The back of Spike's head, the bit that's spent entirely too much time round Giles and Wesley and Andrew, is automatically noting the nonsense words -- Keff, Cah? -- in case they turn out to be the kind that have three foot tusks and agendas of their own. The White Rose sounds vaguely familiar, like something out of a Yeats poem. Or else even hamburger joints are hiring Slayers nowadays.
Spike shivers, almost imperceptibly, at the mention of a tower. Last time he met one of those, he wasn't fast enough.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2007-09-06 04:00 am (UTC)The back of Spike's head, the bit that's spent entirely too much time round Giles and Wesley and Andrew, is automatically noting the nonsense words -- Keff, Cah? -- in case they turn out to be the kind that have three foot tusks and agendas of their own. The White Rose sounds vaguely familiar, like something out of a Yeats poem. Or else even hamburger joints are hiring Slayers nowadays.
Spike shivers, almost imperceptibly, at the mention of a tower. Last time he met one of those, he wasn't fast enough.