[ 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. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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?