Who: Spike, Jared, and [open to hyperion residents.] What: Getting his fix. When: Evening. Where: The kitchen. Rating: TBD. Status: In progress.
With the sun only vanishing from the horizon only but a little while ago, it seemed about time for Spike to wake up and start on with his own day. He had stepped out of his hotel room and ventured off toward the kitchen, managing to avoid making contact with anyone in the process, and was even pleasantly surprised to find the entire kitchen completely without company. Normally, Spike found ways to make it so that he could actually stand being around half of the people that lurked within the Hyperion. Sarcasm. Witty comments. Doing everything in his power to make their lives miserable. It all helped, really. Just as long as he got a laugh out of it at the end of the night, he knew that he'd be fine. But there were those few moments, like this one, in which he couldn't stand for much company at all. He was still waking up and his mind was not on an entirely functioning level. He'd already had a rough night of it patrolling the city before and his shoulder was still aching from when he had taken a nasty blow from a demon with a sword.
It was a good thing that vampires patched up quickly. Otherwise Spike would have landed himself in the hospital. Which was a foreign place to him.
Using his better arm, Spike raised his hand and ran his fingers through his bleached hair. Then he wandered toward the refrigerator and began to dig through it's contents. A moment later, he pulled out a pack of pigs blood, set it onto the counter, and found himself shuffling off toward the pantry for some crackers. When he returned, he poured some of the blood into a cup, crumbled a few crackers in for good measure, and settled down against one of the tables. He'd be less likely to be disturbed within the kitchen than in the dining area, so he decided that it would be in the best interest of everyone if he kept out of sight.