Word Count: 1026
Prompt: 155 - Classic Lit (Uncle Remus Stories)
Characters: Spike, Ethan
Summary: The Sunnydale version of the traditional American folktale.
Warning: Breaks the LiveJournal fourth wall.
This was gonna be fun.
Spike swung at what he judged to be the gut of the large (lumpy, stinky) black demon. His fist sank into its hide, up to the wrist, and stayed there. He pulled back forcefully, and was rewarded with a slight sucking sensation before another inch of his arm was swallowed up. He brought his boot up, and pushed against the creature’s lower extremity (you couldn’t really call it a leg). He wrenched his arm back with all his might, only to see his entire foot disappear into the demon, while his arm sank in up to the elbow. He hopped on his other leg, trying to keep his balance.
“Oh, you’re a tricky one, you are. Trouble is, now I'm angry.”
He swung at what passed for the demon’s jaw, and was once again securely caught in its sticky surface. He vamped out and threw himself against his foe, kicking and fighting, twisting and howling, until finally all his struggles ceased, and he hung there, panting.
He was well and truly caught this time.
“Brilliant,” he huffed, his cheek stuck to the demon just as solidly as the rest of him. It finally occurred to him that the demon hadn’t made a move or a sound since Spike had first spied it.
“Buggering hell. I’m an idiot.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. Could’ve happened to any one of the Slayer’s pets. Or, rather, any who were drunk enough.”
“Hey! Nobody’s pet, here!” He paused. “Am a little drunk, though,” he admitted.
He slid his eyes as far as possible in the direction the voice had come from, and a tall, thin, man soon strolled into his view. He had a skeezy yet patrician air about him, but he didn’t strike Spike as particularly menacing.
“Do you like him? I call him ‘Baby’,” said the man, conversationally.
“We’re getting along. He’s a little clingy, though. I don’t usually go this far on a first date.”
“Pity. Well, to business: I am an old friend of Ripper’s. Ethan Rayne. Perhaps he’s mentioned me?”
“Can’t say as he has.”
Ethan looked disappointed for a moment, but then perked up. “No matter. I’m not here to catch up this trip. Rather, I’m here to throw a monkey wrench in his way. And you, my friend, are just the monkey I need.”
“Think you’ve got the wrong guy. Rupert and me, we’re not really what you’d call close. Not sure he’d be all that bothered if anything happened to me. So, stop playing silly buggers and get me out of this thing.”
“Oh, I think the old man would be plenty brassed off if his Slayer’s extra muscle suddenly took a powder, so to speak. You may not know it, but you’re an integral part of the Slayer’s kick line, now. One less Slayerette could throw off the whole dance routine.”
“You kidding? Those tossers hate me! Every chance they get, they take the piss. And that Slayer: totally unreasonable. Thinks my nose is her own personal speed bag. Know what? Changed my mind. Better off with Baby, here. Do your worst.”
“Now, now. No need to be so glum. I’m not a violent man. At least, not directly. I’m just going to put you out of harm’s way. You’ll be off the team for a bit, so it’ll be that much easier to mess about with dear old Ripper. I think he’ll be rather fetching as a Fyarl, don’t you?”
“Yeah. Darling. What do you mean, out of harm’s way?”
“Well, that’s up to you, I suppose. Where would you like to go for a little vacation? Brazil? It’s nearly Mardi Gras. Or, perhaps you’d prefer St. Moritz? I wouldn’t want you to be too comfortable, though. Not too close to a phone, either. Hmmmm. Perhaps I should hand you over to the boys in green, eh?” He watched as the vampire seemed to visibly deflate. “No, that’d be too cruel.”
“Too right it would. Might as well throw me to the harlots, if you’re going to be a bastard about it.”
“The harlots? What’s so terrible about them? They seem like nice ladies. Nice blokes, too, what there are of them.”
Spike looked as incredulous as possible, with half his face stuck to the Tar Baby. “Oh please, don’t let those harlots get me! They’ve no mercy in ‘em at all! I barely escaped with my unlife that last time, and they’ve only grown stronger since then.“
“You don’t think I’d fall for that transparent ploy, do you? Those women adore you.”
“Yeah, and have you seen what happens when enough adoring fans get their mitts on their object of desire? Have you? It’s terrifying! Ask Harris, if you don’t believe me!”
“Hmmm. You have an interesting point there, Mr. Bloody. I hadn’t quite considered all the delightful possibilities. That’s it, then. To the harlots with you.”
“Nooooooooooo! Please, I’m begging you! Anything but that! I’ll drink a dozen holy water spritzers, I’ll stand out for a week of sunrises. I’ll stay still for a telephone pole through my heart. Just, please, not the harlots!” His face shone with tears, and he struggled in vain with the Tar Baby, sinking in still further. “Have a heart,” he sobbed.
Ethan floated the combined vampire/Tar Baby right up to the front gates of the Harlots Clubhouse of Harlotry, rang the bell, and slipped around the corner to observe undetected.
He soon heard a squeal, followed by a chorus of shrieks and a loud “Get ‘im girls!” followed closely by the very satisfying “Hey! Watch it, you degenerates!” in a much higher vocal register than he’d yet heard from the vampire. He peeked around the corner to see a dozen or more women, all wearing oven mitts, gently rolling Spike into the building.
He smiled widely. He was looking forward to dropping by to pick up the balance of his fee. He whistled happily, envisioning the outfit the committee had come up with for their captive: no shirt, filmy harem pants, black leather duster. And chains, of course. Those harlots were women after his own heart.
A/N: Yes, Virginia, the Harlots exist on LiveJournal, where they have a sooper-sekrit clubhouse, and spend all of their time