I Get Called Autistic Even Though I'm Not For This Very Reason.

Chapter 2 here!

Scarlet Sky

[A recollection of the events preceding Spike Spiegel's "death" by Theo V. Morgenstern in the Red Dragon crime syndicate.

Set in pre-canon period where Spike avails himself of some time to spend with a friend away from the crimes of every day in Tharsis, Mars.]

Chapter - 1. One Last Drink

Throughout Tharsis, the one business that profited the most was anything open after 8 in the evening. The Conan was one such business, a rustic bar nestled between other small diners, cafes and homes. It didn't have much of a presence, blending into the street that held it, yet at the same time, it looked significantly different from the rest.

Compared to other, more flashy and bustling dwellings, it looked like a place running for its money but they managed either way because there was no place that served alcohol in this part of Mars that could go out of business, even when it looked like it was snatched right out of a century-old movie.

In spite of its eccentricities, or rather, because of them, Theo found herself sitting at one of the stools with a glass of Pomegranate juice, listening to music on her headset. It had been an hour since she walked in, so she would come to know when she glanced at her watch for the nth time. As if on cue of her adjusting her sleeve over the watch again, the doorbell tingled, bringing a cold breeze in the warm haven.

The familiar tapping of a pair of large boots soon followed. She didn't need to look back to make sure they made their way to her.

"Hey." The usual greeting. He strode around the rounded corner of the counter to the stool adjacent to hers.

"Took you long enough."

He exhaled as he sat down. There were other seats available to her left, it was a tranquil evening after all. But they naturally gravitated to the corner, sitting on the edge of each side of the counter.

"I was busy."

She didn't push it, this was the routine after all. She was always the one to arrive first. Their seating was also a result of her choice to sit at a secluded side instead of the centre of the counter which was more popular. He would always be late enough for someone to come and occupy the seats beside her, leaving only the seats to the side where the bartender's attention only sometimes went. That side was always empty though, leaving the seat to her right always available and even on days like this, where her left was free, he still preferred to sit to her right. She didn't mind it either as it was easier to see each other's faces this way, easier to talk.

"Juice?" he asked, loosening his tie after unbuttoning his jacket. "Don't tell me you're planning to stay sober."

She set the glass down. "No, I ordered it 'cause I didn't know how long you'd be. I am trying to be mindful though. I have a pretty big job tomorrow, can't afford to get plastered."

"Hmm." He pulled a cigarette out of his pack and held it between his lips as he searched for his lighter. She watched it quite mindlessly, attention still half occupied by the song playing in her ears. "Where did I put my lighter…?" he mumbled as he patted all his pockets. 

She clicked her tongue before taking her lighter case out— a small, textured black cuboid that clicked open a push at its opening. Encased in red velvet cushioning was a gold-plated lighter which she lit in front of him.

"You seem out of it. Had a rough job?"

"Cut me some slack, will ya?" he said as he leaned forward, holding the cigarette between two fingers to the flame.

His cheeks hollowed breathing in the smoke, the circular end raging a bright orange. It was a little mesmerising, the fire— or what remained of it on the tip of his cigarette when she turned the lighter off. Shame she missed the reflection of the flame in his part-lidded eyes before he moved away.

"Want one?" He extended the pack of tobacco, to which she merely shook her head and put the lighter back in its case.

"You never smoke but carry a lighter all the time," he huffed, earning a light shrug from her as she stuffed the case in her pocket.

"What would you do if I didn't?"

A dry chuckle left him. "Fair."

He was silent for a moment, eyeing her headset.

"What're you listening to?"

"Hm?" She looked at him. "Just an old song from Earth. Wanna listen?" She took one of the earbuds out and handed it to him.

He had to move closer again, owing to her persistent use of wired headsets instead of wireless ones like most people in this day and age. The song was already past its first chorus and halfway through the second one, slowly ascending to its finale.

Theo guessed it wasn't out of the ordinary that she felt a little more conscious of the song now that there was someone else who was listening to it too. Perhaps because it, in a way, represented her musical tastes to him, for the first time nonetheless. She wasn't one to do that with a lot of people.

Spike stayed mindful of the smoke emanating from his cigarette, making sure he wasn't blowing it right into her face. There was little need for words as the lyrics sufficed to fill the silence for now. He continued smoking and she continued drinking her juice and maybe just a little too early, the song ended. He handed back her earplug, leaning into the backrest of his seat.

"What do you wanna drink?"

The bartender had shifted towards them. She thought for a moment as she put away the headset, leaving her ears open to the ambience of the bar.

"How about a Whisky Mac?"

"Always sticking with the classics. Two Whisky Macs," he ordered.

"Coming right up," the bartender said with a knowing smile on his wrinkled face.

Theo pillared her arms on the counter and rested her chin on intertwined fingers, watching the seasoned hands of the bartender as they prepared two glasses of the cocktail while a plume of smoke hazed her sight.

"So, how's work been going for you?" Spike asked.

She inhaled, feeling a sudden exhaustion weighing down on her at the mention of work.

"Same old, same old. Collecting, coercing…" Her voice trailed, eyes losing their focus. It didn't matter. He wasn't too focused either as he put out his cigarette on the ashtray the bartender habitually put there each time he sensed they would stroll in.

"You said you had a big job tomorrow. What's that about?"

"We're closing a pretty big deal tomorrow. I'm representing our side." She leaned back as the bartender set their drinks in front of them.

He let out an impressed noise.

"Aren't you a whiz?"

Despite the nature of his words and the faint smile on his lips, there was a hint of something else in his demeanour that she couldn't quite ignore. He didn't seem uneasy. Maybe he was just tired. Either way, she brushed it off for now.

She tilted her head, acknowledging the compliment before he raised his glass.

"Toast to what?"

She mused for a moment. They didn't toast normally but sometimes, he just was in the mood for that sort of stuff.

"To whatever significance we think this moment holds three or four years in the future."

She said it quite simply as she raised her glass as well, no deeper meaning embellished into it, on her side at least.

He huffed yet again. "Ain't that poetic?"

With a light push forward, they clinked their glasses before taking their first sips at the same time. The faint thud from the glasses being set on the wood was lost in the beginnings of a song being played on the record player. That was late too. Usually, the music would start around the same time the bar opened but it had been long since then.

Theo jerked her arms in front of her to pull the jacket sleeves up a bit before resting her wrists on the counter, getting more comfortable as she picked up the ice-cold glass again.

"New watch?" His voice cut through the vague ghost of 'silence' they had amid the music-filled air.

He pointed to her wrist with a flick of his chin and she looked down at it.

"Oh, yeah," she lifted her hand and pulled the sleeve away a little more to see the dial fully.

"I got it a couple of weeks ago." She extended it towards him.

He pulled her hand closer to look at the watch better in the dim light. A low hum reverberated through his chest as his thumb brushed over the shiny, sleek glass; fingers feeling the black, full-grain leather strap.

"Neat." He let go and she retracted her hand.

"Cost me a pretty penny."

"M'yeah, looks like it."

They took their sips for a pause before there was more to say.

"So, how about you? I haven't heard from you in a while and you suddenly invite me for a drink."

"Yeah, I've been busy." He pulled out another cigarette. "But you know it has been a while since we met up, so."

He didn't thank her as she lit his cigarette again— he hardly ever did. He hardly ever needed to.

"That's strangely sentimental."

He laughed; a wry, throaty kind of laugh, the kind that suggested that he wasn't expecting to laugh, not now, not for the rest of the evening.

"Is it really that odd?"

She placed the lighter case on the counter and left it there, sure of the probability that he was going to need it again.

"Hm, I don't know, maybe."

There was a pause, Theo leaned all the way back in her seat, stretching her legs, dark eyes carrying thought.

"They say people who know they're about to die soon suddenly start acting all nice," she commented.

He laughed yet again, but nothing like before. He laughed, a genuine, light-hearted, out-loud laugh that left him with a wide, toothy grin plastered on his face.

"You're on a roll today, aren't you?"

She shrugged. "Aren't I always?"

He shook his head, taking a drag and sip.

"Well, spare me for wanting a drink with a friend."

"Alright." She swirled the liquid around before a sip. "I haven't been here since our last time either."

"Your partner doesn't take you out?"

She shook her head. "Roderick is too uptight for drinking." She paused. "Then again, he'd say the same about me."

Spike leaned forward, placing his elbow on the counter and resting his cheek in his hand. "Simply can't enjoy a drink without me, can you?"

Theo rolled her eyes. "You flatter yourself."

"It's a matter of admitting. I admit that a drink just doesn't taste the same without a good pal beside you." He made his appeal by moving his cigarette-holding hand around.

She couldn't help the tiny smile. "Okay. It doesn't taste the same without you. Happy?"

He nodded and leaned away again, giving his back a rest.

Another stretch of wordlessness settled between the two Red Dragon members. The alcohol drowned the light chatter around them, the clink and clatter of glasses and plates an ornament to the subdued jazz.

Theo's eyes watched; the golden reflections of the old-style lamps in the rocks glasses atop polished dark wood, the spherical ice bobbing up and down with each movement of the lemony, gingery cocktail, the long, slender fingers resting their tips on the wide rim, the wisps of smoke oozing out of the rolled paper held between said fingers. Quite commonplace for her. She always was focused on little things, things that most would say didn't matter.

What mattered, truly, was what she never looked at; the solemness in the eyes of her drinking buddy as they were lost somewhere ahead. He put the cigarette out in the ashtray, crushing it in a drawn-out, ruminative manner. His fingers, eager to stay occupied, opted to play with the slice of lemon wedged on the rim of his glass.

"You know, I wanted to get drunk tonight," he said without looking up.

She did raise her gaze to his face this time.

"Be my guest. Someone's gonna have to get you home. I'll do you the favour."

He stayed quiet.

Interrupting the slow symphony that the bar had established, a rumble was heard outside.

She glanced at the door. "Looks like it's going to rain."

"I hope it does."

She frowned ever so slightly before turning to him again. He hadn't looked up for a second, eyes glued to the glass. She would have to be stupid to not notice the dejection in his eyes now that she was seeing them. For a second, she didn't know what to say, however uncharacteristic that was. Although, that seemed to be a running theme whenever it came to Spike. But eventually, the intrinsic nature of analysing and formulating kicked in as was common in her more professional conversations.

"Is there something you want to say?"

Something told her his raising the glass to his mouth was an attempt to bail, even just for a second before putting it back down with a little smack of his lips. He gulped thickly before taking a deep breath and holding it in his chest like the weight he couldn't seem to let go of.

"I'm leaving." For a second, she couldn't tell if she even heard him, his voice nothing more than an exhale.

And for a second, time seemed to halt in its merciless stride, the music and prattle fading to absolute nothingness. Complete, stark, deafening absence of sound. She didn't know how long she sat there, still as a statue, staring at him agape. Despite the vagueness, she knew what he meant.

The slow ascension of the pattering of rain outside was what brought her back to reality. In an unwitting imitation, she inhaled deeply.

"That's what this was about…" she murmured, averting her gaze from him to glance at the ceiling to collect her thoughts.

And yet again, she was left scrambling for something to say. The difference this time was that there was so much to say, so many questions. Yet she couldn't bring herself to ask any of them. It didn't matter, after all— how? why? when?— he wouldn't answer. Even if he was willing to answer, there was no point in knowing. What mattered was that he was leaving the Syndicate.

Regardless, she shuffled in her seat, unsure what was the right thing to reply with. He was quiet too. He probably wasn't expecting anything from her. That was probably why he told her in the first place; because she rarely ever asked questions.

"Well…" she took another deep breath and opened her mouth just a second before speaking, "All the best for that."

Any other time, she would have slapped herself for something so generic but in the moment, there was nothing else she could think of. He nodded rather mindlessly, forcing a tiny whisper of a smile as he raised his eyes to meet her again.

"Another round?" he asked, making her realise both of their glasses were empty now.

She nodded and the bartender was at it again after an intimation. They didn't toast that round. Or any that followed for that matter. Not that things had soured or anything. It just didn't cross their minds. Perhaps it was better that way, sticking to the regular rather than trying to turn it into something special.

The night advanced, full of light discourse that got increasingly muddled with alcohol— more on Spike's side than Theo's. They talked for hours as the bar got emptier over time, the storm on the outside barely anything to consider. It served as another reason for Spike to keep drinking, and that, he did.

Before either of them knew it, it was already well past 3 AM. The closing hour was still a while away but Theo decided they had had enough to drink. She paid for both of them before dragging an absolutely hammered Spike out. She had him draped over her shoulders as they staggered out the doors and waited for a taxi.

He kept mumbling incoherent nothings as she held him up, the chill night air causing her hair to stand on end. Still, it was a scene she would likely never forget; a moment of calm and strange allure. The array of neon signs reflected on the damp concrete, the faint clouds that lingered in front of them with each breath, and the much-needed warmth that came without asking— all forever etched themselves into her memory. Perhaps because this could turn out to be their last drink together for a long, long time until someday, maybe, by chance, they'd stumble upon each other again.

Spike fell asleep in the backseat of the taxi, or so she thought until she instinctively turned to check on him, only to find him fighting his slumber, watching the flurry of lights whizzing past the window. Slumped as he was, he was awake, catching every glimpse of the familiar streets of Tharsis that he could, looking as if they would disappear if he didn't capture them in his eyes.

She was a little disappointed when the car stopped in front of his apartment. Too soon. But she knew no matter how long it took, it would always be too soon. She got him up to his flat where he fumbled for the key, muttering something the whole time.

She pushed past the door and stumbled into his bedroom, with remarkable ease in the dark, no less. She had been there before, though only a few times— times just like this when he'd get drunk to a stupor and she stayed just sober enough to get him home. Yet that was enough for her to know his home space like the back of her hand.

"Thanks a bunch," he slurred, "You're a real one."

He had the mind to shrug off his trench coat and jacket before dropping on the bed with a thud. He kicked his boots off afterwards. She pulled his blanket over him, making him melt into the mattress.

"Mmm… I'll miss you when I'm gone…"

She stilled for a moment, gazing at his drowsy face.

"…I'll miss you too." She paused, partly losing her focus behind the haze of thoughts and alcohol. "How will I ever enjoy a drink again?"

He wasn't listening, of course. The steady rise and fall of his chest and the peace that settled on his features alluded to it. She sighed before standing up straight. Each time she would witness this sight, each time she would be left surprised. Spike was a revered member of the Syndicate, the strongest perhaps but like this, stuffed in his bed with a light flush on his cheeks, sleeping like a baby, he was just another man.

Maybe this was what she had failed to see all along— the man he was deep down, the man Julia saw in him. He was lucky for that. If not her, he at least had Julia to see him for who he truly was, to love him. He deserved that, however hard it was for them to keep loving each other.

She walked across the room, holding the doorknob before she turned to take one last look at his sleeping form.

"Good night, old sport."

She closed the door, unaware of the subsequence that three days from then, she would receive the news of his death.

————————————————————————

Here it is!

You did 🗣️

I am not an animator but I cooked😎

It seems that the Alucard I drew doesn't seem so unhappy in solitude...

P.S.

By the way, how do you like organ music? Do the strings of the soul tremble?

Scarlet Sky

[A recollection of the events preceding Spike Spiegel's "death" by Theo V. Morgenstern in the Red Dragon crime syndicate.

Set in pre-canon period where Spike avails himself of some time to spend with a friend away from the crimes of every day in Tharsis, Mars.]

Chapter - 1. One Last Drink

Throughout Tharsis, the one business that profited the most was anything open after 8 in the evening. The Conan was one such business, a rustic bar nestled between other small diners, cafes and homes. It didn't have much of a presence, blending into the street that held it, yet at the same time, it looked significantly different from the rest.

Compared to other, more flashy and bustling dwellings, it looked like a place running for its money but they managed either way because there was no place that served alcohol in this part of Mars that could go out of business, even when it looked like it was snatched right out of a century-old movie.

In spite of its eccentricities, or rather, because of them, Theo found herself sitting at one of the stools with a glass of Pomegranate juice, listening to music on her headset. It had been an hour since she walked in, so she would come to know when she glanced at her watch for the nth time. As if on cue of her adjusting her sleeve over the watch again, the doorbell tingled, bringing a cold breeze in the warm haven.

The familiar tapping of a pair of large boots soon followed. She didn't need to look back to make sure they made their way to her.

"Hey." The usual greeting. He strode around the rounded corner of the counter to the stool adjacent to hers.

"Took you long enough."

He exhaled as he sat down. There were other seats available to her left, it was a tranquil evening after all. But they naturally gravitated to the corner, sitting on the edge of each side of the counter.

"I was busy."

She didn't push it, this was the routine after all. She was always the one to arrive first. Their seating was also a result of her choice to sit at a secluded side instead of the centre of the counter which was more popular. He would always be late enough for someone to come and occupy the seats beside her, leaving only the seats to the side where the bartender's attention only sometimes went. That side was always empty though, leaving the seat to her right always available and even on days like this, where her left was free, he still preferred to sit to her right. She didn't mind it either as it was easier to see each other's faces this way, easier to talk.

"Juice?" he asked, loosening his tie after unbuttoning his jacket. "Don't tell me you're planning to stay sober."

She set the glass down. "No, I ordered it 'cause I didn't know how long you'd be. I am trying to be mindful though. I have a pretty big job tomorrow, can't afford to get plastered."

"Hmm." He pulled a cigarette out of his pack and held it between his lips as he searched for his lighter. She watched it quite mindlessly, attention still half occupied by the song playing in her ears. "Where did I put my lighter…?" he mumbled as he patted all his pockets. 

She clicked her tongue before taking her lighter case out— a small, textured black cuboid that clicked open a push at its opening. Encased in red velvet cushioning was a gold-plated lighter which she lit in front of him.

"You seem out of it. Had a rough job?"

"Cut me some slack, will ya?" he said as he leaned forward, holding the cigarette between two fingers to the flame.

His cheeks hollowed breathing in the smoke, the circular end raging a bright orange. It was a little mesmerising, the fire— or what remained of it on the tip of his cigarette when she turned the lighter off. Shame she missed the reflection of the flame in his part-lidded eyes before he moved away.

"Want one?" He extended the pack of tobacco, to which she merely shook her head and put the lighter back in its case.

"You never smoke but carry a lighter all the time," he huffed, earning a light shrug from her as she stuffed the case in her pocket.

"What would you do if I didn't?"

A dry chuckle left him. "Fair."

He was silent for a moment, eyeing her headset.

"What're you listening to?"

"Hm?" She looked at him. "Just an old song from Earth. Wanna listen?" She took one of the earbuds out and handed it to him.

He had to move closer again, owing to her persistent use of wired headsets instead of wireless ones like most people in this day and age. The song was already past its first chorus and halfway through the second one, slowly ascending to its finale.

Theo guessed it wasn't out of the ordinary that she felt a little more conscious of the song now that there was someone else who was listening to it too. Perhaps because it, in a way, represented her musical tastes to him, for the first time nonetheless. She wasn't one to do that with a lot of people.

Spike stayed mindful of the smoke emanating from his cigarette, making sure he wasn't blowing it right into her face. There was little need for words as the lyrics sufficed to fill the silence for now. He continued smoking and she continued drinking her juice and maybe just a little too early, the song ended. He handed back her earplug, leaning into the backrest of his seat.

"What do you wanna drink?"

The bartender had shifted towards them. She thought for a moment as she put away the headset, leaving her ears open to the ambience of the bar.

"How about a Whisky Mac?"

"Always sticking with the classics. Two Whisky Macs," he ordered.

"Coming right up," the bartender said with a knowing smile on his wrinkled face.

Theo pillared her arms on the counter and rested her chin on intertwined fingers, watching the seasoned hands of the bartender as they prepared two glasses of the cocktail while a plume of smoke hazed her sight.

"So, how's work been going for you?" Spike asked.

She inhaled, feeling a sudden exhaustion weighing down on her at the mention of work.

"Same old, same old. Collecting, coercing…" Her voice trailed, eyes losing their focus. It didn't matter. He wasn't too focused either as he put out his cigarette on the ashtray the bartender habitually put there each time he sensed they would stroll in.

"You said you had a big job tomorrow. What's that about?"

"We're closing a pretty big deal tomorrow. I'm representing our side." She leaned back as the bartender set their drinks in front of them.

He let out an impressed noise.

"Aren't you a whiz?"

Despite the nature of his words and the faint smile on his lips, there was a hint of something else in his demeanour that she couldn't quite ignore. He didn't seem uneasy. Maybe he was just tired. Either way, she brushed it off for now.

She tilted her head, acknowledging the compliment before he raised his glass.

"Toast to what?"

She mused for a moment. They didn't toast normally but sometimes, he just was in the mood for that sort of stuff.

"To whatever significance we think this moment holds three or four years in the future."

She said it quite simply as she raised her glass as well, no deeper meaning embellished into it, on her side at least.

He huffed yet again. "Ain't that poetic?"

With a light push forward, they clinked their glasses before taking their first sips at the same time. The faint thud from the glasses being set on the wood was lost in the beginnings of a song being played on the record player. That was late too. Usually, the music would start around the same time the bar opened but it had been long since then.

Theo jerked her arms in front of her to pull the jacket sleeves up a bit before resting her wrists on the counter, getting more comfortable as she picked up the ice-cold glass again.

"New watch?" His voice cut through the vague ghost of 'silence' they had amid the music-filled air.

He pointed to her wrist with a flick of his chin and she looked down at it.

"Oh, yeah," she lifted her hand and pulled the sleeve away a little more to see the dial fully.

"I got it a couple of weeks ago." She extended it towards him.

He pulled her hand closer to look at the watch better in the dim light. A low hum reverberated through his chest as his thumb brushed over the shiny, sleek glass; fingers feeling the black, full-grain leather strap.

"Neat." He let go and she retracted her hand.

"Cost me a pretty penny."

"M'yeah, looks like it."

They took their sips for a pause before there was more to say.

"So, how about you? I haven't heard from you in a while and you suddenly invite me for a drink."

"Yeah, I've been busy." He pulled out another cigarette. "But you know it has been a while since we met up, so."

He didn't thank her as she lit his cigarette again— he hardly ever did. He hardly ever needed to.

"That's strangely sentimental."

He laughed; a wry, throaty kind of laugh, the kind that suggested that he wasn't expecting to laugh, not now, not for the rest of the evening.

"Is it really that odd?"

She placed the lighter case on the counter and left it there, sure of the probability that he was going to need it again.

"Hm, I don't know, maybe."

There was a pause, Theo leaned all the way back in her seat, stretching her legs, dark eyes carrying thought.

"They say people who know they're about to die soon suddenly start acting all nice," she commented.

He laughed yet again, but nothing like before. He laughed, a genuine, light-hearted, out-loud laugh that left him with a wide, toothy grin plastered on his face.

"You're on a roll today, aren't you?"

She shrugged. "Aren't I always?"

He shook his head, taking a drag and sip.

"Well, spare me for wanting a drink with a friend."

"Alright." She swirled the liquid around before a sip. "I haven't been here since our last time either."

"Your partner doesn't take you out?"

She shook her head. "Roderick is too uptight for drinking." She paused. "Then again, he'd say the same about me."

Spike leaned forward, placing his elbow on the counter and resting his cheek in his hand. "Simply can't enjoy a drink without me, can you?"

Theo rolled her eyes. "You flatter yourself."

"It's a matter of admitting. I admit that a drink just doesn't taste the same without a good pal beside you." He made his appeal by moving his cigarette-holding hand around.

She couldn't help the tiny smile. "Okay. It doesn't taste the same without you. Happy?"

He nodded and leaned away again, giving his back a rest.

Another stretch of wordlessness settled between the two Red Dragon members. The alcohol drowned the light chatter around them, the clink and clatter of glasses and plates an ornament to the subdued jazz.

Theo's eyes watched; the golden reflections of the old-style lamps in the rocks glasses atop polished dark wood, the spherical ice bobbing up and down with each movement of the lemony, gingery cocktail, the long, slender fingers resting their tips on the wide rim, the wisps of smoke oozing out of the rolled paper held between said fingers. Quite commonplace for her. She always was focused on little things, things that most would say didn't matter.

What mattered, truly, was what she never looked at; the solemness in the eyes of her drinking buddy as they were lost somewhere ahead. He put the cigarette out in the ashtray, crushing it in a drawn-out, ruminative manner. His fingers, eager to stay occupied, opted to play with the slice of lemon wedged on the rim of his glass.

"You know, I wanted to get drunk tonight," he said without looking up.

She did raise her gaze to his face this time.

"Be my guest. Someone's gonna have to get you home. I'll do you the favour."

He stayed quiet.

Interrupting the slow symphony that the bar had established, a rumble was heard outside.

She glanced at the door. "Looks like it's going to rain."

"I hope it does."

She frowned ever so slightly before turning to him again. He hadn't looked up for a second, eyes glued to the glass. She would have to be stupid to not notice the dejection in his eyes now that she was seeing them. For a second, she didn't know what to say, however uncharacteristic that was. Although, that seemed to be a running theme whenever it came to Spike. But eventually, the intrinsic nature of analysing and formulating kicked in as was common in her more professional conversations.

"Is there something you want to say?"

Something told her his raising the glass to his mouth was an attempt to bail, even just for a second before putting it back down with a little smack of his lips. He gulped thickly before taking a deep breath and holding it in his chest like the weight he couldn't seem to let go of.

"I'm leaving." For a second, she couldn't tell if she even heard him, his voice nothing more than an exhale.

And for a second, time seemed to halt in its merciless stride, the music and prattle fading to absolute nothingness. Complete, stark, deafening absence of sound. She didn't know how long she sat there, still as a statue, staring at him agape. Despite the vagueness, she knew what he meant.

The slow ascension of the pattering of rain outside was what brought her back to reality. In an unwitting imitation, she inhaled deeply.

"That's what this was about…" she murmured, averting her gaze from him to glance at the ceiling to collect her thoughts.

And yet again, she was left scrambling for something to say. The difference this time was that there was so much to say, so many questions. Yet she couldn't bring herself to ask any of them. It didn't matter, after all— how? why? when?— he wouldn't answer. Even if he was willing to answer, there was no point in knowing. What mattered was that he was leaving the Syndicate.

Regardless, she shuffled in her seat, unsure what was the right thing to reply with. He was quiet too. He probably wasn't expecting anything from her. That was probably why he told her in the first place; because she rarely ever asked questions.

"Well…" she took another deep breath and opened her mouth just a second before speaking, "All the best for that."

Any other time, she would have slapped herself for something so generic but in the moment, there was nothing else she could think of. He nodded rather mindlessly, forcing a tiny whisper of a smile as he raised his eyes to meet her again.

"Another round?" he asked, making her realise both of their glasses were empty now.

She nodded and the bartender was at it again after an intimation. They didn't toast that round. Or any that followed for that matter. Not that things had soured or anything. It just didn't cross their minds. Perhaps it was better that way, sticking to the regular rather than trying to turn it into something special.

The night advanced, full of light discourse that got increasingly muddled with alcohol— more on Spike's side than Theo's. They talked for hours as the bar got emptier over time, the storm on the outside barely anything to consider. It served as another reason for Spike to keep drinking, and that, he did.

Before either of them knew it, it was already well past 3 AM. The closing hour was still a while away but Theo decided they had had enough to drink. She paid for both of them before dragging an absolutely hammered Spike out. She had him draped over her shoulders as they staggered out the doors and waited for a taxi.

He kept mumbling incoherent nothings as she held him up, the chill night air causing her hair to stand on end. Still, it was a scene she would likely never forget; a moment of calm and strange allure. The array of neon signs reflected on the damp concrete, the faint clouds that lingered in front of them with each breath, and the much-needed warmth that came without asking— all forever etched themselves into her memory. Perhaps because this could turn out to be their last drink together for a long, long time until someday, maybe, by chance, they'd stumble upon each other again.

Spike fell asleep in the backseat of the taxi, or so she thought until she instinctively turned to check on him, only to find him fighting his slumber, watching the flurry of lights whizzing past the window. Slumped as he was, he was awake, catching every glimpse of the familiar streets of Tharsis that he could, looking as if they would disappear if he didn't capture them in his eyes.

She was a little disappointed when the car stopped in front of his apartment. Too soon. But she knew no matter how long it took, it would always be too soon. She got him up to his flat where he fumbled for the key, muttering something the whole time.

She pushed past the door and stumbled into his bedroom, with remarkable ease in the dark, no less. She had been there before, though only a few times— times just like this when he'd get drunk to a stupor and she stayed just sober enough to get him home. Yet that was enough for her to know his home space like the back of her hand.

"Thanks a bunch," he slurred, "You're a real one."

He had the mind to shrug off his trench coat and jacket before dropping on the bed with a thud. He kicked his boots off afterwards. She pulled his blanket over him, making him melt into the mattress.

"Mmm… I'll miss you when I'm gone…"

She stilled for a moment, gazing at his drowsy face.

"…I'll miss you too." She paused, partly losing her focus behind the haze of thoughts and alcohol. "How will I ever enjoy a drink again?"

He wasn't listening, of course. The steady rise and fall of his chest and the peace that settled on his features alluded to it. She sighed before standing up straight. Each time she would witness this sight, each time she would be left surprised. Spike was a revered member of the Syndicate, the strongest perhaps but like this, stuffed in his bed with a light flush on his cheeks, sleeping like a baby, he was just another man.

Maybe this was what she had failed to see all along— the man he was deep down, the man Julia saw in him. He was lucky for that. If not her, he at least had Julia to see him for who he truly was, to love him. He deserved that, however hard it was for them to keep loving each other.

She walked across the room, holding the doorknob before she turned to take one last look at his sleeping form.

"Good night, old sport."

She closed the door, unaware of the subsequence that three days from then, she would receive the news of his death.

————————————————————————

Here it is!

Excuse me??? This is plain nightmare fuel and I ain't even playing the nightmare mode

Alucard is my newest obsession btw

How I look every time I add a semicolon to a sentence:

Murder for Dummies

So me being a Luke Booys enthusiast, decided to look for his works besides The Magnus Archives and found out he's part of the Casual Violence team. He's in a lot of their videos but recently they did this show on YouTube where he plays a character and it was great so I thought I'd share it here. Also just a general recommendation <3

YouTube

Murder for Dummies

A six episode horror-comedy whodunnit, made entirely independently by Casual Violence. Who killed the world's best loved ventriloquist?

I've never touched any intoxicable substance besides prescription medicine in my life but I'm pretty sure any episode of Mononoke is exactly what an acid trip looks like

I'm Jim. For proof, I have the fact that I was literally writing out a scene on my phone while we were moving. Like all our stuff was being carried and loaded onto a lorry and I was leaving my childhood home, and all the while you could catch me punching a silly little fanfiction scene on my ringer

Writers as The Office characters

Which one are you? Share it in the comments and tag your writer friends to do the same!

Michael

needs constant support and approval from friends, family, and writing mentors

has 389745 projects on the go

dilly-dallies whenever they should be writing

they know their ideas would be made into big Hollywood productions

legend is they will never actually finish a draft

Dwight

action packed stories with steamy scenes

rigorously plans out their novel before writing

then writes the story in less than a month as if writing is hard?

will consider every piece of feedback too seriously until they give themselves impostor syndrome

is dying to attend a writers conference to dress up

unapologetically adores writing and talks about it all the time

Jim

writes during work

writes whenever they should be doing something else

acts out character’s facial expressions as they write

uses writing as therapy because therapy is expensive

discovery writer who ends up having the most profound story messages

unreciprocated love trope

Pam

cries at their own writing

is super terrified of sharing anything they wrote with someone else

writes profound stories

artistic writing style

can’t handle feedback

childhood friends to lovers trope

Angela

has a cat writing partner

takes their writing very seriously, despite having a full-time job

writes dark fiction

plot twists even they didn’t expect

the secret and forbidden romance trope

Kelly

writes romance novels with strong female characters

loves purple prose

their writing is always a page-turner

uses writing as an outlet for their own frustrations

will put people they dislike into their novels just to kill them off

is about to build their self-published empire

Stanley

rolls their eyes at every other book they read and doesn’t make it past the first three pages

doesn’t have a routine but still stays on top of their word count

will never force themselves to write when they don’t feel like it

calls other writers out on their problematic bullsh*t

the underdog trope is their favorite

Ryan

literally can’t wait to get published

has grand ideas for novels, and sees exactly how they could be made into movies

but sitting down and writing them is a whole other thing

loves to take inspiration from real life conversations

always has a notebook with them to note down any more grand ideas that pop up

Are you looking to begin your novel but you don’t quite know where to start?

I’ve updated my FREE 12-week Novel Plan, with extra email lessons on internal conflict & how to overcome writer’s procrastination.

Download the plan and sign up for the lessons through the [link here] or below!

If you have any questions, please reach out to me through my Instagram, as Tumblr is still not showing them.

Hi y'all, here's my YuuMori fic if anyone wants to check it out. Aight, I'm out ✌️