[ a champion. that's what she had said before she gave him that dusty trinket. since his arrival here, spike hadn't been doing much championing. or any really if he's honest. in his defense, not much before now had required his particular skillset, but when he'd heard the ruckus he'd come running. especially after slowly acclimating to the silence the past few weeks. spike inserts himself directly into the center of the fray and starts systematically taking the assailants down. there's something satisfying about when they turn to red clay, like dusting a vampire back home, and it only galvanizes his need to be here.
he loses count of how many people he's saved today rather quickly, the rain getting in his eyes and matting down his hair and clothes (or bright yellow jumpsuit, in this case). not that the numbers have ever mattered to him. only that he could be of some use when it counted. and when things were down to the wire, he had given the greatest sacrifice he could at the time -- whether his life meant anything or not at that point was of no consequence. and so it doesn't here either, and he could swear that as he takes a particularly hard hit he sees golden hair as his body twists to accommodate his fall. and as he hits the ground, a sword slices through him, splitting down the center of his throat.
the pathetic offering of his own dust peppers over theirs only to disintegrate in the same fashion mere seconds later. inside of a minute, he's reconstituted as whole inside the reset room, just as disappointed the second time around as the first. he coughs ineffectually and scoops up some of the red stuff in his palm, knowing no amount of staring at it will help him learn its secrets, but that won't stop him from trying. in the end, all he can do is shake his head and utter a soft curse. ] Oh, balls.
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he loses count of how many people he's saved today rather quickly, the rain getting in his eyes and matting down his hair and clothes (or bright yellow jumpsuit, in this case). not that the numbers have ever mattered to him. only that he could be of some use when it counted. and when things were down to the wire, he had given the greatest sacrifice he could at the time -- whether his life meant anything or not at that point was of no consequence. and so it doesn't here either, and he could swear that as he takes a particularly hard hit he sees golden hair as his body twists to accommodate his fall. and as he hits the ground, a sword slices through him, splitting down the center of his throat.
the pathetic offering of his own dust peppers over theirs only to disintegrate in the same fashion mere seconds later. inside of a minute, he's reconstituted as whole inside the reset room, just as disappointed the second time around as the first. he coughs ineffectually and scoops up some of the red stuff in his palm, knowing no amount of staring at it will help him learn its secrets, but that won't stop him from trying. in the end, all he can do is shake his head and utter a soft curse. ] Oh, balls.