Spike (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} soulspike) wrote in ![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} pandemansion,@ 2008-07-12 10:16:00 |
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Spike's entry, April 18th. (Take two.)
Who?: Spike and greeter.
What?: Spike's arrival to the mansion.
When?: April 18th, sunset.
Where?: The fountain.
Rating?: Probably PG-13 for Spike's choice of words.
Status? In progress.
Who?: Spike and greeter.
What?: Spike's arrival to the mansion.
When?: April 18th, sunset.
Where?: The fountain.
Rating?: Probably PG-13 for Spike's choice of words.
Status? In progress.
Falling. Falling was never comfortable.
Spike had fallen a lot in his time. He had been thrown through windows of extremely tall office buildings, jumped off of bridges, and he'd had his good share of being knocked around in the air by explosions... but nothing had ever felt quite like this.
He was falling, all of his senses could tell him that, but it was less of a pull of gravity, and more of a pull of... something else.
The platinum-blonde vampire finally hit the ground with a thud. He rolled over quickly onto his back and jumped to his feet, instantly dropping into a defensive position. As he observed his new surroundings, Spike dropped his guard and circled the fountain he had landed behind. He placed a hand onto it nervously, just to make sure he was corporeal.
Where were the demons? The dragon? The 100-foot giant? Illyria, Gunn, and Angel? The battle was far from over, and it was just getting to the good and bloody part. So, why was he here? How was he here? He wasn't supposed to survive that battle.
He wore his signature leather trench coat, his boots, black jeans, and a plain black t-shirt. A few splatters of various colors of demon blood decorated his attire, and a bit of his own blood was leaking slowly from his busted lip.
He let his eyes wander up to the arches and he instinctively scratched the back of his head.
"Not in bloody Kansas anymore.."
Spike had fallen a lot in his time. He had been thrown through windows of extremely tall office buildings, jumped off of bridges, and he'd had his good share of being knocked around in the air by explosions... but nothing had ever felt quite like this.
He was falling, all of his senses could tell him that, but it was less of a pull of gravity, and more of a pull of... something else.
The platinum-blonde vampire finally hit the ground with a thud. He rolled over quickly onto his back and jumped to his feet, instantly dropping into a defensive position. As he observed his new surroundings, Spike dropped his guard and circled the fountain he had landed behind. He placed a hand onto it nervously, just to make sure he was corporeal.
Where were the demons? The dragon? The 100-foot giant? Illyria, Gunn, and Angel? The battle was far from over, and it was just getting to the good and bloody part. So, why was he here? How was he here? He wasn't supposed to survive that battle.
He wore his signature leather trench coat, his boots, black jeans, and a plain black t-shirt. A few splatters of various colors of demon blood decorated his attire, and a bit of his own blood was leaking slowly from his busted lip.
He let his eyes wander up to the arches and he instinctively scratched the back of his head.
"Not in bloody Kansas anymore.."