action + joint post ✪ out of some sentimental gain -- i wanted you to feel my pain

[herotypical]

[ buffy and spike have been out a-missioning -- only it hasn't gone quite as...merrily as they might have hoped. you see, they’re back a little early. spike decided to make an escape attempt and, in doing so, he’s brought malnosso justice down on both their heads. it’s all terribly unfair.

their punishment? one doozy of a bodyswap. spike is buffy and buffy is spike. and neither of them are too pleased about it.

sartre once claimed that 'hell is other people'; however, a situation like this makes a convincing argument that hell is, in fact, being other people. after they argue their way out of a proverbial wet paper bag and manage to find better clothing than the new feather garb they're initially given, they'll be available (throughout the next few days) to be mocked or sympathized with or awkwardly avoided all around town, depending on the individual.

find top comments below for either buffy's thread or spike's thread or -- if you’re looking for a thread with both of them -- buffy and spike. buffy’s tags will come from deadhero and spike’s tags will come from heroatypical. please don’t hesitate to tag all three options if that’ll float your boat. ]

Comments

[all7seas]

He was, but not for long. Not....in her presence, anyhow. It had become pretty clear to Jack Sparrow that he would have to leave Seven for a while.

It was either that or live rather publicly in the living room.

"It's gross. Drink it. You look all pale and ugly."

[deadhero]

"Ha ha. Let it be said that even Jack Sparrow's love-blind flattery has its limits," she was only joking but it was...disconcerting to hear such an unfortunate description of herself from his lips. Not that she entirely internalized it. The pale bit? Sure. But Buffy would never have described Spike as ugly.

Just as well that she didn't say that aloud, really. Instead, she reached for the bottle. Like some skittish school-girl, she didn't let her fingers touch his on the bottle's neck.

"Turn around. You shouldn't have to watch this."

Maybe she could just dump it.

[all7seas]

"No, actually. I want to see it." Now THAT was calculated to be a bit infuriating. Jack reasoned that he'd earned that much.

1/3

[deadhero]

"Are you serious?"

She hauled the cork free and sniffed at the bottle's mouth and...jeez, that was quite the whiff. It was a lot like being very very hungry and suddenly coming across someone's cheap backyard hot dog barbecue. You knew you weren't gonna get the good stuff, but it didn't matter.

You simply needed to be fed.

2/3

[deadhero]

She scoffed and tried to at least pretend that it was gross as she tilted the bottle back. And it wasn't exactly palatable, pig's blood. But it was already taking some of the edge off. Four gulps in and she was already feeling sorry for having spoken so sharply with both Jack and Spike.

3/3

[deadhero]

However, the biggest downside? Popping lumpies and fangs. Buffy had no idea how to control it -- she didn't even know that she'd done it. It was a natural reaction to finally getting some blood into her system.

[all7seas]

"Quite a lumpy you've popped there."


And that was as smug as he was willing to get in this situation. At least he'd found the rum, which was utterly palatable and which he began to down quickly.

[heroatypical]

Spike finally returned after wrestling with the clothes picked out for him. A warm gray shirt and red corduroys and he looked half decent. At least, for being a woman now. He'd traded the slippers in for some socks, but not daring to go for any of her shoes just yet. His hands rested on his hips in an entirely unhappy way.

He'd spent the better part of a minute staring at a pack of cigarettes and telling himself not to smoke one.

"You didn't throw out the blood. Good onya."

[deadhero]

Her petulance manage to lose some of its edge when she glared at the rum-guzzling pirate with newly yellowed eyes and a wrinkled forehead. Buffy drummed her fingers impatiently on the bottle's glass but at least she was no longer imagining what a rum-guzzling pirate would taste like.

"I don't know how to t--" But there was her own voice, breaking in with that outlandish London accent. "How do I turn the fangs off, Spike?"

Chagrined. Embarassed. Vulnerable. She'd hated drinking that down so greedily in front of Jack. She felt judged. So so judged.

[all7seas]

At least he'd gotten her into suitable clothing.

"Right. I'll...leave you two to hash this out, I suppose?"

Because it plain old freaked him out to realize that the woman he loved was inhabited by a man he loathed.

[heroatypical]

"Relax. Think happy thoughts. Puppies and sunshine and all that." It might have sounded sarcastic, but he was serious. "The face is all adrenaline. It's not like being human. You turn it off or you turn it on. So calm down."

He was content to ignore Jack and let the pirate leave.

[deadhero]

...Happy thoughts. Easier said than done -- especially with her so debased and Jack obviously gearing up to leave. Not just for now but for the foreseeable future. Buffy wasn't certain how she'd deduced it, but there it was. The truth or a very good hunch.

He'd probably go to the JJ. That was a nice thought -- the rocking ocean and the salty air. Or maybe Cullen House; those thoughts were even nicer. Buffy gave her head a solid shake and the vampire visage slipped free. Bones and skin morphed back into just Spike. She glanced some gratitude in his direction before directly addressing Jack instead: "I'll...call."

No. Better take the same suggestion he's given her for McCoy. "Or I'll write."

It was as fair a goodbye as she could muster. Buffy wouldn't insult either man by presuming to say those three words before Jack left, although she definitely wanted to say them.

[all7seas]

"I love you, Buffy Summers." He'd leave by the front door this time. "And I'll write back, sweetheart."

Still not looking at either of them, Jack made his way out.

[heroatypical]

... oddly endearing, that. A rare moment of him seeing Jack for the man that Buffy saw him for. He was good to her.

Not like him or Angel. Real good. Riley Finn good.

Hell.

He didn't say anything.

[deadhero]

It was a good and solid three minutes after Jack had left before Buffy gathered her composure into a decent heap. Decent enough to speak. The Slayer managed to think herself into a corner -- to convince herself that she hadn't been worthy of that last farewell. It didn't matter that the punishment was Spike's fault. It also didn't matter that it was Jack and Spike who had personalities too similarly infuriating to ever properly get along without the help of a shift. What mattered was that Buffy felt personally responsible for the yawning pit of unhappiness that seemed to open up in the kitchen floor and threaten to swallow the two remaining occupants.

"Pig's blood?" She sighed and dropped the bottle heavily onto the counter. "Kinda bland, as it turns out."

[heroatypical]

He was tired of standing or rather, her body was, and he found himself collapsed on the couch in a most unladylike way. This whole thing was utterly and totally miserable. He was thankful when she was at last able to break the silence. And give them both something to focus on.

"Rotten more like. But I can make it more palatable. If you like."

Recipes. He had them.

[deadhero]

Meanwhile, she folded arms on the counter and slumped forward -- eyeing Spike through the gap between the counter and the cabinets. It was like a little pass-through window straight into the living room.

"I would like. Or -- not like. But appreciate."

[heroatypical]

"Let me know if you get peckish, then."

It would be quite a twist, him preparing the blood for her. For them, anyway. To the outside observer, not much had changed.

[deadhero]

Buffy nodded. And tapped the counter with an idle thumb. And wondered about whether she really wanted Spike's help.

What she really wanted was his insight.

"Is it always like this? Like you're a kid in a candy store and you nearly can't control your grubby little hands?"

[heroatypical]

"All the time," he confirmed. "But we've got souls, don't we? And those little Happy Meals with legs also have got faces now. Delicious, but not worth it. Not in a million sodding years. Don't get a taste of human blood, Buffy. Not even accidentally. You won't forget it. Vampire or human."

[deadhero]

"Oh. Please. I'm, like, ten leagues away from even considering actually snacking on a loved one. But..." Dracula. Spike hadn't been there to witness it -- no one had, really -- but Dracula had compelled her to drink from his wrist. And it had been truly disgusting.

She nodded her head across the space that separated them. "Your cuts aren't even serious anymore and I know they're there."

As if to drown the knowledge, she pawed at the bottle-o-pig once more and took a generous swig. And then grimaced as she fought to keep the game-face off. Like some fricking learned response.

[heroatypical]

"Well aware of that. Likely you still smell your boy in here too. And the girls as well."

He stared at his new fingers, They seemed so laughably small now. It was so mind boggling. He was so curious too. Not even in a sexual way. He couldn't be turned on just inhabiting a woman's body. But it was different and. So very beyond the borders of what they should be allowed.

[deadhero]

"Each of them. Distinctly."

Not to mention herself. That was possibly the toughest part -- coming to grips with how alluring and primal that kind of base pheremone might be. It was enough to live through this sensory overloard; she didn't have to guess at what other mysteries the swap held for her.

Though she did keep trying to breath only to realize she hadn't been doing so for ages. Each time, it was startling.

"They're not gonna bite you," she finally said. This of his finger-staring habit, of course.

[heroatypical]

He held the hands up for her to see. As if they were some mystery.

"Different. They do the same thing, but they're different. Tiny, for one. Softer, too. No offense." A pause. "They'd look good with black polish though."

[deadhero]

Curious, now, she held his up for comparison. Wider in the palm; sturdier in the fingers. And yet she didn't feel any stronger with them than she did with her apparently tinier and apparently softer hands. Being Spike meant not having her self-possessed strength. His body was strong but it wasn't her strength. She didn't own it. She didn't command it. It was wild and primal in a way she could appreciate but couldn't love. There was a demon inside of her and it wanted out.

"If there's one thing I'm not afraid of," she decided at length, "it's a manicure. From you."

That? That might have been permission. Spike did okay work on nails.