;;heroes for ghosts

[Nina]

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[atrb=style, width: 500px, bTable][atrb=style,width:20px][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true]	[atrb=style, width:10px; background:#84979e url(http://i55.tinypic.com/xc9i00.png);]	[atrb=style, background:#84979e url(http://i55.tinypic.com/xc9i00.png); color:#1a5f79; font-family: Arial; border-right: 3px solid #1a5f79; border-left: 3px solid #1a5f79; border-bottom: 3px solid #1a5f79;] CAN YOU TELL A GREEN FIELD FROM A COLD STEEL RAIL, A SMILE FROM A VEIL? “ It was strange, really. Nina had only gone from club to club, dusty room to dusty room. Sweat and music and dancing and harsh, heavy breathing were all she had known these past… how long had it been? Somewhere along the line, time had escaped her. But to be out in the frigid night air, just standing, just listening… it was strange. Quiet was such a foreign sound and night air, not smelling of drugs or booze, was such a foreign scent. Trees whispered in chilling breezes and her soul felt lighter for it. How long had it been since she had heard that noise? Too long, something within her hummed. Too long. And the wolf within her stirred. She had nearly forgotten she was there, her wolf. Nina had been so utterly human these past few years, giving in to human weaknesses and partaking of human vices and living in an area so utterly human that it was all you could ever smell. Was it possible to revert to a human if the wolf simply faded away? The thought gave her a pang of worry and grief, mingled together. Her eyes closed, eyes she knew were sporting thinner pupils. She took a deep breath and her wolf longed to run, to stretch its legs, to take off into the forest and forget what it was to be human, for a change. Forget anything but the coil and release of muscles honed by feral instinct, the feeling of fangs latching upon the neck of one’s prey, the feeling of this night wind through her white fur that was so easily stained by blood. She missed her wolf. Missed her badly, badly enough that it hurt to feel her stretching and longing within her and knowing that it was not time. Knowing that she couldn’t leave yet. If she did, she’d never come back, and there was too much here to just up and leave. Or rather, not enough. She wanted something that would keep her from shedding her human form indefinitely, something that would hold her here beyond the shadow of a doubt. At the moment, she had only her debauched club and her debauched vampire friend. Not yet, she said to her wolf, who returned to her sleep, but not without considerable pain. Not without the lingering ache, the thought that things would be so much simpler if she would just give in. Then the wind shifted with a familiar scent and that all faded. ” ― nina buchanan TAGGED : spike WORD COUNT : 416 NOTES : angst much CREDITS : template by JAWN of AA, OTE, DMB and TC	[atrb=style, width:10px; background:#84979e url(http://i55.tinypic.com/xc9i00.png);]	[atrb=style,width:20px]
	[cs=3][atrb=style, height:10px; background:#84979e url(http://i55.tinypic.com/xc9i00.png);]

[Spike Lockhart]

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[atrb=background,http://i1134.photobucket.com/albums/m602/ZeMukLuk/middlespike.png] A silent, breezy night. How fucking cliché, eh? What was it about nights like these that had people out in the street alone, walking for what seemed like forever as they stared up into the black drop of the sky and the stars that inhabited the infinite darkness, as if the answers to their lives could be found there. "What a shower of fuckin' soppy cunts." Spike's gravel tone spat out before lips met bottle, sucking from the beer like a child at a mothers breast. His arm reached back lazily before tossing the empty bottle into the next block, giving a disgusted sigh before he stood up, staring down at the various patrons of the night before turning on his heel, moving across the rooftop he inhabited tonight. "Jus' what makes you guys so fuckin' sad, eh?" His statement ended with a pop as he cracked another beer bottle open with one of his sharp fangs, spitting the bent tin cap down before drinking deeply once more. It was hard for a vampire to become intoxicated, never mind one that drank as much as Spike, when all that mixed with his heritage it made it nigh impossible to get the poor guy drunk. However, he seemed to be doing an awfully good job of it tonight, a couple dozen empty bottles lined the roof top, countless more had been thrown into the night and a few bottles of whiskey had been arranged into a sloppy pyramid shape earlier in a juvenile attempt to entertain himself. It wasn't out of the ordinary for him to drink, however his compulsive thinking and insomnia had ravaged him heavily the past few days and when the topic of humanity popped into his head it seemed he became overly obsessed with trying to figure out the creatures that he happened to share a twisted kinship with. What was with their importance of emotions? Of feeling so bad for themselves? How could someone spend their whole life feeling sorry for themselves yet do nothing about their circumstance? How could someone show such weakness, such vulnerability never mind a majority of a race? "Fuck 'em." Another bottle arched into the night sky, landing far further than the rest. Hot breath lingered in the cold air around him. It was rare for him to get so angry, to show any sort of emotion other than his natural doziness or devil-may-care attitude and it only spurred him into deeper depression. His mental state was a fickle thing, usually it was simple to keep his mind from thinking with drugs and alcohol but when his emotions did bubble and surface they were explosive. He was just glad he was able to vent alone and undisturbed and get as drunk as he wanted. Maybe later he would go back to the club, drink some more, get high and wake up to some girl who's name he couldn't remember. Whatever helped him forget. He lit a cigarette as he sat down once more atop a ventilation grill, pulling an acoustic guitar onto his knee, plucking a few strings, tuning the heads a little before he blew out some smoke, taking a moment to think of a tune before finally playing. As the chords began to sound into the night air his mind became clear once more, memories fading and all he was thinking about was what he was doing right now, what chord he had to play next. His fingers moved on reflex along the neck and gripped to the strings as he continued to play. Spike was a strange creature, even without the fangs and unnatural abilities. Wolves howled at the moon, drug addicts blasted to the moon by lightning up a spoon and Spike? He got hammered and blasted out a few tunes under the grandest light in the sky.

[Nina]

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[atrb=style, background:#84979e url(http://i55.tinypic.com/xc9i00.png); border-top: 3px solid #1a5f79]	[atrb=style, background:#84979e url(http://i55.tinypic.com/xc9i00.png); border-top: 3px solid #1a5f79]	[atrb=style, background:#84979e url(http://i55.tinypic.com/xc9i00.png); border-top: 3px solid #1a5f79; border-right: 3px solid #1a5f79]

[atrb=style, width: 500px, bTable][atrb=style,width:20px][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true]	[atrb=style, width:10px; background:#84979e url(http://i55.tinypic.com/xc9i00.png);]	[atrb=style, background:#84979e url(http://i55.tinypic.com/xc9i00.png); color:#1a5f79; font-family: Arial; border-right: 3px solid #1a5f79; border-left: 3px solid #1a5f79; border-bottom: 3px solid #1a5f79;] DID THEY GET YOU TO TRADE YOUR HEROES FOR GHOSTS? “ She turned back towards the city, eyes only half seeing. She knew these streets by now, like the lines in her own palm, the ladder rungs in her own DNA. She had walked these streets so many times before that she could navigate them blind, even with the additions of the homeless and depraved. Someone down the street hollered out an offer for her to take her shirt off. She raised a casual middle finger. A frenzied and discheveled man babbled at her as she walked by, reaching out to grasp one stiletto heel. She snarled, showed him her sharp canines, and he backed away, whimpering something about impending doom. Another werewolf on the street corner stood with an unlit cigarette in his mouth, asked if she had a light. She shook her head. Of course she had a lighter, but she wouldn't offer it to anyone on these streets, not unless she was in a really good mood. He seemed to know it too; he shrugged and turned away, pocketing the cigarette. It was like the steps to a dance she knew well enough as to make it boring. Boredom. It seemed like that was the issue nowadays, didn't it? It was mainly out of boredom (or some perverse means of escape) that she did any of this. "Nina," someone called and she waved a hand, not bothering to look up and see who it was. She shoved her hands in her pockets, her leather jacket good for keeping the cold out but not so much for keeping her all warm and fuzzy. Maybe she should get a fur lined jacket. Maybe you should just shift. She pushed it away, another dance as easy as breathing. The sound of guitar notes on the air woke her a bit. She stopped for a moment, listening as the notes went from experimental plucking to practiced playing. She glanced around and, seeing no one around to make a nuisance of themselves, closed her eyes and listened. The music she danced to couldn't be considered beautiful by any stretch of the imagination. Rather, it seemed it was made for her dancing, to compliment her twists and turns, her undulations. But this was simple, it was quiet and poignant in the way it made its impression upon the night. She swayed as if it were the wind that pushed her and wanted to sing. But these weren't songs she recognized out right; her mouth remained closed, shifting tunes playing along the back of her eyelids and flowing across her tongue like tantalizing tastes. She wanted to know who it was that made this music, but at the same time, she did not. She wanted to imagine it was someone untouched by the city, some man coming from a world where there was only wilderness, the beasts and the rivers and the sound of his guitar as the loveliest of backdrops. She saw him as she had once seen David, lovely, strong, gentle, her hero to her cruel naivete. So she remained swaying on the sidewalk, eyes closed, and imagined that for a moment, she was still the girl who could believe in fairy tales like men with weeping guitars and golden hearts. And then she chuckled quietly at herself, at her longing for childhood like some broken teenager trying to reclaim her virginity. Embarrassing, really. Embarrassing that the city hadn't squashed those ideas out. Lord knew they had no place here. ” ― nina buchanan TAGGED : spike WORD COUNT : 582 NOTES : ho-hum CREDITS : template by JAWN of AA, OTE, DMB and TC	[atrb=style, width:10px; background:#84979e url(http://i55.tinypic.com/xc9i00.png);]	[atrb=style,width:20px]
	[cs=3][atrb=style, height:10px; background:#84979e url(http://i55.tinypic.com/xc9i00.png);]

[Spike Lockhart]

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[atrb=background,http://i1134.photobucket.com/albums/m602/ZeMukLuk/middlespike.png] The music was calming, smoothing his mind and soul and clearing the slate that was his mind so that he could deal with this fucked up world for just another day. It was strange how sound could effect one so much and Spike fancied himself a Pied Piper of sorts, only he led himself around in circles, doomed to repeat into the same states over and over again until the day he finally would be nothing more than dust and echoes. He stopped for a moment to pluck the cigarette from his lips, tapping the ash off the end before placing it back between his lips, continuing his playing of the beat up and sticker cover filled instrument. The song only lasted for a few moments and if one listened close enough they would hear Spike's voice, singing low to himself, allowing only himself the full pleasure of his tone and the words meanings. "I'm looking at you through the glass," He hadn't know how much time had passed, perhaps he played the song longer than it was supposed to be, extending some parts and throwing in his own additions to the tune before he finally finished, strumming the last few chords louder than the rest, finally feeling like he was centred once more. After one final draw he casually tossed his cigarette aside, pushing his feet back onto the ground and throwing the guitar strap off his shoulder before putting the thing away in it's case. For a moment he simple stood, glancing around at the graveyard of empty bottles before giving a heaved breath, grabbing the last bottle that had any sort of volume in it, finishing the drink within a few seconds before setting it down, throwing on his leather jacket and then throwing the straps of the case over his shoulders. The night would have been cold for the vampire, if not for the sheer amount of alcohol in his system. His head felt light yet his body seemed sober, walking perfectly straight and without the human feeling of a churning stomach moments before hurling. He hoped to fix that once he got back to the club, he longed to wake up in the morning with a hangover, it would be worth the solace the alcohol would bring. Spike pulled the black hood that was attached to his leather jacket over his head, lowering it as much as he could as his head dropped, he lit another cigarette and puckered it between his lips to allow his hands to find comfort in his pockets. It was a long enough walk back to the club and for the moment he wanted to simply make it there without any bother from the usual street trash and be left to wallow in his slightly drunk state. Little did he know that the night had other plans with him as he turned a corner, begining to walk down the same street as a certain werewolf, one his senses were too dulled by booze to pick up on as he continued down the dimly straight street.

[Nina]

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[atrb=style, width: 500px, bTable][atrb=style,width:20px][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true]	[atrb=style, width:10px; background:#84979e url(http://i55.tinypic.com/xc9i00.png);]	[atrb=style, background:#84979e url(http://i55.tinypic.com/xc9i00.png); color:#1a5f79; font-family: Arial; border-right: 3px solid #1a5f79; border-left: 3px solid #1a5f79; border-bottom: 3px solid #1a5f79;] LOOKING AT YOU THROUGH THE GLASS DON’T KNOW HOW MUCH TIME HAS PASSED “ The gentle notes continued, her mind empty but for the sound, a slight smile gracing her lips. It was astounding, the power of music. The ability to take everything away beyond the boundaries of one’s own mind. They weren’t drunks or druggies or broken condoms or failures in any sense with the music in the air. They just were. They were the soaring highs and the humming lows and not the thoughts beating around their skull when there was no music to be had. She thought she heard singing but even with her heightened sense of hearing, she could only catch every other word; the rest was a low hum like a language she didn’t understand. She strained to hear it, to have this stranger’s voice compliment the beautifully simplistic acoustic. Something about that voice was familiar, comforting. It felt like… home. If that made any sense. She almost wanted to call, to ask him to sing louder, so she could hear his words, know what it was he wanted to convey. But then again, maybe it was better this way. Maybe he wasn’t trying to convey anything at all. Maybe he was just trying to convey. The night wore on, and she listened. She didn’t think about getting back to the club, that Naomi might be having a hard time managing. She didn’t think about getting home, that it was too cold to be standing out on sidewalks listening to strange men on roofs play guitar. She just listened. To just be able to listen was an opportunity rarely afforded. But then, the music was gone, the notes stilled. She heard a heaving of breath, the clink of a glass being set down, vague sounds of movement. Nina looked down at her boots, heels crunching uncertainly in the loose gravel on the sidewalk. She wasn’t sure what to do now. The club would seem too loud, too garish, and her room doubly so for the muted bass pounding through her bed frame. Her apartment hadn’t been touched in a few weeks, and would smell like dust and feel distinctly abandoned. Maybe she would just walk for a bit. Think. Get her head on straight, shake off these idiotic thoughts. Releasing a breath and forcing a measure of resolve into her spine, she straightened and started walking. Her heels on the sidewalk sounded concise, assured. It was comforting to know that her gait could still lie for her. Her eyes, unseeing for the thoughts racing behind them, did not catch the man stepping out onto the sidewalk until she had already shouldered him at her considerable pace. But her mind, still ringing with the notes from earlier, saw a chance for escape. She stopped and turned, apologizing, wanting to get a glimpse of the man she hoped was playing the guitar on the roof top, seeing if he would just play for her just a little bit longer. Nina didn’t know what she would say, how to ask, but she would. Until the familiar scent hit her, a barrage of cigarette smoke, beer, and vampire. She blinked, stunned into silence. “Spike?” She glanced at the guitar case on his shoulders, mouth parting in wonder. All these years and I never heard him play. She swallowed then, embarrassed and unsure of what to say next. “Yeah, I was just standing here for god knows how long, listening to you play your guitar. Because I’m a fuckin’ weirdo.” “Seriously, if you would just come back to my apartment and play that guitar until I fell asleep, I would appreciate it beyond belief. I promise not to act like I’m blown out of my mind right n- oh, nevermind, already have.” “Did I tell you about the time my boyfriend killed his father so that he could marry me? Funny story, that.” “It’s cold.” She swallowed and finally said, “Want some company?” And then grimaced because that sounded way more sexual than she was intending. And she was most definitely not in the mood. And she didn't think it was possible for Spike to not be in the mood. ” ― nina buchanan TAGGED : spike WORD COUNT : 683 NOTES : it’s cold CREDITS : template by JAWN of AA, OTE, DMB and TC	[atrb=style, width:10px; background:#84979e url(http://i55.tinypic.com/xc9i00.png);]	[atrb=style,width:20px]
	[cs=3][atrb=style, height:10px; background:#84979e url(http://i55.tinypic.com/xc9i00.png);]

[Spike Lockhart]

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[atrb=background,http://i1134.photobucket.com/albums/m602/ZeMukLuk/middlespike.png] Spike wished he hadn't forgotten his I-pod and headphones back at his room in The Pitt, he detested walking without something to listen to, something to occupy his mind. Instead he would be walking home wallowing in his thoughts until the familiar tsunami of heavy bass in the club would blast out his thoughts for him. He took another deep drag from his cigarette, hands stuffing deeper into his pockets for warmth and comfort as he continued on walking, unknowing of the person that was walking his way, similarly caught up in her own thoughts. That is until, they bumped past one another slightly, causing both to slightly stumble. Spike hadn't even noticed until he heard the other voice an apology, alcohol and his doziness mixed together to create a rather un-noticing state of anything short of a bomb going off. He turned to apologize, he didn't know why, he usually wouldn't but he did. That's when the voice suddenly clicked in his bogged down head. "Spike?" His vision un-blurred as he focused on the figure, knowing who it was before his eyes finally fixed themselves. It was Nina, who seemed rather surprised to see him. He shrugged slightly in his mind, figuring it was simply surprising to find him out of the comfort of The Pitt and in the cold, ravaged streets. He didn't say anything, didn't really know what to say. Nina however looked slightly unnerved, if he hadn't drank so much he would have been able to smell her sent and gauge her emotional state and guess what she was looking to say, however that went out the window after the fourth bottle of whiskey. Instead he waited within the few awkward moments, head tilting slightly as half closed eyes kept their lock on Nina until she finally spoke after what seemed like an eternity for the intoxicated vampire. "Want some company?" She finally spluttered out, face scrunching as if that was the worst thing to say. In a sober state Spike would have perhaps questioned why, probably made a joke and of course an innuendo, but he didn't feel like it. He didn't see the point, he wasn't looking for amusement tonight. "Yeah, sure. Goin' anywhere in particular? 'Cause I sure as hell don't have a clue were I am." He asked in a far more calm, almost deadpan tone that usual. Like he didn't have his usual vibrant energy. It was a simple statement in retrospect, but it had deeper meaning that Spike didn't even realize. For both of them, but it would be some time before either would be able to have an answer for the deeper question, for now, simple directions would have to do.

[Nina]

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[atrb=style, background:#84979e url(http://i55.tinypic.com/xc9i00.png); color:#1a5f79; font-family: Arial; border-right: 3px solid #1a5f79; border-left: 3px solid #1a5f79; border-bottom: 3px solid #1a5f79;] I’M SICK OF ALL THE INSINCERE I’M GONNA GIVE ALL MY SECRETS AWAY “ "Yeah, sure. Goin' anywhere in particular? 'Cause I sure as hell don't have a clue where I am."

[/color]

His voice, normally alight with humor, as if always enjoying some private joke, was flat now. Her brow furrowed, concern plain across her features. She thought to comment on it but discarded the idea. Spike wasn’t one for speaking about himself, and if she asked any rendition of ‘are you okay’, she’d probably only get brushed off. So she just swallowed her questions for the moment and made a split-second decision.

“I was just headed to my apartment for some dinner. You’re welcome to come if you like.”

Okay, sure, her apartment certainly hadn’t been high on her list of places to go earlier and she wasn’t any more inclined to go than she had been before seeing Spike. But he was obviously drunk and… well, the only word she could come up with was ‘depressed’. She had thought to apply to word to herself at times, but it hadn’t fit; it was simply the wolf within her longing to stretch its legs. But this. She couldn’t put any other name to it. And she didn’t think more booze would help.

Nina ran through the things she had in her apartment mentally, trying to remember when she had bought each of them and whether or not they were still good. But her head felt foggy and she couldn’t think straight. She decided she could look over everything when she got there and hope there was something edible.

In truth, it worried her to see Spike like this, and worry made her alpha female want to protect, to mother. She could reign it in to a point but there would always be the faint echoes of do something. It seemed like the city was taking something out of them both, but she couldn’t say what it was taking out of Spike. He had always seemed to fit so naturally, into the general partying and debauchery that the majority of the populace seemed to engage in. With others, she might have worried that a diet consisting purely of drugs and women would drain them, but Spike was a vampire who had seen more years than most people could make a claim to. He must have been doing this forever. If it was going to drain him, wouldn’t it have done it before now? But maybe that wasn’t the issue at all, maybe it was something different plaguing him, something that she had caught no glimpse of.

Or maybe she should have just gotten to know him better than she had. Maybe she was just an inattentive friend in general.

There were a thousand maybes one could put to it, and Nina wasn’t going to waste time standing in the cold and questioning what she had missed. Spike was in some sort of slump. And while there was little she could do with his walls kept up so firmly, she had to try. Her wolf would never forgive her otherwise.

“Come on,” she said finally. “Let’s get out of this cold.”

[/size][/div]

”

― nina buchanan

TAGGED : spike

WORD COUNT : 516

NOTES : shiver

CREDITS : template by JAWN of AA, OTE, DMB and TC

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