1.49.1 - Cool Water

So one of the drawbacks to being both the heroic type and the vampire type is that there are some nights when there just isn't anything going on. No cults are performing rituals, no ancient demons are being summoned, and there aren't even roving packs of new vampires bumming around the nightclubs, looking for snacks. Nothing.

I used to make fun of Spike for being such a pop culture fiend. Mostly, it was because I didn't understand half of the jokes he made-- usually at my expense-- because I didn't watch TV constantly. I'm busy doing good deeds.

A couple of nights ago, though, there really was nothing at all to get up to, and at three in the morning, there just isn't much on TV to choose from if you don't shell out for satellite or digital.

( Silver screen )

Angel
'Angel' the series
Word Count: 487

Current Mood: annoyed

1.47.2 - "If Those I Loved Were Lost" by Emily Dickenson

( Confession )

Angel
'Angel' the series
Word Count: 668, not counting excerpt of poem

Current Mood: guilty

Just Old Friends ((RP locked to fakingitsomehow))

Never had Angel been so frustrated that he couldn't look at himself in a mirror. It wasn't as if there was anything even remotely implied in the "date" he was having with Buffy that it would be anything but a couple of old acquaintances getting together to do some talking and shopping. Buffy would be getting a little long-overdue pampering, something he knew she gave herself almost never, and he'd get to provide that for her. Nothing implied.

Right.

Angel checked his watch, the glanced out of the window. The sun had gone just far enough behind the horizon, turning the smog layer over the city into a riot of reds and golds, that he would be all right heading out. It was twenty minutes later by the time he arrived at Buffy's motel.

He'd called her not long ago, not taking "no" for an answer to the question of her taking advantage of his hospitality and not sleeping in a cheap cardboard box motel, and Angel hoped she'd listened. Adjusting his jacket and hopefully touching up his hair, he knocked on her door.

Nothing implied, he reminded himself. No expectations.

Right.

1.45.1 - You just found a ________! Now what?

( The Gem of Amara )

Angel
'Angel' the series
Word Count: 392

Current Mood: grumpy

1.44.2 - Have you ever cheered for the wrong team, chosen the wrong side, picked the wrong horse or backed the wrong person in a fight? If so, what would you do differently, if you could do it over?

( Um, maybe )

Angel
'Angel' the series
Word Count: 311

Current Mood: guilty

1.41.1 - Do you believe in love at first sight? Has it ever happened to you?

( I saw her standing there )

Angel
'Angel' the series
Word Count: 344

Current Mood: enthralled

1.40.2 - Write a ficlet on the word "surrender".

( Rock Bottom )

Angel
'Angel' the series
Word Count: 491

Current Mood: grateful

1.38.1 - Write about a memorable shopping trip.

( They're just clothes, right? )

Angel
'Angel' the series
Word Count: 403

Current Mood: cheerful

1.36.2 - Who are the five most beautiful people you know? What makes them that way?

( I wish the list were livelier, but that's me )

Angel
'Angel' the series
Word Count: 591

Current Mood: contemplative

1.35.3 - Write a ficlet that starts with the sentence: "Everything really went wrong when...".

Everything really went wrong when I got back to L.A., and for some reason, Wesley was wearing my coat.

It's not that I'm not a person who can share his things, or even that Wesley looked all that bad in it. Sure, he couldn't quite fill it out, especially through the shoulders, but it wasn't a terrible look. Besides, he hadn't asked, which would have made things just fine. He just took one of my long black coats without permission, and all of a sudden, he was in charge of things.

I just wanted my coat back.

( Okay, maybe some context for this is appropriate )

Angel
'Angel' the series
Word Count: 439

Current Mood: confused

1.33.1 - Bring me the sunset in a cup. (Emily Dickenson)

( Sunrise, you better take care )

Angel
'Angel' the series
Word Count: 271

Current Mood: jealous

1.32.2 - For one day, you get a free pass to do anything you want to one person. They will not remember it tomorrow, and whatever you do will wear off in 24 hours. Who? And what?

( Excessive normalcy )

Angel
'Angel' the series
Word Count: 283

Current Mood: crushed

1.31.3 - Who's the most innocent person you know?

( Paradise Lost )

Angel
'Angel' the series
Word Count: 455

Current Mood: melancholy

Of all the gin joints... ((RP for fakingitsomehow))

As he raised the glass up to his lips, Angel realized that in a lot of ways, things had started off for him in pretty much this same way: sitting at a bar, hoisting a beer up for a drink. Way way back, the tankard had been made out of metal, the beer was thick and dark, and he was a young human who was enjoying life being led around by, well, anything other than his brains. He had been carousing up a storm when he'd happened on Darla-- or she had happened on him; he'd never been able to get her to commit to a version of the story-- and everything after that was history.

Two hundred twenty or so years after that, he remembered, he was sitting in a bar a lot less glitzy and fashionable as the one he was sitting in now. It was his second or third week in L.A. after leaving Sunnydale, and he'd already dusted two vampires before saving the girl that night, and would go on to take out two or three more afterwards. It was the first night, though, he really felt that he was getting into the rhythm of how things would work in his new, Buffy-free life. Of course, he was completely wrong, but that was par for the course.

Now, things had come to a strange full circle. Angel was sitting in a bar, nursing a cold beer, and waiting on a girl. But this time, he wasn't out to get drunk, nor was the girl going to be any kind of victim. No, tonight, he was at some trendy Hollywood watering hole, expecting Buffy Summers herself to come walking up at any minute. He'd suggested his own apartment a lot closer to downtown, but Buffy's request for more neutral ground had won him over.

The bartender gave him a nod. "Only a woman puts that kind of thoughtful look on a guy's face," he said.

Angel chuckled and nodded back. "You better believe it," he answered, and settled in to wait.

Current Mood: nostalgic

1.30.2 - "And in my hour of darkness / She is standing right in front of me"

( Animal )

Angel
'Angel' the series
Word Count: 434

Current Mood: numb

1.29.2 - Are you a freak?

( Damn, she beat me to it )

Angel
'Angel' the Series
Word count: 364

Current Mood: discontent

1.28.1 - While at the grocery store you bump into an oddly familiar face--it's your evil twin! The evil twin follows you home and tries to convince your family (or friends) that he/she's you. How did you prove to your loved ones that you are the real you and the twin is an imposter?

( I guess I'm kind of a special case )

Angel
'Angel' the Series
Word Count: 298

Current Mood: confused

1.23.2 - "You're engaged in an argument with a person who is either too stupid, too stubborn or too rigid to see your side. How do you win?"

This happens entirely too often for my comfort. I don't know what it is about being on the right side of the fight, being one of the "good guys" that seems to make so many of the people I deal with so damn stubborn. I suppose it has something to do with feeling righteous since, I guess, if you're going to be fighting the good fight, you sort of are.

Everybody seems to know just how to do something; what they really mean, though, is that they know how they want it done. It doesn't matter what anybody else's opinion might be, since they're the "good guy", then they must be right. And before I see any fingers pointing my way, I'd like to remind people that I'm usually right about things. Usually.

But, when it comes to stubborn, stupid and rigid, there's one person who really takes the cake, and manages to do it no matter which side of the fight he's on: Spike. The word "stubborn" actually doesn't even start to cover what he's like. There's no reasoning with Spike, no discussion at all. Once he's got an opinion in that bleached-out head of his, nothing's going to dig it out short of a battle axe.

Believe me, I've tried.

You know, in the bad old days.

I have to confess, though, that I encourage him. Maybe it's the history, maybe it's that damn parent-child/sibling dynamic that makes vampire interaction into one never-ending soap opera, but when he gets my hackles up, I'm in that argument to stay. We've gone on for hours about the stupidest things in the world: movies, travel, wine... hell, we spent two days at each other's throats over my choice in jacket color!

As if he'd ever know anything about dressing. Look at him.

Anyway, arguments with Spike usually end up one of two ways: we either beat the crap out of each other, or we get so frustrated that we just drop the whole thing. No, I'm sure Dr. Phil would look down on it, but it works, and he gets the hell out of my hair for a little while, and that little bit of blessed peace is worth it.

Current Mood: frustrated

"If you'll go courting trouble, you're sure to find it!"

Father's last words to him. Liam hadn't ever once intended to listen to a damn word the old man ever said, and definitely never wanted to believe any of them, either. Of course, just like he told his father, he'd heard every one and 'lived down' to them all-- to every disappointment, every expectation of failure and weakness.

Certainly if a man's father had no faith in him, why should a man have any damn faith in himself?

Well, you daft old fool, Liam thought as he groggily began to clamber up to his feet, looks like you were right again.

A pretty face, a pretty head of golden yellow curls, and a pretty plump bosom rising over a tight rich woman's bodice, and he'd followed the lot into that alleyway. There wasn't much Liam remembered about the woman, but then again, as far into his cups as he'd been, there wasn't much Liam would be able to recall. She'd promised him something that had sounded like heaven, and then done... something... that had hurt like the Devil himself.

Liam's hand went to his throat, remembering the sudden pain, but found his skin unmarked.

He looked around, worry rising. It wasn't the alley. Liam had woken leaning against the fence of a small graveyard. It was a humble handful of plots, but the stones were well-crafted, and just on the other side of the yard was a small, weathered church.

"Ah, hell," he spit, figuring that his father had dragged him off from the alley and dropped him here to teach him a lesson. Instead of doing as expected, he instead turned in the direction of the other nearby buildings and began looking for someplace to get a little ale.

Current Mood: confused

( Don't bother me, I'm brooding )

Current Mood: calm