vor | Luceti Appointments

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"Nah, I'm not tired. My sleep schedule got thrown off and hasn't gone back to normal yet." He considers, sensing he's somehow embarrassed her and not really sure how, since he's being no more reserved than usual. "I could draft Ivan into playing with us, if you want."

"Hopefully not anytime soon. I'm not sure he should have to see me like..."

A gesture at the vampire's body. "I already pity you for having to converse with him. Me. Me as him. Not that he's all that bad looking and he keeps in good shape but..."

Things were getting worse.

"I never meant to stay long. Just wanted to explain my absenteeism."

He hesitates, then nods. "It's a little odd, but for what it's worth, I'm not particularly uncomfortable."

"I am," she admitted. "Extra uncomfy. Remember the part where I told you about how only questionable non-gentlemen tend to...y'know...?"

She pointed at Spike's face. "Being a man is awkward enough. Being a man who's also an ex? Double unfun."

Another nod. "I can imagine. Should I wait to open the other gift until you come back?"

"How about...once I'm gone?"

She pushed her palms against the cushions and stood up.

"As you wish." He stands with her and reaches out for a handshake. The only sign that this is a little awkward for him is that his wings spread a tad.

She slipped a cold, dead hand into his. The shake was firm but brief.

"And you might want to put something on that eye..."

"I've heard that, yes."

"...I always liked bags of frozen peas. Any veggies, really."

"Got it."

"Take care, Gregor," she bade her farewell with a rare use of his full first name. Buffy had once seen a Gregor sliced through the chest with a hubcap and she often prefered to distance herself from any association between that violence and her recent friend; however, today? Gregor deserved his name. So -- in Spike's skin -- she gave him one last smile before slipping out of the apartment.

In the tall but narrow gift bag left behind, he'll find a pair of cowboy boots. Simple but supple enough. And red. With them was a note:

Greg, Voila the riding footwear of my countrymen: cowboy boots. I'm not sure it gets any more plebe than this. If you like them, I'll get you a matching hat at Christmas. Thanks for the lessons. Can't wait to get back to them when I'm feeling more myself. By now, you either know what I mean or you'll find out later. Happy Birthday & many more, - Buffy