paradisa | 73;

Entry tags:

spike spiegel

73;

[The journal has been relatively quiet, considering how the castle seemed to be going through its usual mood swings. Unusually strong for its usual mood swings, but still, Spike noticed. But he doesn't want to talk about the castle, or death, or magical-catastrophe-whatever, and he can't blame anyone else for feeling the same way. He just wants something to eat. Preferably something that requires no wishing (seeing how that's been backfiring lately), or effort of any kind.

Which is why he's making a bowl of cereal in the kitchen in middle of the night.

After a fair amount of staring dead-eyed into the depths of the fridge, he dictates to whoever might be hoarding out there.]

We're out of milk.

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I am not trusting. I trust you.

[...

Why does hearing that make him feel like an asshole?]

I try not to lie to you.

[ Because that's precisely her intention. ]

And to Joshua?

I'm still pretty sure he can read minds.

You think I cannot?

If you can, I've wasted a lot of time not answering your questions.

Perhaps you should start answering them if you mean not to lie.

[How does that make any sense at all? But he sucks it up and tries to put some humor in his tone, since this is getting more serious than he meant it to get when he threw up the filter.]

The ones you ask aren't easy. You could toss me a bone now and then.

[ Because she has double standards. Omission isn't a lie only if she does it. ]

What would you do with a bone? I could offer you more.

[Keeping that train from derailing-]

Yeah, I've been over for dinner before.

[ As if they aren't already miles off track. ]

Better than that. Something more permanent.

I didn't know they still used that word here.

We could be the special ones.

Are we?

You and Joshua certainly.

We have both been here for a while.

You must be among the oldest.

He has me beat by a long shot.

[As long as she doesn't count the times he lived here that he has no memory of, which he really doesn't like to do. It gets confusing.]

Five years for him. For you?

[ Or is it longer? He never gave a straight answer. ]

[Spike didn't actually know how long of a shot it was, but he's sure that it came up at some forgotten point.]

Less.

Already it feels like a lifetime for me.

[Now he's distracted, trying to think of how long it has been. Which he generally doesn't like to do.

Brock would have known.]

It has its favorites.

If what they say of the castle is true, we must both be tempestuous.

[Big words, Lucrezia. But he can infer what she means.]

There's a reason people who get too content tend to go home.

Are you so discontent, Spiegel?