Bloody hell. Was there not room on that business card for 'thundering looney?'
What a piece of work. "Charmed," Spike said. The delivery was perfect, deadpan. He would kill to be smoking right now. Really kill. But the cigarettes were in the apartment. That meant this had to get cut off, and soon.
Spikey like pointy in parts?
Spike smiled, very slowly. It was a predator's smile. "Some parts," he answered. He laughed, a low, roiling laugh from the gut that purred out of his throat.
Spike. As in railroad. Did no one know their history anymore?
"Yeah. Guess it's a verb, now that I think about it."
He shook his head, not believing that he'd just said that. He walked away for a minute and came back holding cigarettes and a lighter, removing a cigarette from the pack and dangling it from his lips.
"Care for a fag, mate?" he asked, starting to light the thing. He realized as he flicked the flame into life why that was funny and did his best not to laugh.