The Bear and Barnacle

Spike pulled the last of his clothes out of the small closet and stuffed them in his duffel bag. Now that he has the necessities taken care of...refrigerator, microwave, bed, TV (yeah, that is a necessity), he's ready to officially move into his new place.

It couldn't have been planned better. Basement flat, dark, private. He's got the back bedroom blacked out already, but figures heavy curtains will do in the front room. Just in case, sometimes, someone visiting wants the sunlight.

He figures Holmes probably suspects something is up, he's been there less and less, but he still isn't sure what to say. Thank you and goodbye are both things he's not big on.

Q was in the kitchen cooking breakfast when a knock at the door startled him. Looking mournfully at the yolk oozing out of what was going to be a sunny-side-up egg, he sighed. "Guess it's scrambled eggs for me." He went to the door, singing:

Someones knockin' at the door
Somebody's ringin' the bell
Someones knockin' at the door
Somebody's ringin' the bell
Do me a favor,
Open the door and let 'em in.

Suiting action to lyrics, he swung the door open.

Some people might not think of interrupting someone's coffee as coitus interruptus. They're the people who drink scalded coffees from coffee chains, or guzzle down instant brews just for the caffeine buzz, or maybe even grind their own coffee at home— but they aren't drinking Ianto Jones Coffee. And when someone, Jack for instance, is busily enjoying a mug of it, just about moaning over the perfection, he is really looking to enjoy it to completion.

What he definitely isn't looking for is someone at the door before he can reach a nice coffee-drinking peak. It interrupts the wonder of the coffee, and so when he goes to the door, he's very displeased indeed at the... coffee-us interruptus. Whatever. It's displeasing, whatever it's called. "What do you want?"

Spike blew out a puff of smoke, casually flicking the butt of his cigarette down on the ground in front of him. His boot crushed it as he took another step forward. Morning fog was rolling into Margate in waves, and he knew it was time to head home, before the sun rose. As his pace quickened slightly, he swore he heard a chuckle. Glancing around, he saw nothing, shrugged, and continued on. The pre-dawn light was beginning to creep over the buildings, trying to poke through the dense fog. As Spike lit up another cigarette, he had the distinct feeling of being watched. He slowed his steps slightly, listening for footsteps. Despite his keen hearing, there was no sound to be heard. And then, a voice, with just a hint of Irish brouge, made him stop cold.

"Pushin' the limits a bit, aren't we, William? Almost sunrise and all. But then, you always did like to push the limits, didn't ya?"

Spike turned slowly, cigarette still in one hand, and stared at the man behind him. "Angel? What the bloody hell are you doing here?" But no, something was wrong with the smirk, and the eyes, the way they were boring into him. Oh God. "Angelus?" How'd he lose his soul this time?

"And who else would I be, I might ask? Course I'm Angelus." He jumped merrily forward towards Spike, smirking. "Just comin' back from a night of mayhem, are you?" Angelus started to reach out towards Spike, and Spike raised his hand to block the touch...except his hand went right through Angelus' arm. If Spike needed to breathe, he would have gasped. He jumped back. "You're not soddin' Angel OR Angelus. You're the bloody FIRST!" He shook his head, backing away further. "Can't make me do anything, broke that power. You can't be here."

Angelus laughed. "What are you talking about, William m'lad? I'm the first WHAT?" He was dangerously close, leaning toward Spike's ear, voice lowered. "I mean, other than THAT first, but you weren't talking about that, were you?"

Spike yanked back again, and turned away. "This isn't happening." He glanced at the brightning sky, and started walking again. "Gotta get in." He quickened his pace to almost a jog, but Angelus' kept up, laughing all the way.

Jack's one and only drug experience was in 1940, on the boat from Canada to London. He was sitting on the deck sharing cheap whiskey with four other pilots, two of whom would live to become known to history and two of whom, like Jack, would later die in action. Someone (he didn't later remember which one) produced a twist of newspaper full of white powder.

There was a brief stir, then Jack - eternal straight man, good listener, the man you ask when you need a loan till payday, and the only one present who hadn't lied baldly about his age or experience to get into the RAF - said, "What the hell. You know what the life expectancy is for us now?"

All of them laughed. It wasn't in the least funny, but they were young, and high on risk and glory, and about to get higher.

Halfway through the brownie, Jack suddenly recognizes that I-know-this-isn't-funny-but-it-actually-is feeling.

He stares at the bit of brownie for a long, long moment, then lifts his head to stare at Ivonka. She stares back, wearing that mess-with-me-and-I'll-make-you-suffer look. Jack smiles at her. She rolls her eyes.

Zelgadis is across the table from Jack, trying once again to convince Val that he can't bring his rat to the Pub. Val is too absorbed in the debate to have touched his brownie. Jack slides it from him to Zel.

"Just eat it," he says to Zel's questioning look and Val's protesting squeak, and chuckles. "Something tells me this one's not for Val."

Pardon our dust, gentle sirs and good ladies, new friends and old, but we assure you that the sounds of your voices are more welcome than your boot-prints.

To begin with, let each of you order up his drink and meal! Tonight, the chef takes requests, and your fancy is limited only by what we find in our pantry. However, all who have recipes must bring them to him, and so we shall set our menu when the time comes.

Come, then, have a seat! Here by the bar I shall keep you amused with talk and good drink, and there by the fire the room is warm, and at every table you shall find good company, and should you choose a place by the half-height walls of the kitchen you may speak with Xellos as he cooks. Come, your order?

For this very simple first topic, everyone can comment to this post with their food and drink choice. Thread-crashing is highly encouraged as otherwise there's not much in the way of interesting conversation to be had. Although Iago can and has discoursed at extreme length on polenta, but whether or not that qualifies for interesting depends on the listener's profession.

Welcome to the Bear and Barnacle!

Oh, and he means it about the recipes.