So this is a scene from one of my (many) random fan fics that I thought was pretty funny, and I was told to post.  I guess it would be set season 6 somewhere..  haven't decided exactly where yet, still working on it, so I'll decide that later.  All I have figured out at this point is that it is indeed in season 6.  Lol.  I made up a demon chick for Spike to date, 'cause I felt bad for him not getting any love, and he pretty much gets shite faced cause she stood him up (unintentionally) and he's all mopey.  lol. (excuse the grammatical mistakes and syntax errors, this is straight from my first draft, as of yet un-edited.  lol)

   When Spike left Buffy in the cemetary he decided he needed a stiff drink, so he headed straight to Willy's, sauntering casually up to the bar tossing a wad of bills on the counter, and ordering a bottle of JD.
   Willy scooped up the money and obligingly poured Spike his first shot, leaving the bottle in easy reach.  Spike downed the first shot then poured the second without pause, finishing it just as quickly.  
   A few hours and two and a half bottles later he had moved to the half circle corner booth he had met Izzy in two nights before, leaning half on the table gripping the bottle in one hand, the empty shot glass in the other. 
   Willy came around cleaning off the tables, noticing the state Spike seemed to be in. "Heya pal, what's got you so down?" he leaned casually on the table
   "m'not down, i'm...thinkin'. an' it's non'a yer bizness 'pal' so don' bother askin" was the mumbled reply from the surface of the table.
   "sure thing Spike, whatever you say man" Willy put his hands up and turned to leave Spike to his 'thoughts'
   Spike half sat up dropping the shotglass off the table and spoke with his hands in a very animated fashion "if she says she's gonna be here, then isn't, an' no ones seen 'er, and 'er friend calls 'er a freak, so you HAVE ta kill 'er, then ya don' think 'bout th'other one as much, 'cause a her, but she's gone.... what'sit mean?" Spikes very enthusiastic hand movements and not so detailed story had Willy turn back around very confused, staring at him, trying to make sense of the drunken tirade.
   "Eh, well?"  Willy sat next to Spike, who hadn't even noticed he lost the shot glass, instead just drinking straight from the bottle. "ok, she said she was gonna be here, but never showed?" Spike 'mmhmm'd between sips. "And, no one's seen her?" Spike belched in reply. Willy turned his head from the inebriated Vampire. "Lovely. And, you had to kill her friend?" he turned back to face Spike who was nodding dramatically. "Yup.  Staked the trollop.  Right. In. The. Heart." for emphasis Spike poked Willy in the chest at each word. "She was sayin' some nasty things, an' I wasn't about ta let that stand, so..." he let go of the bottle and raised his hands, wiggling his fingers. "POOF! Dusty little Vampire bitch bits, floating away on the wind" he giggled to himself a moment, then grabbed the bottle again, downing most of the rest in one go.  
   Willy just gave him a look. "Uh-huh." Spike shrugged his shoulders then slumped back onto the table.  Willy continued to try to grasp the story Spike told him. "So, then you're not thinking about someone 'cause of someone, but, she's gone?"  Willy folded his hands and looked at the pile of Vampire half sprawled on the table still managing to drink his booze.
   Spike finished off the bottle, slamming it back down, nearly breaking it. "EXACTY!" he pointed a finger at the very confused bartender, then looked away, sitting up slightly. "Exactaly. Extactly. Bugger." he looked back at Willy "That's right. So, what the bloody hell, mate? What's it mean then?" he now had his head leaning very loosely on one hand, fidgeting with the empty bottle with the other.  
   Willy just shook his head thoughtfully then looked at the figure approaching the table.  "Spike my friend, I have no idea.  But she might." And with that he got up, offered his seat to the girl, and headed back to the bar. 

     OK, I'm gonna end it there, or else I'm gonna post the rest of the stroy.  Lol.  So ya, that was my drunken Spike scene, I thought it was funny, and no one's sent us anything to post yet.  HAD to put something.  lol.               ~K

    First of all I just gotta say that this is a rough draft and this is just a small bit of the whole story. The rest is rather long and most of it isn't written yet ;) I may post more later but truthfully this story is super important to me and I don't want to post my good copies at the moment.
    Oh and a brief background may be needed. Essentially Trillian is the main character and bounty hunter on a desert planet. Technology is advanced in the cities, but the majority of the planet is poor shanty towns, resembling the "old west" on earth. Very space cowboy and influenced by Trigun. The rest of this bit is fairly easy to follow.

"So, this is Scatacap." Trillian thought to herself as she looked at the desert city hub of the planet, Cartouin. "It's been a long time. Haven't been here since it was just me and Benny."
    She kept her gaze toward the sky scrapers and hover crafts, than she stole a glance at Meshugga. "I'm not gonna lie, boy. You're going to feel a tiny bit out of place here."
    Meshugga snorted and stomped the ground with one hoof. "Yeah, I know you can leave any time you want. No need to be an ass about it." Trillian laughed at her word choice. "Ass! Ha! That was good. It's like I was calling you a donkey, which is probably pretty insulting when you think about it."
    Clearly unimpressed, he glared at her. "I guess it's safe to say I'll be walking for the next while?" As if to answer Trill's question, he began trotting ahead.
    The two were making their way to the Grand Central Police Station of Scatacap, the windy city of Cartouin.

                                            -----------------------

    Trillian marveled at all the skyscrapers and expensive looking office buildings. After travelling through shanty desert towns for months at a time, cities briefly became a welcome change of scenery. Not only were the sights different, but smells and sounds too. The bustle of traffic was steady and the delicious smell of hot dogs and deep friend food wavered under passerby's noses. Unlike the poor areas of the planet, which usually included broken down buildings and the never ending whistle of the wind. Trillian made her way down the street toward the police station - a relatively important looking structure with many windows.
    "Well, boy, if I had any doubts about being noticed they're definitely confirmed now." Hovercrafts and scooters putted along the streets, making a horse stand out like a sore thumb. Meshugga snorted in response.
    Trill sighed. "If I had my own ship my life would be a whole lot easier!" Meshugga glared. "Don't give me attitude! You know you'd be welcome on board!"
    Meshugga's spirits seemed to lift a little at Trillian's comment. A few minutes later, the duo found themselves at the stairs leading up to the cop shop.
    "I'll be right back. Wait here." Trillian left him untied, trusting in the horse's cleverness that he understood what he was told. If he listened was another story all together.
    Bursting through the doors, she made her way to the receptionist's desk. It seemed fairly busy inside with cops rushing in opposite directions and the occasional walkie talkie blabbering out questions or answers. Trillian glanced around while waiting her turn in line.
    Her breathing quickened and her heart skipped a beat at the sight of a familiar face. Not in a good way, but more like oh-shit-I'm-gonna-punch-a-hole-through-the-wall way. She hadn't seen him for around six months but his handsome, dark features were unmistakable. Usually sporting facial hair or it least stubble, he seemed more professional clean shaven, but still just as attractive.
    "Goddammit! Don't look over here. Don't look over here..." Trillian thought frantically. "The last thing I want is this arrogant son-of-a-" Too late. His green orbs locked on to hers and there was no longer an escape. There was a fleeting moment of annoyance that seemed to cross his expression, but whatever Trill saw was swiftly replaced with a smirk. Almost unnoticeable. The man was an expert at hiding his emotions. He sauntered over, unfortunately looking delicious in his black suit and skinny tie.
    "Trillian!" He exclaimed. "What brings you here? You're not still catching bounties are you? Thought you would've died or something by now." He laughed at his own joke and eagerly waited Trillian's, no doubt, angry retort.
    "Speaking of death, I heard you almost couldn't handle your last bounty. Almost dying? Sounds like you're getting a little rusty, Dagmar." She paused for effect, enjoying the moment. Dagmar. Her rival. It felt good calling him out on something. "Especially since I brought in five guys in the amount of time it took you to bring in one! HA!" She added immaturely.
    Dag chuckled. "Aww, hun. I don't expect you to know who he is, but his bounty is worth more than all yours combined."
    Sneering, Trillian was quick-tongued with her response. "I know who he is. I was offered to take on the job, but it seemed like amateur work." She added her last sentence nonchalantly, clearly being insincere. "Glad you finally caught him, though."
    Dag's smile disappeared from his face in a heartbeat. "Still as cheeky as ever."

5 DAYS

The club was dark. Dark and very, very red. The lights were red, the seats were red, the walls were red. Andy was pretty sure even the floor was red, or at least a good part of it. Why name a red building lime? Or paint a building called lime red? She leaned back against the railing behind her as she sipped from her bottle of beer, trying not to look obviously revolted by the taste of it. Looking around the sparsely occupied nightclub Andy realised the dotted white light being cast on the walls was coming from a disco ball hanging high near the ceiling. Glancing back at the floor, she was disappointed not to see a single familiar face. Oh well, she thought, braving another sip of the amber liquid, what do you expect a week from Christmas? Everyone else is out shopping for last-minute gifts or sitting on airplanes on their way to visit family. Sitting on planes for hours just so the whole family can be together at Christmas- not me though, she thought bitterly, or Phyra, she added mentally, glancing across at the waitress weaving through the people. The dark-haired girl was wearing an expression that clearly said ‘I hate Christmas.’ Andy sighed, she knew Zephyra was in a similar situation to her; she was new in the city and her family was in a completely different province. Andy’s family, however, was in England. Only a month after her mum had made the move, Andy herself had moved; she had arrived in Vancouver in August. It was December now, and the job she was working didn’t earn her enough money to allow her to fly to England for the holidays. Her thoughts drifted to her family, an ocean away, before they were interrupted as someone bumped into her. She looked up into the face of a 1993 Dave Gahan look-alike. 
“Sorry,” he grinned, slipping past. Andy returned the expression.
“No problem.” Very cute. I wonder if he likes Depeche…? Andy, don‘t be dumb. She turned her attention back to the stage where three overweight men had started clearing things away and taping papers to the ground. Andy thought briefly how disappointed she was in the appearance of the technicians. They should be a lot thinner… and attractive… A couple behind her started talking about the opening band and how they seen then a few months back and thought they were great. I wonder if they’re anything like the Raveonettes? She paused for a minute, Phyra will kill me if she sees me sitting here on my own… I should be ‘mingling’… nah. Pulling her phone out of her jacket pocket, Andy checked the time: 8:15. Okay good, I have survived fifteen minutes of standing awkwardly by myself… only an hour and fifteen minutes longer… till the opening band comes on… what were they called? Something Mode? She swished her bottle around and looked down at her short black dress and white half-jacket, half-wishing she had worn something different. Stop being paranoid, it’s fine. Everything’s fine. At least there aren’t any creepy old men, she thought, remembering the bar in her hometown. She had turned back to the stage when she felt a tap on her shoulder.

--- --- 

Just the very beginning as the rest is in a notebook in a box in Canada, and I am not even in Canada.

xx A.

Stuck.
Brain frozen in place.
Inability to continue the lines, 
The drag of the pen.
The silent lack of the steady scratching
Of the flow of creativity.
Blank.
Staring at the parchment.
The tap, tap, tap, tap of the impatient hand.
People coming in and leaving.
The sound of the interruptions
Destroying concentration fully.
Annoyed.
So hard to focus.
Giving up. 
I'll just draw later.

                                                 ~K