WHO: Spike and Glory! WHAT: Reminiscing. Just not in a way that Spike would prefer. WHEN: Evening. WHERE: Streets. RATING: Probably highish.
He had only woken a few hours ago with a craving for blood that the tiny pint he had stuffed away back at the Hyperion couldn't quite take care of. Unlike most of the others that lived there, he wasn't so terribly worried about going off on his own, as Spike was more than certain that he could and would take care of himself if he ran into trouble. He wasn't worried about following any rules or doing anything that the people there told him to. He was back for Buffy and Dawn, no one else. And, more importantly, Peter had asked for him to come back, not the other way around. Which meant that he was doing him a favor. At least that was how Spike saw it all.
With his blood packed up in the brown paper bag he was clutching to his chest, Spike calmly walked down the dark and empty street that surrounded him, puffing away on the cigarette placed between his lips. He was humming a Sex Pistols tune, one that he abruptly cut short when a scent crept it's way under his nose. Coming to a halt just along the corner of the street, Spike turned back and started scanning the area around him for a face to match the smell that he knew he had taken in before. Who was it again?