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Spike tries unsuccessfully to escape the inevitable disaster of Buffy's birthday and runs into a certain demon interested in him and an unconventional hero. Not to mention he finally catches up with Soosilla and the Slayer boy.
January 19, 2017
Sunset, San Francisco
The vampire known as William the Bloody or, to more, as Spike, recently took up temporary residence at the Hyperion Hotel. But with the birthday festivities for a certain Slayer today, he decided to hit the road. Birthdays. Insufferable! Which lands him square in Sunset.
It seemed like a nice enough place to hang out. It's kind of got that small-town vibe, so a figure like Spike really gets notice. Which he likes. Especially at night, which it fortunately is. Wouldn't do to hit the road and go up like flash paper.
There's a scent on the air, though. And when the most platinum-fine vampire in the whole city approaches the source, all he sees is an average-looking figure. But whoever he is, he ain't right. "Hey." Spike reaches out to take the shoulder, to turn the man around...and he turns around first, eyes white, face sunken.
"I'll swallow your soul!!" It screams, and it attacks!
And it isn't alone.
After the disaster that was his romantic picnic with Jackson, and the angry, threatening behavior he exibited while stuck in catform, Soo Park just needed a little time to himself. Who gives a damn if it's raining, it suits his mood. And if he's walked, hitchhiked and ran the whole way from Beacon Hills to San Francisco, it certainly wouldn't be the first time he's done something painfully stupid in the heat of the moment. And, hey. Speaking of painfully stupid things he's done, Soo catches a faint whiff of a familiar scent, smelling of vampire... and a lot of peroxide.
Wandering in the general direction of the smell, Soo arrives just in time to see Spike being attacked, and he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. Frick. And then he's moving, at human speed, in Spike's direction.
It hasn't been exactly a tops day for Carson. At least people aren't still bizarrely fixated on his biological sex anymore...mostly, anyway. The snow is soothing, snowfall has always been peaceful. But he can't afford to take a lot of time, he promised Cordelia he'd help Ernestine fill in for her while she's in Pylea. Something about Leif spiriting her away to protect her from Buffy's birthday.
Carson smirks, shaking his head. Do people really hate birthday parties that much? He can fill in as a receptionist. He'll file the papers, and Ernestine can relate to the people. Or he can. They'll hammer out the division of labor when he gets back. She's just been installing herself in the office all day.
There's a little sort of buzz, and Carson frowns at the sensation. What is that? That's definitely a...high-level, self-realized vamp. So when he makes his way to where Spike is, he finds himself confronted by some crazy person -- who is definitely not a vampire -- attacking said high-level vamp, and a kid with galaxy hair rushing to help...someone?
"Hey!" Carson calls over at them. "Uh, what's the sitrep?" Even as he asks, he's armed himself with a silver-coated knife and shifted into impressive motion.
Crowley is on the other side of the street, for the moment in the darkness. He's watching the battle play out in silence, never one to be out of the loop when someone like Spike is in town, and interacting with the locals. Could he intervene? He could.. but every artist works best when left to their own devices, and Spike is said to be an artist of violence.
"I did call you sweetheart, toots, what are you gonna do about it? Nuthin', nuthin' at all! Yeah, yeah and then I woulda said to the other guy, "Hey let's get a move on, Frosty, time's a-wastin'! Yeaaah, yeah that's what I'd say, AND THEN! And then I'd..."
It's been like this for as long as Ash has been driving away from the Hyperion. Rust and yellow-colored Delta trudging along through the cold San Francisco night, his tires wrapped up with tire chains, the big hunkin' metal trailer following behind him on the narrow urban streets. In his anger he almost missed the scene on the street, with some guy fighting another guy...but something was off. Something about the way it moved, something that resonated with the experienced hunter, and caused him to slam on the brakes while popping his car door open. Instantly, The Eagles filled the night sky as Ash grabbed his friend from the side of that door and made his presence known.
This presence was known by the deafening sound of a shotgun blast, as the white-eyed monster suddenly had a hole where one of his shoulder blades should have been. Walking forward, Ash cleared his throat and yelled out into the night, that boomstick held firmly in his left hand...his right seemingly not visible under the sleeve of his winter jacket.
"Don't you jackasses know this is the City of Love? And urine, from the smell of it? No Demons allowed, pal!"
Spike...was definitely not expecting that. He wasn't expecting any of this. Although if he had his rathers, he'd have just been left to beat this one down, followed by all of its brethren...which of course start coming out of the woodwork, each one as vicious as the first. Spike just stands, staring back at Ash like he's got six arms and three heads, until a particularly savage tackle smashes him against the wall. When he notices Soo's there too, he lifts his leg and kicks the one attacking him at least thirty feet, back like a ball into its tenpin friends.
And then there's...that Slayer (?) boy, and this is just a little too mad, even for one of Buffy's birthdays. "It's the worst day of the year," he barks at Carson. "And it looks like we're the ones getting the brunt of it. The hell're you doing here?" This is to Soo, of course, whom he hasn't been able to catch up to since the werecat had taken a holiday from his senses, a few months back. "And who the bloody hell are *you*?" And that is to Ash. He knows of Carson, even if he's not acquainted.
Just to make himself look a bit more formidable, he flicks the collar of his duster. But then the Deadites have picked themselves up, and they're on their way to make their unholy repast of these heroes.
"... I knew I should have just sulked in my bedroom like a normal teenager. Oh. Right. I don't have a bedroom. Oh well." Soo shrugs and flashes a wicked grin at Spike. "Would you believe I'm doing research for a Home Economics project?" Seeing that the demons have already... demon'd up, Soo moves to join Spike, all feisty five and a half feet of him, moving like a cat on the balls of his feet. "Oooh, shotguns... Are you a Winchester?" Soo asks Ash. The teen's eyes are glowing, a brilliant shade of amber, and his canines are lengthening as he asks... Of course, his ears are also turning decidedly elfin, and his nails... well. he needs a manicure. Really needs one.
So, Carson thinks, that's the sitrep. It's Buffy's birthday, and the seeming curse that was mentioned only in hints, intimations, and whispers around him -- and the reason why Leif was hinting Cordelia needed to be out of the dimension -- it wasn't about what had happened before now. It was what was going to happen.
He's ready to fight, but then Ash blows a shoulder off the thing, and Spike kicks another away to knock the rest down. That's handy. When the first one pops up as a surprise, ready to rip Spike's head off, probably, Carson is there in a flash with impressive, graceful dancelike moves, slashing with the silver knife, kicking, spinning, deeper cut, slash, and a rebuff with the heel of a hand.
"These things are..." Carson makes a face. "It almost feels like an insult to call them demons, but..."
Crowley is suddenly in front of one of the charging demons, foot extended, and said demon is not able to dodge since Crowley teleported in front of it right as it came lumbering forth. The demon is sent sprawling, and Crowley clears his throat casual-like, lifting a flask of craig to his lips.
"Right now I'm your best friend, blondie. These things are Deadites, and the only thing that puts 'em down is total dismembe-"
Ash is interrupted from his rare hero moment by a shrieking, unnatural scream that sounds somewhere between a dying cat, and that dying cats' nails raking across a chalkboard. From the top of Ash's own trailer a once-attractive creature in a miniskirt and heels comes leaping down, her white eyes, molded skin and long jagged nails concerning to look at. And probably even more concerning to have shoved through your eyes.
"ONNNNE BY ONE WE WILL TAKE YOU, PRETTY ONES! PLAY WITH YOUR BONES! PLAY WITH YOUR BONES!"
Her descent and not-so-humble boast was interrupted by the soft underpart of her jaw landing right on the extended, sawn-off barrel of Ash's boomstick. A squeeze of the trigger and the top crown of her head bursts open like a stripper bursting from a cake. In this case, it was less a stripper, and more blood, bone and brain matter flying up and showering down across the group. Ash turns his blood-splattered face to the group, wry grin and raised brow.
"Think I'd be happier to find a squirter, am I right fellas, am I...is that guy turning into a cat? Oh god that's weird, why is that happening?!"
As he stares in slackjawed disbelief at something he's never seen before, he probably doesn't see the not-yet dead streetwalker, even with her rapidly sinking face, roaring and preparing to possibly take Ash's own head clean off his shoulders. Not a good place for a hero to be.
Oh for...! But Carson's panache (maybe literally) makes Spike pause for a second and click his tongue. He raises his eyebrows, angling his head one way and another. "Nice form. Points for style." He rubs his fingertips along his jawline, smirking to Soo. "Home Economics. You're a little far afield, ain'tcha?" Since they've only ever met in Beacon Hills. It's not tremendously distant, and Spike's gone up there himself in recent days, but it's not an impulse jaunt for most people. Maybe Soo's as much of a free spirit as Spike's been.
And then Crowley's there. "What is this, open-bloody-season? I got out of the hotel to be by myself!" Although Spike says it, it's not technically true. He left to escape parties and Slayers, but he managed not to escape one of those things, and it seems like he might as well have stayed home since Ash has brought...his own brand of party.
Now Ash, that's fun. Spike likes that. He smirks and nods to this newcomer, and when the creature starts to rear up and attack, Spike's there in a flash ripping it to pieces, face shifting into what friends and acquaintances known as "vamped out".
If he's going to be as violent as this situation requires, it's important to look the part.
"... Awww, why did you have to kill her? She said I'm pretty! Do you know how rarely I get complimented?" Soo asks. "Also, it's not easy to move like that in heels." And if anyone here would know, it'd be Soo. He doesn't seem particularly upset at seeing the woman... exploded, however. "Pack rules, sorry. Not allowed to kill!" ... not that it stopped him with the harpy. Something else that's been bothering him. Still, the werecat moves to get Ash's back, a leap turning into a flashy series of handsprings that end with the youth launching over Ash's head, spinning once in midair and coming down hard on the Deadite, feet first. "... Does... it count as killing if she's already missing her head? Asking for a friend."
It's definitely not Carson's day either. He smiles to Spike, actually smiles at the praise, looking like a student trying very hard who has been acknowledged by the teacher, which may not be too far from the truth since Spike is such an elite fighter. At the very least, the situation has presented the two a common enemy, rather than asking the hard questions about a technically not-a-good-guy vampire and the-Slayer-who's-a-guy.
"I think they're already dead," Carson offers, by way of some comfort to Soo. "I'm pretty sure they...that wasn't human. There was nothing human in that." He makes a face at all of the carnage, all of the unpleasantness. But it's not like it's the first time he's seen a thing like that. Unfortunately.
"Shifter. Werecat?" Carson looks from Soo to Ash. "So you're a hunter?" But apparently, a very highly specialized one, if all he knows is these...Deadites. "Deadites. What exactly are they? We...dismember them to..."
Carson is cut off by being dogpiled on, although he sends one of them flying against the nearest alley wall. Oh great, because they're all at the mouth of an alley, so there are probably countless others in the shadows of the dark alley, just waiting! He throws another to the side, just concentrating on not getting utterly overwhelmed. No playing with his bones or eating his soul or...whatever it is these things do.
Crowley hears compliments being passed around, and he's trying to get Spike's attention for his own reasons. Crowley is behind the Deadite he tripped in a nano-second, right before it collides with the ground. The crossroads demon now has said deadite by the leg, tossing it into the air with ease. He waits a second before arcing his fingers, and making a downwards motion, natural gravity, plus telekinetic power forcing the deadite to fall prematurely to hit the ground much harder than it would have otherwise. With a slight grin Crowley keeps the pressure on, crushing the deadite with both telekinetic power, and a shoe heal to its' head, the crunching of bones audible in the immediate vicinity, "Been a while since I got the suit dirty.." Crowley gives Spike a glance, "Been meaning to meet you.."
Well, things were officially getting weird. Catman was doing his best Nadia Comaneci, there was a guy in a suit flinging Deadites around(and Ash got a weird feeling from the guy, something that bothered him even in the middle of this brawl for all), the skinny teen hearththrob sensation was hitting harder than a bodybuilder...this all was getting weirder and weirder for Ash Williams.
"Winchester? No, this is a Remington! Honest mistake though, it's fine."
Ash was speaking almost absent mindedly as he lined up his sights, looked down the barrel at another horrible soul(bloated and swollen with negative energy), and exhaled before squeezing the trigger.
Click. Ash's eyes went wide, and he suddenly looked around, realizing he was gonna need more than just an empty boomstick to get through this. Smashing the handle of it into the face of a charging former-homeless face-eater, Ash spoke out even as he started making a beeline for his trailer.
"I'll be back in a jiffy, fellas. Don't let them kill or eat you, that's one of the ways they can pass it on!"
"I complimented you," Spike notes to Soo, with only a trace of bitterness. It wasn't exactly a normal time, what with Soo dressed up as Drusilla and out of his ever-loving mind, in the more abandoned part of Beacon Hills and surrounded by cats that Soo insisted were hotter than he was. Whatever that's supposed to mean. "Pretty sure it don't count as killing if the thing's already dead. Pretty Polly's right." Meaning Carson, apparently. These things are vile, even to a rough-and-tumble old-school punk like Spike.
When he turns, his frown is accented in ways regular humans can only dream of; his brand of vamp has a tremendous advantage in the sour expressions. Angel has a natural advantage from having a massive forehead, Spike muses, and it lightens his visible mood a bit. Which is good, because he turns to look at Crowley, narrowing his eyes, taking in his own style as he takes out another of these Deadites.
Spike folds his arms, tilting his head slightly back. When another Deadite rushes him, he kicks it savagely into a wall. "You overcompensating for somethin', then?" Naturally, he doesn't intend to be killed or eaten. He's technically already dead, though it's also technically that he's undead, and if anyone's doing any eating here? It's going to be Spike, dammit.
"I don't really... with the... hand to hand?" Soo asks. "But I'm pretty sure the... you know, goo-bits? Those looked pretty human." The werecat shrugs, then looks at Spike. "That doesn't count, I had my brains scrambled by a shoe obsessed Hell-Goddess who smelled like nookie!" As the Deadite he's pinning down starts squirming, Soo lets out a little whine, then his hand snaps up, his claws extend even further (think: I'm your boyfriend now, Nancy! level) and then he brings them down... only to stop short. "Can't do it, sorry, too much like eleventh grade all over again!" Still, he's stronger than he looks, a lot faster than these things, and, well... annoying. Now that Ash is out of harm's way, the werecat spins free of his first prostitute (unless Ms. Bunny counts), and moves to Carson's side with more of those impressive flips, launching into one of the Deadites and riding it down to the ground. "Right, just like Greenburg. Don't let 'em bite you."
Hey, Carson isn't skinny! ...not that skinny. He works out! He's probably kind of skinny. He has that whole bohemian thing going on. Once he finally fights out from the dogpile, only slightly the worse for wear, it's just in time for Ash to scamper off to his trailer again. Great. Then the demon's killing the shit out of that one Deadite, and Carson has to agree, it seems like he's overcompensating for something. Is he...trying to impress Spike?
Pushing aside any feelings of potential jealousy, Carson sighs and dusts himself off. He kind of wishes Kitty were here. She'd probably like Ash. Or they'd fight like dogs and cats. At the very least, she'd have the heavy ordnance to take out this group permanently, with extra extreme dismemberment. So instead of trying to engage anybody else, because they all seem to have their respective things sorted, Carson turns to face a trio of Deadites advancing quickly.
Then Soo's there, and Carson gives him a grin. "Thanks! Nice moves." That evens it up. Two Deadites to one Carson is just fine odds, as far as he's concerned. It's still a little unfair...for them. With a jump-kick and a number of slashes with the knife, one is decisively down and the other's still fighting but not presenting as much of a threat.
Crowley lets the deadite writhe when he is finally noticed, "Got your attention did it? Name's Crowley, I like to keep watch on this city in particular, very intriguing place as most know. I ruined a suit just to meet you, Spike is it? We demons understand violence more than anything, even those of us in sales, behind a desk, pushing paper. Truth be told I was promoted well above the brutish business of cracking skulls over two centuries ago, but I happened across you here, and decided to live the good old days again. Of all the demon-vampires in the world, you make more waves than most, and we both speak the King's English as a bonus. Now isn't the time to discuss specifics but.." He sends another deadite flying away as it tries to attack him, "..I wanted to introduce myself. Professional intentions entirely of course.."
Crowley was clearly a professional by the way he carried himself, but unfortunately it seemed that demon-possessed zombie-esque monsters had no respect for the subtle, difficult line of work that Crowley performs. The writhing mass of gore at his feet, its jaw hanging off and its upper torso separated from its hip bones, has the presence of mind to try and claw up the pant leg of the well-dressed Scotsman while it spoke to the man in a terrible, frighteningly low tone of voice.
"O king my king, you betray us so reaaadily, but we still serve even as we weep. Here is a wreathe fitting for the King of the Crossroads, the talking dog of OUUUUR KIIINGDOM!"
The side-effect of a Kandarian Demon was holding up its own still-working intestinal tract, clearly intent on wrapping it around the throat of Crowley and intent on trying to choke the 'life' out of the man. A for effort, at least?
Meanwhile in the trailer, a faint banging could be heard, as well as the muted voice of Ash yelling about something or other in frustration. Whatever he had planned, it be something big...
Spike frankly isn't sure at all what to make of Crowley. He could smell the demon quality of him a mile off, but the Deadites had already thrown his senses a bit off. There are so many non-humans in this city, which is remarkably similar to Beacon Hills, per capita.
Meanwhile, Portland's just weird.
"So you're a professional...what, was it?" Talking head, might as well be. Spike starts to continue, but then he pauses when the Deadite interrupts him. With a sigh, he just reaches out and grabs the thing, thrashing it against the ground until it stops moving and speaking. Rude to interrupt! "Can't find good help these days," he comments smartly, straightening up again and giving a glance over to Carson and Soo, tidying up their part. That can't be all of them, though. He can smell more, waiting in the wings, as it were. The hell are they waiting for? A printed invitation?
"I think you mean 'nice everything'. The eyes are up here, tight pants." Soo's grinning, though, which is kind of adorable, with the fangs and all, making him almost look like The Little Vampire That Could or something. His Deadite is down, but not out. There's just something weird about clawing a moving, speaking thing up like that. It brings back bad memories Soo's trying to put behind him... and failing at. Looking to Crowley, Soo quirks an eyebrow. Aaaand then he's getting assaulted by a Deadite. "Yup, saw that comi-" and in the middle of gloating, Soo suddenly finds himself under assault from behind by The Hooker With No Name And Also No Face, who pins the werecat down and starts groping at him, tongue flailing in the stump that was once her neck. The girlish shriek doesn't come from Soo, clearly. It must have been Spike.
"Deadites are down there," Carson calls over his shoulder, just as playfully. He finally finishes off the other one he engaged and turns just in time to see Soo get taken down. Knowing that time is of the essence and that hesitation often leads to injury -- or worse -- he launches himself onto the pile, grabbing the evil dead hooker and flinging her up against the wall, kicking at the still-flailing form and applying generous amounts of silver knife until there's nothing left together enough to make much of a move.
But the hairs on the back of his neck are right up. Spike's not the only one to sense it; Carson is sure there's more to it than this, although this group were tough enough. There's something way worse, or way more, waiting.
Crowley snaps his fingers and is no longer in range of the Kandarian. He cackles from the darkness and sends a sphere of fire in the direction of the dramatic demon, along with his regards, "Naive demons stay low on the totem pole for a reason.." It isn't long before Crowley's would-be enemy erupts with hellfire!
The group is doing well, but the things are converging and there might be more on the way. People being possessed in this large a number is unusual, and a sign that someone is actually using this book for something. That was an unsettling thought, even as the metal trailer door burst open, and out walked Ash again. But this time his jacket was gone, and over his tough blue shirt was a series of leather straps and harnesses, keeping that boomstick strapped and holstered to his back. The biggest change, however, was the large red metal cubic shape emerging from the end of his right limb. Attached to that red metal, was a large, long saw blade. Was that...was that a chainsaw?
Yes. Yes it was. There was a fat, bloated one waddling up behind Spike, claws out and aiming for the back of the vampire's neck...when a loud, deafening revving of an engine could be heard and as Ash ran in screaming, that powerful sawblade was now cutting down directly into the face and skull of the monstrous once-human. It screamed out and blood sprayed up from it like a fire hydrant, but after a moment it was in chunks and fallen dormant, as the chainsaw-wearing hero looked out with a face looking redder than Mars and dripping with gore, even as a deep, rumbling voice pierced the veil of darkness.
"ASH, YOU WILL NEVERRR RETRIEEEEVE THE NECRONOMICONNN. DEMON, VAMPIRE, LOWLY BEAST AND ABOMINATION, YOUUUU WILL ALL...DIIEEEEEE!"
Ash snarled at the voices, spitting out a bit of pulp that was caught in his teeth, before calling out to the group.
"Listen, there shouldn't be this many of 'em. Things get bad, we might have to take a hike out of here."
And there definitely are more, suddenly. There's a wave of them tumbling down from the rooftops like so much raw sewage cresting up to a tide.
And from the expression on Spike's face, they're about as palatable as raw sewage. Normally, all this blood wouldn't be so bad, but Deadites are lower than low. More disgusting than the true nature of disgustingness, and he's about burned through the last of his patience with these things.
"You shut up, you goddamn sewer jockey!" Spike just reaches out and grabs the one shrieking at Ash, and he sets to ripping it apart. When it speaks to echo what it had just said in a higher tone, he just smashes it a few times against the concrete until it shuts up, then continues until he has it in pieces.
The vampire's expression only grows even more sour. "Okay. Pretty Polly, it's you and me. Suit, you clear a path. Soo, stick close. And you..." He looks to Ash and frowns again, for a moment unsure. "Yeah, you do whatever you want. I assume you can haul that thing." He motions toward the trailer.
"... I am so not good at this superhero thing." Soo grumbles, kipping to his feet easily, tossing his hair back behind his pointy ears and frowning. Looking to Spike, the werecat raises an eyebrow. "You do realize I could like... shred them all in three seconds flat if I wasn't at least half convinced they could be saved, right?" He glances to Crowley and the other survivors, eyebrows raising. "100 percent sure they can't be saved?"
"They can't be saved," Carson addresses Soo's concerns pretty plainly, even if he wasn't the one the werecat was talking to. "These things kill what they possess." Because he's been paying careful attention, and he's sure it's coming back to him in the things he read. These are similar enough to a kind of demon he's heard of, even if they haven't been called the same name tonight.
But conflict shows on Carson's face. On one hand, he's been called pretty, which is a nice thing. On the other, he's been called Polly, which is not his name.
"Carson," he offers, "actually." It's almost apologetic, and there's a kind of awkward, stilted smile that comes to accompany it as he moves closer to Spike. Maybe the silver knife will work for this, but he reaches into his formidable coat and draws out what looks like a sort of pen, or a wand or something. With a flick of his wrist, it turns into a staff, metal clicking into place. Collapsible staff. Because he likes to be prepared. There's a shadowy figure above, and faint, distant laughter so different from the Deadites that anyone with the senses to note it will take notice. And since Carson has those senses, since he knows that laugh, he's slightly distracted from the wave of doom and death advancing on them.
"I know that voice," he shouts. "That was the same voice that was at the St. Vigeous Night fight."
Crowley decides to play along, if only to prevent this peasant faction from gaining any semblence of ground in his territory. His eyes glow red in the darkness, and hellfire erupts one random deadite. The fire leaps to another deadite, and then another as Crowley's controlled orchestra of flame begins to incinerate the horde one by one. Surely their advance slows and slows and the path Spike asked for is given.
"Listen, you do that to the upholstry when we get inside, we're gonna have ourselves a problem, pal. Capisce?"
It's true, Ash is surprised by everything he's seeing here tonight, he's rebounding quickly. This isn't some San Fran tourist thinking he's on a drug trip(that will come later), this is Ash Williams, a man who's seen some serious shit throughout his life. He's fought the forces of Hell, his own hand, and he's stood along knights and wise men. He's also blessed with the ability to focus on doing what he does best, in his world where he's a champion and not a screwup. His chainsaw still revving, his left arm quickly grabs the stock of the boomstick hanging off of his shoulder, spinning around and emptying both barrels into the skinless, eyeless face of a charging hippie. Boom goes the watermelon and Skinny is down.
"Go fuck yourself, ugly. Alright, now! Now now, let's move!"
Following his own great advice, Ash starts to move toward the Delta, looking around wildly as he does so.
...until he turned with a dawning look of realization in those sweet brown eyes of his.
"Wait a minute. Aw fuck me, there wouldn't be this many Deadites here unless the Book was close! I'm talking, real close. We could nip this in the bud right now!"
Spike looks around, up, when Carson mentions that night. He's heard a thing or two, knows what went on from multiple accounts...and when Ash chimes in, that seals it. Bounding to the wall, pushing off to the opposite and working his way up, Spike scales to the rooftop, pulling a Deadite off that tries to rush him as he scrambles over the side. The shadows congregate, and that's where he makes his way to, full of deadly purpose and that all-important snark.
His muscles tense, and the vampire bares his fangs and leaps at the source of the filthiest, most obscene energy, the source of all this unliving pollution, these base demons, this...trash that has spread like an infection from this alleyway and threatens to spread even farther out if they can't stop it.
Spike refuses to run away, not when there's the possibility...
"Oh, what have we here?" A voice, distorted but feminine and ancient, comes from that darkness. It's impossible to penetrate, but there's a figure moving, as the shadow shifts. It's graceful, inhumanly so. But it's not exactly like Spike or the others. Certainly not like the Deadites, even if it's apparent that this is where they've come from. This is the voice, the figure, who holds the Necronomicon Ex-Mortis.
And she's suspended Spike in midair.
"Nice try. If I were a few decades younger...rrowr! But here's where I came in, haaaandsome."
And then she's gone, Spike is allowed to drop from his pounce, the shadows are simply natural shadows, and the force of Deadites stems off. There just aren't any more coming, now.
But that still means they have to deal with the ones they have.
"St. Venereal what?" the werecat asks Carson, brow furrowing. Looking to Ash, Soo blinks. "Dude. Language!" Which, if anyone knows Soo... Yeah. He's trying to make a joke. Aaaaand then the Deadites are moving forward, and the teen sighs. "I really need to just bring a cosplay trunk for this shit." he mutters. Casting about, he finds a broken shard of glass, and flings it at the closest Deadite, letting out a ululating warcry, before leaping into the air, flipping forward into an impressive flip that should... really require wirework. And then he's in amongst the Deadite throng, moving like a blur, claws doing their deadly work, utilizing speed and sheer acrobatic skill to keep free of the monsters.
"Vigeous," Carson answers Soo, only a bit hastily. "It's a night that's -- " But he's not able to explain before Ash cuts in, and then Soo keeps on, and oh well. He'll explain later. That seems to be a motif of late.
When Spike's off the ground and up in the rooftops, Carson joins Soo, Warrior Princess, in the thick of it. He always thought he'd end up in battle. Oh well, he thinks to himself. He had a pretty good run. Spike called him pretty, Angel doesn't want to kill him anymore, Ernestine is safe, and Kitty will probably implement a scorched earth policy against whoever or whatever summoned these things along.
Yeah, Carson thinks, as he beheads one of the Deadites and then kicks the head to a messy explosion against the brick, we did okay.
Of course, today's not going to be his last day or anyone else's fighting on the side of good, it seems. They're lucky, they have sheer power on their side, and for whatever reason, they've got major demon backup and a serious badass with a chainsaw for a hand.
Score.
Crowley is suddenly on the rooftop with Spike as the vampire is released from the levitation. Crowley sighs, "I know what Book is being used here.. not good for any of us. One stinking rag with a pitchfork is no threat, but an army of them can topple an empire." Crowley is.. serious for once? This can't be good, "Spike.. I didn't come here for a social, I came here to talk shop. Hell is always infighting, but now we have other players throwing their weight around, and something has to be done. I swear I'm the only brain in Hell most of them time.." He glances about for a moment, "This Walking Dead bit here is bad for business.. for no small number of important demons. This wannabe Wicked Witch of the West probably got teased as a pup, last pick for dodge ball.. that sort of thing.. sad story, blah.. blah.. blah.. not our problem that she can't afford therapy.. in any case I am proposing that we.. take this little co-op campaign to a long term arrangement until she is dealt with."
Spike and Crowley have a civil, monster-to-monster chat where it's safe. Meanwhile back in Funland, the sounds of revving, shredding, bone-sawing and shotgun blasting can be heard, as Ash wades through a pile of writhing jiggling, sometimes steaming bodies. The chainsaw is still revving, and a quick pause to reload the boomstick later, and Ash is ready to party.
"Ahhhhhhhh yeah, baby! Who wants a little more, huh? Tell daddy, who wants a little more?!"
As if on cue a short, skateboarding Deadite flies over a car, and right into a chainsaw ripping through his stomach until his two halves plop down to earth. His beany touching his Vans, in some sort of poor excuse for social commentary. Hey, at least he tried.
Spike drops unceremoniously from where he'd been held in midair, crashing to the surface of the rooftop while Crowley...pontificates. The vampire picks himself up, dusts himself off, and sets his jaw in place, pursing his lips. Of course this one's a serious villain; serious villains always flirt and act like they're so superior! He can't abide it, of course, even if he's done it too.
"Hell're you on about?" Spike barks over at Crowley, scanning the rooftops for the now-absent Deadites. Yeah, they're all downstairs. He leans over the edge of the rooftop, to watch the carnage below. "I dunno, looks like they've got this well in hand. I'm staying at the Hyperion." And this time, he might just stay in nights for a while. But now Crowley knows where he can come a-callin'. With that, he hops off the side and lands down in the thick of things, adding his martial might to Ash's, Carson's, and Soo's, all of whom are accounting for themselves admirably. Better than admirably, really: superlatively, peerlessly, in the realm of the greatest excellence!
And probably a few hours later, at the crack of dawn, all of them are going to be darkening the door of the Hyperion Hotel, where some of the remainder of the party sits untidied, left until the light of day, streamers hanging and balloons a little lower than they were the previous day. They'll be a party of at least four, or more if Crowley opts to tag along, all in various states of intoxication and likely still covered with blood and unmentionable things.
That's how you know it's been a good excursion.