73;

[gottaknockhard]

[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.

Comments

[gottaknockhard]

[He's quiet, to the point where it's unclear if he agrees or not. Something on his mind...]

Did it change things?

[lucre]

Death tends to do that.

[ She can barely conceal her chuckle at her mimicry of him. ]

[gottaknockhard]

[Stupid question. He should quit while he's ahead.]

I suppose.