The New Plague
Disclaimer: Spider Jerusalem and Transmet belong to Warren Ellis and BtVS belongs to Joss Whedon et al.
Spider Jerusalem, Reporter Extrodinairre, and shitbag unescapable, had had many close calls in his life. This was one he could do without.
"Who the fuck are you wierdos?" The clothes were something from the gold old days, and the faces were something from the street. Spider whipped out his Bowel Disrupter - Setting Prolapse.
The alleyway was no different to any other street in this muck ridden crime filled life destrying corrupt motherfucking city. Spider Jerusalem loved it.
He fired. No effect.
Shit shit shit shit shit. By god he could run fast - must be those journalist genes. Obviously not fast enough, as the lead guy grabbed his shoulder and forced him up against the wall. He didn't want to think what diseases he would have to remove when he got home. The halitosis bloke opened his mouth, and Spider spied lots of little sharp pointy teeth.
"Not vampires? That's too fucking cliche." Then he realised they were serious - mouth closing on his neck, struggling useless. "I wouldn't do that if I were you - I'm so fucking tanked up it will drive you crazy. Not caring? I know that feeling."
Suddenly Spider was choking from dust.
A blonde woman stood in front of him holding a sharp pointy stake. Spider was in love. She checked him out.
"You OK?" She snapped her gum.
"And you are?" Spider tried to look less... slimy.
"Buffy." She watched the guy pick himself up and dust himself down. She didn't miss the photo glasses - one lense red and round, the other green and rectangular. The tattoos.
"You should bottle the stuff. Sell it as the answer to eternal life. Want a drink?" He was cool, collected and the drugs were kicking back in.
"Alcohol. It's a normal substance, makes you drunk and gives you gfunny feelings. Then you get hungover."
Buffy shook her head. "I'm meeting someone."
"Good. I'd like to meet - and get along with - your friends. Want a fag?"
"No..." Buffy was wondering who this little journalist was.
"So you kill Vampires. Cool." They walked towards a little fast food joint down the street that did delicous seal eyes and iced caribou blood. And some moonshine. "So is it like a hobby?"
"More like a job." Why am I talking to this disgusting little git? Self-promotion?
"So who's your boss?"
"Him." She pointed to a white haired man, tall, ugly and with a strong British accent.
"Buffy. What have I told you about talking to strangers."
"It's okay luv. He was just going." The Spike-struck Buffy looked at him with adoring eyes. Spider could almost see the little hearts flowing between them. All of a sudden he felt sick.
"It'll be dawn soon - we should get inside." And away from this fuckwit.
"And in bed...?" Buffy wanted some more of Spike's hot vampire loving, she felt her game face come on.
Spider recolied. Fuck - she's one of them. "Let me get this straight. You kill Vampires but your one yourself."
"Old habits die hard." She slipped back into her normal face. "Thanks for the drink."
Spider watched them leave hand in hand.
"I hate it here."
Today I met the most wonderful woman in the world. She was strong, fit preety and could take the swearing and drugs habit. Turns out she's a fucking Vampire.
New plague - we just got over the last fucking werewolf one. Give us time, and all the myths of the past will come back to haunt us, and not just as fucking fashions. I wonder what the City is doing to stop this one. Same as what they do every fucking time.
It's a common ailment. We don't see it, so it's not happening. Reminds me about why half our city are down and out or hiding or die every night. Yet again - ignore it it'll go away. Shut your doors, close your curtains, cause I'm not intereted.
Shit scared is more like it.
The cat is fine, he's picking up after his last visit to the vet. The doormat died and my new assistant just quit again. Nothing new is happening with me. So why are you reading this piece of shit.
Do you know your neighbour?