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spikewriter:
Turn to page 123 in your work-in-progress. (If you haven't gotten to page 123 yet, then turn to page 23. If you haven't gotten there yet, then get busy and write page 23.) Count down four sentences and then instead of just the fifth sentence, give us the whole paragraph.
From When Darkness Falls (Since it's a conversation, to make any sense of it, I'm posting part of the scene rather than just a paragraph.)
Spike pushed off and began swinging. “Even if there is a crusading connection, I don’t see the point of any of it. The Le Fey bird may have filled her talisman with hocus pocus from Avon, but the rest of them? Pfft.”
“Fairly dismissive of King Richard for a former British subject. What happened to the Pre-Raphaelite obsession?” Giles's tone was just shy of mocking.
“Pre-Raphaelite movement died and so did the Pre-Raphaelite.“ Spike flew off the swing, landing softly in the dirt. “The Master may prattle about tradition and history but it’s bollocks. He’s more interested in curses and black magic. A sword wielded by the Sultan of Egypt and a shield from of an absentee British monarch wouldn’t be of interest to old batface. It’s not a matter of what the artifacts are. It’s what they do.”
“Which, apparently, is nothing. As far as I can tell, whatever magic the talisman held dissipated long ago, and the sword and shield are exactly what they appear to be—a sword and shield.”
“So what now? Continue as curator of the Master’s private museum collection? Seems bloody pointless.”
“You have a better plan?”
“Well, yeah. What about killing him? Can’t very well start an apocalypse if he’s dead, now can he?”
From Perfect Vengeance:
Spike panted beside her. And, in lieu of the words she couldn’t form or even think, Buffy sought Spike's hand and threaded her fingers with his. He gave a squeeze and she did the same before turning onto her side, curling into him, and drifting to sleep.
(BTW - Spike is kinda, sorta human at this point in the fic, hence the panting.)
spikewriter:Turn to page 123 in your work-in-progress. (If you haven't gotten to page 123 yet, then turn to page 23. If you haven't gotten there yet, then get busy and write page 23.) Count down four sentences and then instead of just the fifth sentence, give us the whole paragraph.
From When Darkness Falls (Since it's a conversation, to make any sense of it, I'm posting part of the scene rather than just a paragraph.)
Spike pushed off and began swinging. “Even if there is a crusading connection, I don’t see the point of any of it. The Le Fey bird may have filled her talisman with hocus pocus from Avon, but the rest of them? Pfft.”
“Fairly dismissive of King Richard for a former British subject. What happened to the Pre-Raphaelite obsession?” Giles's tone was just shy of mocking.
“Pre-Raphaelite movement died and so did the Pre-Raphaelite.“ Spike flew off the swing, landing softly in the dirt. “The Master may prattle about tradition and history but it’s bollocks. He’s more interested in curses and black magic. A sword wielded by the Sultan of Egypt and a shield from of an absentee British monarch wouldn’t be of interest to old batface. It’s not a matter of what the artifacts are. It’s what they do.”
“Which, apparently, is nothing. As far as I can tell, whatever magic the talisman held dissipated long ago, and the sword and shield are exactly what they appear to be—a sword and shield.”
“So what now? Continue as curator of the Master’s private museum collection? Seems bloody pointless.”
“You have a better plan?”
“Well, yeah. What about killing him? Can’t very well start an apocalypse if he’s dead, now can he?”
From Perfect Vengeance:
Spike panted beside her. And, in lieu of the words she couldn’t form or even think, Buffy sought Spike's hand and threaded her fingers with his. He gave a squeeze and she did the same before turning onto her side, curling into him, and drifting to sleep.
(BTW - Spike is kinda, sorta human at this point in the fic, hence the panting.)
