The Bear and Barnacle

The first time it had happened, Buffy had been too wrapped up in the moment to really notice. The second time, she thought maybe he'd anticipated it. By the third time, she was paying a bit more attention. By the fourth time, she finally asked.

"Spike, do you EVER wear underwear?"

Smirking at her from his position under her, chained to the bed, he laughed. "Not if I can help it, luv. Done my best to avoid it for years now."

She rolled her eyes. "Do I even want to know why?" As Spike opened his mouth to answer she cut him off. "Never mind, I don't. I really don't."

Truth was, Spike had learned long ago that underwear was really a waste of his time. He was much more comfortable in his snug pants without it, and the easy access was certainly a plus. Really, why on Earth would he need it?

Teddy Lupin likes underwear just fine, thanks very much.

Just because his ridiculously randy roommates back in his Ravenclaw dorm decided it was in their best interests to traipse about a draughty Scottish castle just in case does not mean the then-prefect was in agreement. Of course Teddy knew this probably disappointed his girlfriend when she cornered him in the third floor passage behind the tapestry or between the stacks of musty library books on the 1,001 Uses of Common Moulds & Fungi. But, he'd counter wisely, would she rather his bits froze off before anything interesting happened?

He thought not.

And honestly, Teddy thought that was the last he'd ever really hear about the underwear thing.

( It wasn't until a few weeks later... )

The Joker was very observant. He knew the routines of all the pub regulars. Knew when they ate, when they drank, where they worked, where they lived. He made it his business to know everything he could about all these people. Of course, they had no idea he knew where they lived, had no idea how easily he could slip into their homes, take what he wanted, and slip back out again unnoticed.

He stood back and admired his handiwork. It was still quite early, somewhere around 4 am. Ivonka wouldn’t even be coming in to start preparing to open for another hour or so. Mumbling and singing to himself, The Joker went about the pub, adjusting a knot here, a clothespin there…

Everywhere, hung on clotheslines crisscrossed across the pub, there were undergarments. Knickers. Boxers. Briefs. Panties. Bras. He had taken at least one article from every pub regular and strung it up here. Ivonka would have a fit. It was wonderful. He’d even included a pair of his own, just to throw them all off his scent (as if anyone would doubt it had been him).

There was that ONE weird guy, who hadn’t had any extra laying around. And the Joker wasn’t about to remove the pair he was wearing. So that guy, he was waiting for Ivonka on the prep table, red boxer-briefs and red blood and clothesline tying him up like a prepped turkey. But everyone else had at least one indecent article available for him to purloin. And now the pub looked beautiful, all bedecked in solids and stripes and even some polka dots. He tied the last knot, and exited through the back, patting the dead red-boxer-brief-guy on the head on the way, and whistling a jaunty tune.

( A Perfect Day For Banana Pants* )

"For some reason, a reason quite beyond my understanding," Cesare says, smoothing out a wrinkle from his subdued Ferragamo ensemble, "our mutual friend Messer Krycek - lately swallowed by the earth, I believe, and possibly clawing his way through several Circles of Hell, up or down remains to be determined - was under the impression that I, in my time as Cardinal, wore pink underwear."

Bleakly, he looks at his hands, now folded in front of his belly.

"There is great care and forethought in a Cardinal's robes, I can assure you. Every bit of vestment has meaning. The deep red, once reserved for kings and emperors, signifies readiness to lay down your life for Christ. The buttons - thirty-three, the number of Christ's human years on earth. The Cardinal's ring, a token of faith and devotion, not unlike the ring a nun receives in marriage to Christ. Then the pallium and the staff - to remind you of your duties as a good shepherd. And so on," he waves.

"Pink underwear does not play into it." He coughs fastidiously behind a manicured hand. "And I can't see what it would possibly signify, other than a sordid mind."

Jack walks through the pub, back to the toilets, and comes back out a few minutes later down to just his boxer-briefs simply because he can and he hasn't the slightest bit of shame about it. He tosses out a "Maybe don't look, Dora," before he strolls casually over to the board to pin up a paper as if people in underwear do that all the time.

"Bananas are good," he says. "And so's underwear, and so's what underwear covers up. Does that make it like a banana peel? Anyway, here's an easy recipe because bananas are good."

Baked Bananas
1 banana, ripe or not, either works but it's a good way to use them up

For sauce:
1/4 teaspoon cornstarch
1 tablespoon brown sugar (white works, too)
2 tablespoons water
Big ol' shake of ground nutmeg, cinnamon, or allspice, or any combination
Optional spoon of butter or margarine for more flavor

Scale as needed for more bananas.

1. Preheat oven to 175°C/350°F.
2. In a saucepan over medium-high heat, mix together cornstarch and sugar. Gradually stir in water. Bring to a boil, stirring constantly. Remove from heat and stir in spice (and butter/margarine if using). You can also heat it in the microwave just until boiling.
3. Place peeled banana(s) in a casserole dish. Drizzle sauce over the bananas. You might need to turn them over some to get them nice and covered.
4. Bake in the preheated oven for 8-10 minutes and serve warm.

I really don't recommend trying to skip the oven and cook this in the microwave. You'll get a totally different texture on the banana and it's almost creepy— the outside stays about the same but the inside cooks up from within and the banana splits open. The outside still holds it together, so it turns into a sort of dissected banana. Not a very appetizing presentation.

The topic for March is UNDERWEAR!

I wanted it to be bananas but Iago said it couldn't be bananas because he's feeling old because it was his birthday yesterday and he's thirty now and apparently that means no bananas.

So it's pants. Or knickers. Or knickers and pants or boxers that are red like Iago's or white with red hearts on them. Or how about pants with bananas?! *sticks her tongue out at Iago then grins*


Knock yourselves out, lovelies. Interpret how you want. Do as you wish as long as there's some vague connection to underwear. *eyebrow waggle* The tag for this month is... you guessed it "underwear".