[ As promised (well, ordered), Alicent slips from the revelry at the camp, fires blazing and alcohol flowing. She tugs her tan duster tighter as her eyes adjust to the true dark, rounding the back of the (lightly charred) kitchens to find the servants’ entrance. The flush light flickers above the door, with half the electricals in the manor fried.
Alicent leans against the exposed brick, eyes briefly closing. It isn’t that she trusts Spike all that much — she hardly trusts anyone in this place, and those she does, she offers information selectively. Better not to give anyone the whole picture, hm?
But he’s — the straightforward kind, in his own way. And unafraid to of burning, it seems.
She fishes a pack of cigarettes from her pocket. ]
I do have thoughts on the arsonist, to start. [ Brows arched, not quite amused but not unamused, either. ] Chiefly that you ought keep their name out of the mage council’s fool mouths, if you somehow know more than I.
[ The thing about traps: Spike is willing to walk into them, so long as the people he cares about aren't collateral. He can count those people on one hand, and a couple aren't in Saltburnt at all, which makes these decisions easier.
But he's not so sure that's what this is. Doesn't know Alicent well enough to know how she works, other than suspecting she's keeping interesting cards close to her chest--and now Spike's got his own hand to play.
He's there under the flickering light when she approaches, grinding a finished cig under his boot. Used to be that he was the monster you wouldn't want to meet alone in the dark. Giles and Riley are likely the only people here who still see him that way, which itches at Spike like a too-tight sweater.
Buffy, too, on bad days. But she meets him in the dark all the same. ]
Thought you might have a couple blokes ready to bodybag me when I got here. [ Flatly, as Spike pats his duster pocket for his lighter, pulls it out and flicks it on for her. The flush light above them sputters out, for a moment, tiny yellow flame illuminating only his hand and the curve of her cheek, a reddish curl at its hollow.
The light comes back, buzzing. Spike leans against the wall beside Alicent, hands in his pockets, appraising her. As for the mage council, ]
Don't know that Emmrich bloke from Adam. And Giles would rather eat his own slippers than listen to me. [ What he doesn't say: Giles will listen to Buffy, whom Spike plans to talk to after this conversation. Gale's a friend, but Nat's safety is Spike's priority. Spike's been around the block, with this sort of thing--he's no poker king, but he hasn't kept himself alive in the vampire underground with blunt force alone. ]
I'm guessing you didn't pull me away from kumbaya just to give me a light spanking about chatting with the warlocks, though.
[ In lieu of thanks, Alicent puffs her cigarette, held between her delicate fingers. She doesn't think Spike crafty, exactly, but he's more streetwise than most of their young (naive) lot. And she doesn't need someone overly clever, besides, only an individual with a willingness to draw attention to himself.
Her eyes narrow, squinting through the dark to assess him again. ]
Oh, you can talk to them all you like. I'm only warning you in the matter of how much you say.
[ They talk too much, when they aren't making their own problems. ]
I'm going to say a series of statements. [ delivered evenly, gaze steady. ] You're going to tell me if you agree. [ without waiting for his agreement, ] First, the Balfours are the oldest residents in the House that we've access to. Second, it stands to reason they know more about our predicament than we think.
[ People (namely Buffy's friends) tend to underestimate Spike's intelligence. He thinks, meanwhile, that he's maybe underestimated Alicent's.
And she's likely clocked that he's receptive to being bossed around by a smart woman. Spike wets his lips, considering a second cigarette but holding off, for now, and tips his head in affirmation. ]
Sure. Far as we know, at least. [ Access is sometimes just a matter of poking around the right (or wrong) place. ] Have to imagine someone's asked them questions before now, yeah?
Certainly. And they never answer. They don’t trust us, you see.
[ she lets that sit. taps ash from the end of her cigarette with a perfect pointed nail. (sure to be ruined by her own hand, if this arson prompts trials like those held in the killing game. if she — if they — must sacrifice one for the sake of many.) ]
But Portia is beginning to trust me. It’s a fragile thing, of course, and I’m loathe to forsake it, when it could benefit us all. [ she looks up at spike through her lashes, studying him. ] Do you understand my position?
You can't cause a ruckus. But you need someone else to.
[ Someone who's not afraid to draw the ire of the mob, as it were. Spike thinks of Nat--who's already openly confessed what she did to him, and half-confessed behind a mask to the rest of the house.
Nat's easy to read. So's Buffy. Alicent's different, careful and calculating. Spike finally pulls the carton of cigarettes from his inner coat pocket, plucking one out with thumb and forefinger. ]
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Say no more.
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Alicent leans against the exposed brick, eyes briefly closing. It isn’t that she trusts Spike all that much — she hardly trusts anyone in this place, and those she does, she offers information selectively. Better not to give anyone the whole picture, hm?
But he’s — the straightforward kind, in his own way. And unafraid to of burning, it seems.
She fishes a pack of cigarettes from her pocket. ]
I do have thoughts on the arsonist, to start. [ Brows arched, not quite amused but not unamused, either. ] Chiefly that you ought keep their name out of the mage council’s fool mouths, if you somehow know more than I.
no subject
But he's not so sure that's what this is. Doesn't know Alicent well enough to know how she works, other than suspecting she's keeping interesting cards close to her chest--and now Spike's got his own hand to play.
He's there under the flickering light when she approaches, grinding a finished cig under his boot. Used to be that he was the monster you wouldn't want to meet alone in the dark. Giles and Riley are likely the only people here who still see him that way, which itches at Spike like a too-tight sweater.
Buffy, too, on bad days. But she meets him in the dark all the same. ]
Thought you might have a couple blokes ready to bodybag me when I got here. [ Flatly, as Spike pats his duster pocket for his lighter, pulls it out and flicks it on for her. The flush light above them sputters out, for a moment, tiny yellow flame illuminating only his hand and the curve of her cheek, a reddish curl at its hollow.
The light comes back, buzzing. Spike leans against the wall beside Alicent, hands in his pockets, appraising her. As for the mage council, ]
Don't know that Emmrich bloke from Adam. And Giles would rather eat his own slippers than listen to me. [ What he doesn't say: Giles will listen to Buffy, whom Spike plans to talk to after this conversation. Gale's a friend, but Nat's safety is Spike's priority. Spike's been around the block, with this sort of thing--he's no poker king, but he hasn't kept himself alive in the vampire underground with blunt force alone. ]
I'm guessing you didn't pull me away from kumbaya just to give me a light spanking about chatting with the warlocks, though.
no subject
Her eyes narrow, squinting through the dark to assess him again. ]
Oh, you can talk to them all you like. I'm only warning you in the matter of how much you say.
[ They talk too much, when they aren't making their own problems. ]
I'm going to say a series of statements. [ delivered evenly, gaze steady. ] You're going to tell me if you agree. [ without waiting for his agreement, ] First, the Balfours are the oldest residents in the House that we've access to. Second, it stands to reason they know more about our predicament than we think.
no subject
And she's likely clocked that he's receptive to being bossed around by a smart woman. Spike wets his lips, considering a second cigarette but holding off, for now, and tips his head in affirmation. ]
Sure. Far as we know, at least. [ Access is sometimes just a matter of poking around the right (or wrong) place. ] Have to imagine someone's asked them questions before now, yeah?
no subject
[ she lets that sit. taps ash from the end of her cigarette with a perfect pointed nail. (sure to be ruined by her own hand, if this arson prompts trials like those held in the killing game. if she — if they — must sacrifice one for the sake of many.) ]
But Portia is beginning to trust me. It’s a fragile thing, of course, and I’m loathe to forsake it, when it could benefit us all. [ she looks up at spike through her lashes, studying him. ] Do you understand my position?
no subject
You can't cause a ruckus. But you need someone else to.
[ Someone who's not afraid to draw the ire of the mob, as it were. Spike thinks of Nat--who's already openly confessed what she did to him, and half-confessed behind a mask to the rest of the house.
Nat's easy to read. So's Buffy. Alicent's different, careful and calculating. Spike finally pulls the carton of cigarettes from his inner coat pocket, plucking one out with thumb and forefinger. ]
What've you got cooking?