paradisa | (no subject)

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[ Her memory of last week felt like someone else had lived in her body, said and did things she would never do but leaving all the blame for her to bear. She remembers it all like a bad dream in which she holds no control of herself. It feels jarring, and for a moment she contemplated whether it would be better to keep acting like her younger self. Most preferred her thus. Sweetness itself, a rose without a thorn.

It is perhaps a good thing that she doesn't recall meeting Spike then because now it feels as if he's among the very few who wouldn't frown at seeing her this way, older and sadder. Being sad isn't so terrible if it means being stronger. If it means not letting herself be so easily hurt.

But Lucrezia doesn't want to be sad today. She even keeps a lid on her smile when she knocks on his door with a bunch of Madonna lilies that haven't yet bloomed. ]

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[He shrugs, but it's a little too obviously forced.]

Which one is the better excuse?

That is for you to decide. But I prefer tales or pointless conversation.

Suddenly it makes sense.

[ Lucrezia smiles, victorious, taking her book with her when she takes her seat at the sofa again. She would pretend to read it, but it may be apparent that the words on the page mean nothing to her. ]

Tell me about Anne the Queen.

[Spike was hoping she'd leave the book behind. He doesn't even notice how he's barely taken a drag from the burning cigarette.

Funny how Ein stares at him when he tries not to look at Lucrezia, head tilted as if he's just as eager to hear what he'll say.]

I'm not sure it's the kind of story you'd like.

[ Lucrezia smiles, doubting, flipping to the last pages to show to him. ]

Does it end happily?

[He looks at the page, unfocused. Does she want him to read it to her?]

... If it did, I don't think she'd meet the criteria.

Criteria for what?

[ She takes the book back and flips through the pages looking for illustrations, since the words are useless to her. It's obvious she can't read them. ]

[Spike nearly goes into his theories about how the castle chooses its victims, but he doesn't see any good coming out of it. Not like anyone benefits from cynical theories.

He shakes his head and takes a drag of his nearly spent cigarette. What a waste.]

Nothing. I don't know what I'm talking about.

[ Lucrezia makes a point of waving her hand about to disperse the smoke, even if none of it even wafts her way. ]

No. Tell me. Something, anything.

[That at least makes him feel less like he should have offered her one. There's not much for it though, and he crushes the end out in a nearby ashtray.]

She'd have my head for showing you that. [Said with a hint of humor, as literal as he means it. The queen doesn't approve of much of what he does, and he still pushes it.]

[ The Pope smoked those cigarros too. They smell like turds to her. She shuts the book then, holding it up for him to take with a smile. Peace? Peace. ]

For treason?

[He takes it, but resists the urge to stuff it under the couch.]

You wouldn't think it would count when that came from the library.

Am I complicit now?

[He smiles, appreciating it as a joke that's funny for reasons other than she means.]

You can blame it on me.

With great relish. [ But it's his smile that catches her attention. ]

You do it so rarely.

[Assuming she means take the blame.]

You've got to be careful about that. Too many times can ruin a reputation.

A reputation for gloom?

Is that what I have?

No. You are a lovely bundle of joy and revelry.

That must be why I get so many visitors.

You would get more if you tell them more stories.

[ Yes, she's still on that, Spike. ]

[The terrible thing is that he had a lot of good ones...]

You're right. I'll have to watch that.

Start with me, then.

You're determined, aren't you?