Dead Much?
by Scorpio
I don't feel dead.
Okay, yeah. I've got that whole unbeating heart and no pulse thing going on, but really, I honestly don't feel any different than I did before.
No bizarre-assed urge to suck the world into the Demon Dimension. No unstoppable need to clothe myself in dead-cow skin. I don't want to talk to antique dolls or take up smoking. Nor do I feel the desire to go try and destroy Buffy. Even if she *is* the Slayer.
I just feel like regular old me. The Xand-man.
Although, I always thought that getting a case of the walking-dead thing was supposed to make a person feel all evil and nasty and lets-go-kill-the-Slayery. At least, that's what Giles always told me. I think I've been ripped off here. I want a refund.
And what's up with Spike? He's just *looming* over me and staring. Blink, dammit. What does he expect from me anyway?
"What?"
Well, at least he blinked.
"What do you mean, what?"
I roll my eyes. This is just too ridiculous to be believable. And he had the nerve to call *me* stupid.
"I meant what as in why the fuck are you staring at me? Surely you know what I look like by now."
Uh oh. That snarky evil grin does not bode well for the Xand-man. Of course, it would be easier to deal with if I could ever finally figure out if I find that grin more sexy or more frightening. This hovering back and forth on the opinion scale just smacks of wishy-washiness, you know?
"Oh, trust me luv, I *do* know what you look like, but *no one* has ever seen you look quite this way before."
Huh? What in the world is the bleached menace talking about now? Curious, I move my hands up to my face... and give a half strangled shriek. I can feel bumps and ridges where there had never been bumps and ridges before.
"Holy shit! I'm pointy Spike! All grr and everything! Why the hell am I pointy?"
Spike's smirk grows a bit larger and his blue eyes twinkle as a rumbling chuckle echoes through the dank crypt.
"Pro'lly cause you're hungry pet. What's say, feel like hunting down a meal?"
For a split second I'm all confused as to what he means by "hunting", but I guess my tummy knew immediately because it started to growl and rumble in protest of being empty. My brain caught on a second later. Spike meant people. Humans as a snack type substance.
For some reason that thought didn't give me a major case of the wiggins. Let's face facts here folks, normally the very *idea* of biting into a person's flesh and drinking their blood would raise the tiny hairs on the back of my neck up and chills would sweep down my spine even as my stomach did one of those nauseating flip-flops. But right now the only thing I seem to be doing is salivating.
Okay. So maybe death *did* change me. A bit. But I honestly don't want to go out and kill people for the fun of scaring them or hurting them. It's more of a fill my belly cause I'm fucking hungry kind of thing.
Wait. Why is Spike still staring at me with that half-exasperated look on his face? What was the question again? Oh yeah.
"Sure. I could eat."
