The Bear and Barnacle

Spike has felt a bit off all day, so sitting at the bar once he’s off work and drinking seems like a good idea. It’s been a weird night, where he finds he’s been telling patrons exactly what he thinks of their orders (“Why would you want to eat something so disgusting? Do you know what we put in that?”) to telling them exactly what he’d like to do with them (“God, your skin looks like dark chocolate and I’d love to taste it.”). He’s pretty sure, based on some of the responses he’s gotten, that there is some sort of truthy-weirdness going on in town.

Since his other option is to lock himself in his house till it passes, which sounds boring in the extreme, he’s decided that drinking is the best way to handle anything potentially embarrassing to tumble out of his mouth. And so, he’s sitting at the bar, deep in his whiskey, as he continues to blather on to whatever poor soul had asked him about being a vampire with a soul. “Angel had it wrong. Having a soul doesn’t bury the monster within. The monster is always there. Always part of you. You can’t ignore it. Maybe Angel’s soul works different, curse and all. And yeah, there’s guilt. I had lots of guilt at the beginning. But only for the innocents. But some people…they deserve to die. Not gonna waste any shame on them. Don’t feel sorry for them, don’t regret ending their lives. But I don’t go around looking to murder anyone. And yeah, I mostly stick to animal blood. Tolerable, at best. But, anyway, I won’t feel guilt, not anymore, for being what I am. And if that means that occasionally, I want to participate in some consensual drinking of human blood, then who the fuck cares? Angel can sod off and fuck himself, wherever he is.”

Victoire hangs up the phone, frowning. That certainly didn't go as planned. She fully had intended on telling the supplier that his product was disappointed for the cost. Instead, she told him outright that wasn't worth a third of what he was charging and unless he made a dramatic improvement in price or quality (perhaps making it in silicone) she would not be purchasing the Slithering Snake Sleeve again and would be cautioning her customers away from the two in the store.

Definitely not a Slytherin moment for Victoire. Or a profitable one. Words are a means to an end and when the words seem to come regardless of intention, Victoire is at a loss.

When she answers a customer's query about a vaginal pump by telling her that they don't really make them large enough suit someone over the 15 stone she must be instead of tactfully and sensitively commiserating on the product's limitations, Victoire promptly closes shop after giving the woman an apology in the form of a very expensive vibrator.

She notes the date and decides to make a few phone calls to other Margate imports to find out if this is a wider problem or isolated to her.

This month, your character can only speak the truth.

Yup.

There's a general compulsion to answer any question or remark with the complete truth. They will work out eventually that there are ways to stop it - keeping one's mouth shut will do it, usually - but it works a bit like the classic truth serum, sodium pentothal, is usually depicted in films, in that "verbal tap turned on full blast until you've spilled the beans" sense: Chatty, cooperative and not quite grasping the necessary complexities of lying.

So on the morning of the fifteenth, if asked "How are you today?", your character might open their mouth to say "fine" and come out with "Tired but cheerful because I stayed up all night having sex with inappropriate people."

Fun, right?

Iago will be the one in the corner not talking.

Tag is "truth."