"Seriously?" Spike asked, tilting his head down toward Jeannie to look her in the eye. "And she has the same bloody..."
Spike remembered this tv show. Vaguely. The sixties were a drug-laden, purple-hazed, flower-person-drinking mess.
"Bollocks," he said.
"I have not," the vampire said, carefully, "hit my anything. No 'sir-ing' me, either. Dudn't work." Blue eyes danced over her form and her face, and the worst, absolutely WORST feeling of deja vu crept over Spike. He almost shuddered.
"My name is Spike," he said. "Not sir. Not master, either," he started to smile, "though I'd take that one, if you're offerin'. I'm much more interesting than a sodding streetlamp."