BtVS: Alternate Lives

Who: Angel and Spike
Where: Streets of LA
When: Feb. 11, Evening

Angel was doing about what Angel did best these days. He was going out and going after vampires and other things that were attacking people even though they had no business doing so to humans. Some other creatures out there hated him for what he did, but he didn't really care. It was something that he was sure that he was supposed to do. In an effort to keep himself going, he was personally sure that everything that he had been through in his life was leading to a point where he would be put in the right place to save people.

He had just finished with two vampires that had decided to have a ménage à trois with a girl they had picked up from a club. They had both rushed at him at the same time thinking that two were better than one, but, when the two stakes popped out from his wrists just in time to stake them both, he proved that he could more than handle groups of more than one vampire.

WHO: Spike OT Janie and Cassie, and OTA
WHEN: Friday night
WHERE: Downtown LA, near Shooting Star etc.
WHY: Read on ...

There was a lot to be said for having a cease-fire with the Slayer crowd. For one thing, you could gather a lot of information when nobody was trying to jam a two-by-four between your ribs. And the word on the street ... on this street, anyway ... always brought something interesting to someone who paid attention.

Spike crushed out his cigarette and got a look around the street. It was quiet tonight. Most of what was going on, went on indoors, and it seemed like most of the people who were going about there business were already where they wanted to be.

One young woman, though, about whom he'd heard some interesting stories lately, he hadn't seen yet. And the chances of his finding her alone, or nearly so, seemed good tonight.

"It's time," he said aloud, to nobody in particular. Nobody at all, as he was alone, perched on the edge of the roof of the building that housed his bar. "Time to fix what went wrong. Not long now, pet ... you're probably expecting me."

He smirked and raised a fresh cigarette to his lips.

Who: Buffy and Open
Where: Eden
When: Tuesday Night

Buffy...frankly, wasn't sure what to do with herself as of late. She had taken some time off after her and Ash broke up. She still wasn't sure if she could actually work with him again. She knew that working with him would entail seeing Lucy from time to time, and she sort of wanted to strangle the girl. Knowing that she was a nice person really only made it worse. It would have been a lot easier to hate her if she was a bitch. Not being able to properly hate her just made Buffy even angrier.

No use in crying over that, though. She may or may not work with Ash again, but she sure as hell wasn't going to stay home and mope, or even sit at the bar and mope. She hadn't been trying her ass off to feel like a normal human being again to just let it all go to waste because of one dumping.

No, she wasn't going to let her life go to waste. Instead, she pushed herself away from the bar, intent on going out to the dance floor and enjoying herself, even if she was alone.

Who: Justice, OT all
Where: The Golden Eagle
When: Monday night

It started innocently enough... a cloaked, hooded man had come from the dimension called Salacia, holding a small bag in his hand. After casting a spell, calling forth a dark avenger, a spirit of vengeance... one who's experienced pain, loss, suffering... and caused it as well.

Emptying the contents of the bag, which appeared to be some kind of dust, in a circle, casting a long spell in latin. The dust quickly took on the form of a young woman, who the man threw a plain, black, ninja-esque outfit to, to cover her nude form.

"You are being given a chance. To bring pain and death to those who deserve it. To protect those that have been hurt in the past. To bring about... Justice. Go forth... and let blood be shed."

_______

The following night... the entity known as Justice stood in The Golden Eagle. Clad from head to toe in a black, skintight catsuit, and her head and face covered with a mask that covered everything except for her striking eyes, she stood in the shadows, near the jukebox, observing everyone. She knew that demons and vampires tended to congregate here... and while violence was frowned upon on the premises... she knew if she saw someone who she wanted to destroy... she could merely follow them until they chose a victim... then pounce before the victim could be hurt.

Right now.... more than anything, she wanted to prove she belonged here. To prove to herself that she deserved to exist.

Who: All involved in the W&H battle
Where: The alley behind The Sugar Shack, then Salacia
When: Wednesday morning, just before dawn

This was it. The more Rupert Giles thought about it... the more he feared that Ash's joke was actually RIGHT. He felt like he was leading his troops to The Alamo. He'd arrived first, followed closely by Ash, who he had open the portal to Salacia. They were all about to go into battle against the forces of Wolfram & Hart. Now... as he watched everyone arriving... he knew it was time. Do or die.

"Well... are we all ready? As much as it pains me to say it... it's time. I want each one of you to look inside... and realize why you're doing this."

He looked around at the gathering troops.

"For some of us... it's revenge. For others, it's the desire to protect innocents. Regardless of your reason.. you need to focus on that. Because once we get there... it's going to get hectic, incredibly fast. We know we're going to be outnumbered... but how badly will depend on Ami's team and how quickly they can bring down the door separating the inter-dimensional bridge from the main arena."

"To all of you... thank you. And please... be safe."

And with that... Giles walked into the portal, knowing the others would soon follow.

Who: Ami, open to her strike team (Gunn, Knox, Spike, and Anna Marchese)
Where: Gwen and Skylar's garage.
When: Thursday evening


This was it. Ami could feel it in her bones. This one moment was what she was here for, more than anything. Her own life... hell, her own EXISTENCE, was falling apart as she knew it. But she could save lives. Hundreds of them, actually, if she could pull off this one assignment. Mr. Giles had assembled her a strike team based on who he felt would best suit her needs in the battle. And now... when they got here, she would explain it all to them.

Wearing simple cut-off sweat pants, a white ribbed wifebeater, and with her long, curly blonde locks tied into a ponytail (mostly to hide the changes...), she waited for them to arrive.

Who: Faith and Candice OT Spike and Giles
Where: Candice's Place
When: Just After This Post (http://asylums.insanejournal.com/btvsal/102186.html)

( Read more... )

Who: Spike OT Giles
WHEN: After Slayer meeting, simultaneous to this post
WHERE: Gile's house

Spike finished his Marlboro Red and flicked it into the street, his duster open in the cooling night air. He was in no great hurry; the news had kept for a few days, it would keep for another few minutes, surely.

He told himself for the dozenth time tonight that he was mad. How else could he explain this to himself? Not to mention, if Angel ever got wind of this ... well, he'd never hear the end of it, until that one went off to brood for a while.

He walked up the stoop and knocked sharply at the door, getting a look around the otherwise deserted block.

WHO: Spike, OT anyone
WHEN: Tuesday night
WHERE: The Golden Eagle

There was nothing garish about the sign. Considering it was on the Strip, not far from Avarice and various other hotspots, "nothing garish" meant "practically invisible". Spike was okay with that. There was a time and a place to be flashy and bold and call attention to yourself, and there was a time and a place to be a sneaky git and take over your own little corner of paradise.

Spike eyed it critically through the plate glass, badly in need of a washing, and and nodded.

"The Golden Eagle," he said out loud. Wounded ... well, Western and American. And a golden eagle had been an awesome unit of currency ... ten bucks packed into something heavy and about the size of a quarter. Worth more than it appeared to ...

Yeah, that fit.

He walked inside through the open door and got a quick look around. The place was busier than it had been in ages, helped along by word on the street that it was a discrete place, a safe place, for those with something to hide. A pair of horns, fangs, a three-kitten-a-day habit ... whatever.

The decor was mostly leftover 70's crap ... some neon beer signs over peeling paneling. There was a poster for Killian's Red depicting Kathy Ireland (who the hell even knew who she was, anymore, Spike wondered) dressed a little like a sexy leprechaun. A pair of steer horns hung above the jukebox, which actually had a pretty good selection of music.

Spike nodded at the bartender, who slid him a longneck Budweiser. Spike took a drink and leaned back against the bar, looking around the room with a smirk.

WHO: Spike, OT any and all
WHERE: Grady's Pub (dive bar across from Avarice)
WHEN: Monday night

There were barely any customers in the bar, tonight. Spike racked the balls on one of the tables, which was covered in worn red felt, and chalked a cue. The fact that he'd eaten several of the regulars in the past few weeks might have had something to do with the lack of business.

"It's not like there's anything else going 'round here, lately," he said to the bartender. "It would be three nights a week ... say, Wednesday, Thursday, Saturday nights. You don't want the owner to know? Fine, you get your cut and his cut, or you could pay him so's he'd look the other way."

"I AM the owner," the bartender said, looking a little insulted.

"Fine, fine," Spike said, "so the cut's all yours, anyway. In return, you leave us the hell alone, we send someone out once in a while for refills, and you don't go into the back room for anything. Also ... you don't talk about it to anyone, yeah? Could be very lucrative for you."

He took a drag of his cigarette and lined up his cue ball to break.

WHO: Spike, OT any and all
WHEN: Monday night
WHERE: Downtown LA, Sunset Strip

Spike was out for a walk.

His '73 Nova had barely made it to the parking space by the cemetery. Later, he'd have to see about either finding a place to store it while he fixed it up or finding another POS to take its place.

Maybe both.

He kept an eye open for others of his kind, but the Strip seemed a little less fangy than he remembered it.

Of course, that made sense, he thought. A sudden flood of Slayers in the area certainly changed the landscape from something familiar to something ...

"Boring," Spike said aloud, giving a pair of hookers a smirk as he passed.

"So's your mother, you Billy Idol wannabe," one of the girls said.

No worries, no hurry, Spike thought. If she's there now, she's there every night, and if the drugs and the johns don't kill her, I'll probably get around to it.

He paused outside of Avarice, noting the line to get in. The music sounded halfway decent anyway. Based on the bloated, obnoxious Black Sabbath crap, but it sounded like someone was turning it into something halfway decent, anyway.