WHO: Spike and Kathy. WHAT: Just hanging around! WHEN: Evening. WHERE: Streets; outside of a bar. RATING: PG-13. STATUS: In progress.
As much as people might have complained about this place, Spike couldn't find too much to run his mouth about. Well, all right, strike that. He could; he was Spike, after all - he could find reason to complain about anything if he felt like it. However, for a situation where a bunch of people got yanked from one place to another, he supposed it wasn't all that horrible. They gave him a room, Buffy and some of the others were around and, most importantly, he was not any deader than he gave himself credit for. Considering that he was on the verge of inevitable death (yes, Spike does think positively before battle, thank you for asking) before he showed here, Spike wasn't going to be the one to raise his fists in protest about what had happened here.
Not yet, anyway. If he got bored, Spike would put up a bigger show of it. Kick some trash cans around, start up a brawl somewhere. It'd be fun.
Legs spread out across the steps that led up into the bar, Spike pried out a cigarette from his pocket and pushed it between his lips. The little girl that he was sharing a flat with had loaned him a few under the assumption that it was better to share than have him go around and steal double of her belongings behind her back. It probably was. Spike might have played the part of the hero, but he certainly wasn't going to sit around and go by all the fucking rules people threw at him. Yes, he stole. He lied. He cheated. That was expected of him. He wasn't Angel, not by a long shot, and he didn't plan on ever being anything like him.
Screw redemption. Screw being a Champion. He had cigarettes and beer. It was all he needed.
Cigarette lit, Spike leaned forward and watched as a few people lazily made their way down the dark street. It was almost like L.A. Lots of people, plenty of buildings. It just seemed to be lacking in the demon and vampire variety. Spike almost missed it. Almost.