WHO: Spike and LaCroix. WHAT: Butting heads, most likely. WHEN: Evening, of course! WHERE: The Factory. RATING: TBD. STATUS: In progress.
The roar of the crowd barely phased the vampire spread out at the bar. Cigarette poking out from the corner of his mouth, Spike lazily watched the match carry on from within the ring. A vampire versus a grungy looking thug. The thug was dancing around, making show of his street moves, while the vampire calmly evaded each attack with ease. Boos and cheers erupted from either side of the ring, but that was to be expected when a show was being put on. The vampire was playing with the stupid kid. Spike rolled his eyes and turned in his stool, cigarette slipping from his mouth to his fingers. He flicked some of the ashes, purposefully, onto the bartop. The ashtray was right beside the spot he'd soiled, but Spike didn't care. He'd make that ignorant bastard behind the bar work for his money. Blood, sweat, and tears. That was the way to go when being employed by the likes of him.
Sticking the cigarette back into his mouth, Spike stretched a little in place and set his sights on the people milling about the club. Same crowds. All looking to earn some money and make a name for themselves.
Nothing new. Nothing exciting. His life, unfortunately, had been going at it that way for a while. Grumbling under his breath, Spike reached into his jacket for another cigarette. The way he was going, he'd be able to go through the entire pack by the end of the night.