of birdcages!” Oh, this is grand. Hee!
“I am not going to lock you up with the…. They weren’t ‘sweeties’, they were bleeding eyeballs. Literally bleeding. If you think making that row is going to have any effect on me, you’ve got another think coming. I’ve eaten more children than you’ve had hot…” Too late, Spike realized that was probably not the best way to go – and Fred’s wailing shooting up an octave confirmed it. Grabbing the phone, he stabbed desperately at every button that looked even remotely useful. It was unfortunate that the first extension he got through to was Ritual Sacrifices. Even Gunn yelled in fear as that voice came on the line, and dived under the desk to cling to Wesley and Fred. The second extension Spike got was the Embalming Section – he hadn’t even known they had one of those – but, at last, on the third attempt, he was through to Harmony. Never in his life had he been so pleased to hear her voice.
Spike's frantic attempts to assert his authority and soothe his charges are so Spike. Oh, AtS season 5 fix-it team farce, where have you been for so long? Thank you for writing this!
He leant back against the wall, his head thumping the way other men’s hearts beat, and wondered if he had ever been this exhausted in his life before. On the plus side, the children had seemed to enjoy the trifle, sandwiches, ice cream cake, jelly, iced buns, chocolate mousse, six different flavours of chips, four different kinds of fizzy pop, and demonstration of balloon animals by a clown kidnapped at gunpoint and brought in an armoured van under pain of dismemberment. They had also enjoyed all of the five different stories that they had then made Spike read to them, including the one about the tiny little ballerina who lived in the matchbox, and the truly nauseating one about the dear little family of squirrelly-squirrels that lived in the woodsy-woods and collected acorns all bleeding day tralalalalala. They had made him read that one twice. With all the voices.
Once again, perfect Spike voice, plus hilarious use of detail.
Angel’s big swanky office now looked like a playschool after a hurricane. Crisps and crumbs had been trodden in everywhere, there were sticky puddles still drying from where bottles of pop had been knocked over, a few contorted balloon animals were drifting disconsolately around the ceiling, and everything that wasn’t slightly damp from spilled soda was slightly sticky from jam, jelly or paint. A dozen hastily purchased toys lay scattered like the dead on a battlefield after the victorious army had swept on to sack the next town.
Spike would have liked to lie down and sleep for a week, but Fred, Wes, and Gunn still had to be restored to their normal size, not just because Angel would kill him if he came back and found them like this, but because there was no way in hell that Spike could keep up this jolly-cheerful-happy face for more than another ten minutes at the most. Not without class ‘A’ drugs anyway. Wearily, he wondered why every parent with a pre-schooler wasn’t on crack.
Ahahaha, you certainly said it! Especially the stickiness everywhere.
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Date: 2007-10-06 08:39 am (UTC)This is great - I haven't seen a lot of writers who've thought about the downside of super-hearing!
“Fu-dge! Boulders! Sons of birdcages!” Oh, this is grand. Hee!
“I am not going to lock you up with the…. They weren’t ‘sweeties’, they were bleeding eyeballs. Literally bleeding. If you think making that row is going to have any effect on me, you’ve got another think coming. I’ve eaten more children than you’ve had hot…” Too late, Spike realized that was probably not the best way to go – and Fred’s wailing shooting up an octave confirmed it. Grabbing the phone, he stabbed desperately at every button that looked even remotely useful. It was unfortunate that the first extension he got through to was Ritual Sacrifices. Even Gunn yelled in fear as that voice came on the line, and dived under the desk to cling to Wesley and Fred. The second extension Spike got was the Embalming Section – he hadn’t even known they had one of those – but, at last, on the third attempt, he was through to Harmony. Never in his life had he been so pleased to hear her voice.
Spike's frantic attempts to assert his authority and soothe his charges are so Spike. Oh, AtS season 5 fix-it team farce, where have you been for so long? Thank you for writing this!
He leant back against the wall, his head thumping the way other men’s hearts beat, and wondered if he had ever been this exhausted in his life before. On the plus side, the children had seemed to enjoy the trifle, sandwiches, ice cream cake, jelly, iced buns, chocolate mousse, six different flavours of chips, four different kinds of fizzy pop, and demonstration of balloon animals by a clown kidnapped at gunpoint and brought in an armoured van under pain of dismemberment. They had also enjoyed all of the five different stories that they had then made Spike read to them, including the one about the tiny little ballerina who lived in the matchbox, and the truly nauseating one about the dear little family of squirrelly-squirrels that lived in the woodsy-woods and collected acorns all bleeding day tralalalalala. They had made him read that one twice. With all the voices.
Once again, perfect Spike voice, plus hilarious use of detail.
Angel’s big swanky office now looked like a playschool after a hurricane. Crisps and crumbs had been trodden in everywhere, there were sticky puddles still drying from where bottles of pop had been knocked over, a few contorted balloon animals were drifting disconsolately around the ceiling, and everything that wasn’t slightly damp from spilled soda was slightly sticky from jam, jelly or paint. A dozen hastily purchased toys lay scattered like the dead on a battlefield after the victorious army had swept on to sack the next town.
Spike would have liked to lie down and sleep for a week, but Fred, Wes, and Gunn still had to be restored to their normal size, not just because Angel would kill him if he came back and found them like this, but because there was no way in hell that Spike could keep up this jolly-cheerful-happy face for more than another ten minutes at the most. Not without class ‘A’ drugs anyway. Wearily, he wondered why every parent with a pre-schooler wasn’t on crack.
Ahahaha, you certainly said it! Especially the stickiness everywhere.