Usual disclaimers apply. Spike is not Perdita's brainchild; this is just her interpretation of how he'd be feeling after Becoming 2. Feel free to comment; Perdita likes to be fed.
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If there is one constant in this ever-changing, ever-evolving, ever-the same world we like to call ours, it's people.
Yeah, people. Or, as I like to call 'em, Happy Meals on Legs. Hell, they deserve the title, don't they? Especially to somebody like me, who eats 'em for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Not to mention appetizers and snacks.
People. Humans. Mortals, the lot of 'em. What are they to me? William the Bloody, Spike the Vampire, whatever you want to call me, why should I give a bloody second thought to my food source? As long as they're there, as long as they still have buckets of hot red haemoglobin barreling through them, why should I think about 'em? It'd be like one of them thinking overmuch about cows. 'They give me milk (almost the stuff that actually gets into their mouths) and beef (so long as they cook it well enough to bake out the salmonella).' Do people actually think about the inner workings of a cow? Probably not. Well, the most thought would go like, 'Pass the catsup, I wanna make it look like it's fresh pulled out.'
I've eaten fresh pulled out. Not much to brag about.
So, what I'm thinking is this--these people that I depend on so much don't think about where they get their meals, so how come I'm always thinking about them? Other vamps I know, they just go hunting for the sport, for the fun--ultimately, for the meal they'll get out of it. The occasional one'll take a little extra time to torture his victim, just for the added thrill of killing a complete cracker. But, so far as I can tell, I'm the only one who *likes* the bleeders.
Pathetic, isn't it? A vampire with the reputation of killing more people in a decade than most of us kill in a year, and I get stuck with warm and fuzzies.
Take the whole 'I'm going to destroy the world' thing that that wanker Angelus tried to pull off. Now, before that organ buggered up my back, I would've been right beside him all the way, probably even trying to pull the damned sword out myself. But...being in a wheelchair for months on end, unable to perform while your sire steals your girl from right under your hands...it does things to you. To me, anyway, and that's really what matters. Watching the bastard take Dru, and not being able to do anything about it, well, kind of made me angry. And when I get angry, I have an unfortunate tendency to think. I'm supposing that you've figured out what I thought about.
People. The world as it was. The Slayer. And my conclusions? That none of 'em are half as bad as I used to think they were. Follow my reasoning?
People: sure, on the whole, they're all wankers. They treat the ones they love the worst, and don't give a flyin' about the people they don't love. But get to know a couple of 'em individually, and you're sold on 'em forever. Hell, they keep me alive, who am I to judge? Do people think all cows are bad because one of the herd gets excited and starts a stampede? If you think about it--and believe me, I know what I'm saying here--it's impossible to not like people. There's just something about 'em that keeps you coming back for more. Possibly the taste.
The World: what can I say, I've got used to it. I've been alive for at least a hundred and fifty more years than I was originally supposed to be; that kind of extra time allows for a lot of using. And if you think about things, you realize that there's a lot you'd miss if the world was suddenly replaced. How would you feel if, where the local Denny's used to be, suddenly there was a pit of molten lava and brimstone? Sure, if you wanted to, you could still try to get a bite to eat, but the old atmosphere just wouldn't be there. And trying to place bets on devil dogs at the track--just wouldn't be the same.
The Slayer: okay, I've bagged two in my day, and I'm not sorry. In fact, Georgina and Minerva were the best I'd ever had, and I don't mean just blood-wise. Old Minnie even went on the road with Angelus and me, in the old days, before Dru came along. Get the demon under the Chosen One's skin, and you've got one hell of a playmate. But ever since this latest one dropped the roof on me, I've been thinking that maybe she deserves a little more respect than the others. Having her on my side was just too good to be true, and I guess I have to admit that I'm not angry that it looks like Angelus didn't kill her. She's got something, Buffy has, and I'll be one damned surprised demon if she doesn't break the record for Years Alive as an Active Slayer by at least four months. Well, maybe three.
See my problem? All those months in that blasted chair, and look what happened. I helped save the world 'cause I like it, I helped save the world 'cause I like people, and I helped save the world 'cause I respect the Slayer. I am one truly buggered up vampire, and if Drusilla wakes up before I'm done recording this, she'll rip my throat out. I mean, chances are she will anyway, 'cause of that whole throttling her unconscious thing, but if she heard any of this, she'll make it even more painful. And I just recovered from one annoying injury; I don't fancy doing the same thing twice.
People. They feed me, they put clothes on my back, and they sell me SPF-50 sunblock. And they never change.
Maybe that's why I like 'em.
The End. Perdita X. DeVise, perditax_nutter@hotmail.com
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