Sunday Night

[flash-serpent.livejournal.com]

Crowley sits on the bench, alone. The angel needs to rest, and he can only stomach so many Regency "novels". He tosses bits of old scones to the duck.


[This is for notsouledyet but is not locked or filtered]

Comments

[notstakedyet.livejournal.com]

It was late at night, and Angelus was feeling restless. A lot of plans were up in the air, Darla was coming, and Parents' Weekend loomed with possibility.

He decided to go for a walk to clear his head.

As he passed by the duck pond, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. When he went to light one, however, his lighter came up short.

He spotted someone sitting at the bench.

"Hey buddy, got a match?"

[flash-serpent.livejournal.com]

[Turning in the direction of the voice, the moon glints off his dark glasses, nearly as bright as his teeth when he smiles]

I have a lighter, indeed. Come, pet, sit and smoke with me.

[He presses a cigarette between his lips and snaps the Zippo open, a fluid motion that comes with years of practice. Once his is lit, he holds the flame out for the...hmm, not a boy]

[notstakedyet.livejournal.com]

"Ta," Angelus bent down to get the light, then stood up again once that detail was taken care of.

He took a drag off the cigarette, studying the stranger.

"No offense," he said, "but I spy with my little eye something that begins with 'not human'."

[flash-serpent.livejournal.com]

As do I, pet, as do I.

[He takes a deep drag and his words roll out with the coils of smoke]

You're an unusual one...empty, pardon my bluntness. How does that happen? I've not seen that before. Here.

[notstakedyet.livejournal.com]

"Depends on which empty we're chatting about," Angelus said. "We going for my unbeating heart, my lack of body temperature, my failure to ever send money to support the fine programming of PBS...?"

[flash-serpent.livejournal.com]

Oh, I'd lean more toward your lack of a soul and the sense of...hmm...what's your name, pet?

[notstakedyet.livejournal.com]

"Angelus," he flicked his cigarette ashes onto the ground. "You?"

[flash-serpent.livejournal.com]

You can call me Crowley...Angelus. Might I ask a deeply personal question?

[notstakedyet.livejournal.com]

"Fair enough but I should warn you: in spite of what you may have heard I don't swing that way."

[flash-serpent.livejournal.com]

[He laughs, his sharp teeth exposed and his green forked tongue writing inside his mouth.]

No, no, dear boy. I'm certain you don't swing at all. That's for patrons of PBS.

[notstakedyet.livejournal.com]

"Okay then, shoot," Angelus exhaled a lazy plume of smoke. "If I was a tree what kind of tree would I be?"

[flash-serpent.livejournal.com]

Do you follow Manchester United?

[He leans forward eagerly awaiting the answer, the cigarette hanging from his lip.]

[notstakedyet.livejournal.com]

"Nope," Angelus shook his head. "Spike does, though. Vamp who runs the pub. Can't miss him."

[valentine-tart.livejournal.com]

After a quiet day on the Maru alone, thinking about the Ethics assignment and what it meant that she wanted power over Buffy, Chi, Illyana and others - to use for good, but still power - Beka headed back toward the dorms through the park. As ever when shipboard, she'd dressed in black leather. Two-button vest with no shirt beneath it, black leather pants, and boots.

She pulled a pack of cigarettes from her vest and tapped one out, as she passed a bench where a man sat alone. No boy this one, he seemed made from sin. Dark, sexy, and reeking of brash confidence.

[flash-serpent.livejournal.com]

Need a light for that, pretty one? [He flips his Zippo open with a smooth motion, bringing the fire tolife]

[valentine-tart.livejournal.com]

A slow smile, then she nods. "Thanks." Beka leans in, closer than is strictly necessary, to light her smoke from his flame. Inhaling deeply, she allows her eyes to slide closed, an expression of pleasure. When she releases the smoke, chin tipped upward, it's a small, tight plume from between her lips.

[flash-serpent.livejournal.com]

And what is such a tasty morsel such as yourself doing out so very late? There a re bad things that go bump in the night, yesss? Never know what you might meet. [He slowly reaches into his pocket and pulls out a scone, and toosses a bit to the ducks at the edge of the water]

[valentine-tart.livejournal.com]

She studies him through lowered lashes, then shrugs a shoulder, unconcerned. "I'm one of the bad things."

[flash-serpent.livejournal.com]

Ahh, then...that makes all the difference. Will you sit with me, pretty? I'll share a biscuit with you and we can talk of civilised matters.

[valentine-tart.livejournal.com]

"I've eaten. But I'll sit." Affecting the predatory grace she often uses with Camulus and Angelus, for this one is of the same mold, Beka stalks the bench, then sits. She takes a drag off her cigarette. "Your invitation, your conversation."

[flash-serpent.livejournal.com]

[He watches her body as she moves. She stalks like an animal, but even animals can be wounded.]

You wouldn't want to eat it, pretty. It's to feed the ducks. Here. [He hands her a crumbling cookie]

My conversation, eh? What should an old fellow like myself talk to a young beauty about? [He pulls out his cigarette case and takes his time lighting one. Taking a long drag, he speaks as he exhales.]

What controls you, Miss Valentine?

[valentine-tart.livejournal.com]

After switching her cigarette to the other hand, and holding it up away from the bench for courtesy, Beka takes the cookie from his oustretched hand between her thumb and third finger. She sets it on her thigh, and idly breaks off pieces to toss to the waterfowl.

"That's an interesting question for civilized conversation," she offers silkily after a pause. "I've been thinking about it, though, so I'll give it a whirl. Many things and some people control me. When I let them. Most often, impulse, instinct, loyalty and passion. Occasionally fear."

[flash-serpent.livejournal.com]

Instincts...yes, they are quite the driving force. Lust. Vengeance. Envy...some of my favorites. I can't imagine you let fear control you, though, pretty one. Fear is for those who do not move like cats.

[valentine-tart.livejournal.com]

"Not often. Now." She flings a piece of biscuit far out into the water. "A cat, huh? You're the second man this week to refer to me that way. Maybe there's something to it." Inclining her head in acknowledgment, she smiles. "Beka Valentine, as you seem to know. You are?"

[flash-serpent.livejournal.com]

You may call me Crowley, pretty. But one would be lead to believe you would call a fellow whatever was on her mind. [he presses the cigarette to his lips, and when he exhales, he smiles. The smoke seeps out between his sharp teeth]