As many of you know, I long resisted the popular television series Buffy the Universe, along with its descendant fandom, spinoffs, literature, merchandise, etc. When I finally gave in and barreled through all seven seasons in three weeks, I pathetically fell hard and fast (like many other women) with Spike. James Marsters is now synonymous with hot in Abbeyland, much to many of my friends' dismay. Ah, sexy, sexy Spike, with your silly (fake) accent and your roguish smile, etc, etc. As you can imagine, although I'd rather you tried not to, I've had my share of steamy day and night dreams about Spike, rewriting the Buffy-verse to suit my liking. Usually the dreams are fun, hot, and entertaining.
Last night's dream was not one of those dreams. Last night demonstrated fully how badly I need a new job.
Last night I watched as Spike, not simply James Marsters, but Spike the vampire, tried to live my life as a Walmart employee.
Spike, dressed as he's usually dressed in the Buffy-verse, frets over finding a plain blue or green shirt and some khaki pants in my bedroom, which via the strange logic of the subconscious, is his room. This dream is set in my apartment, the current day, every thing is the same down to the last detail, only instead of me, there's me watching incorporeal from the third person as Spike lives my life, albeit in his own unique way. (There's no Liv or Damion, either, btw.) A not-quite-friend, really more of an exasperated ex-enemy who has decided for the meanwhile not to dust Spike (also typical to the Spike MO), comes up my stairs and reminds Spike he's going to be late for work. At Wal-mart. Spike replies rather dramatically that he is aware of that, pulling on his hair and stomping around petulantly. "Then" he goes on to say, "there's the little matter of breakfast. I'm a hungry, hungry hemaphage." I'm not sure why my brain supplied that particular term, but that's what he says in the dream. He grins evilly at his not-friend, then curses as he realizes that the dude is his ride to work. What's a ravenous vampire to do? "I can't bite you, you lucky little Happy Meal, you, because it's just poor manners to eat the DD, mate." Cue not-friend eye-rolling. Work clothes found (although thankfully, not donned), they ponder the dilemma of vampire brunching while also trying to see which of my blankets would best cover Spike while he goes from house to car, the duration of the car ride, then car to work. Whether or not my coworkers were supposed to be aware or accepting of his condition/appetites was not brought up. They settle on my bird-print quilt. I recall being rather affronted, as that's a relatively new purchase. Spike has a Walmart name-badge he picks up from the table by the door. Spike puts my pack of smokes in his pocket, whistling a tune I've had stuck in my head for days. Spike chats idly about the people I work with, albeit stopping to consider if some would make good meals and how he easily he could snap their necks. Spike is wearing the studded-leather cuffs I typically wear as he flicks on my lighter and lights up a Camel. Spike drives to work in the back of some dude's car, covered in my quilt. Spike walks in, ready to go change into his work clothes. Spike greets the old lady at the door fondly, then snarls at a manager behind his back. Spike wonders idly if he'll actually get to be in Electronics today, or if they'll pull him off to do something else. Spike considers eating the first person who pisses him off, then checks out a hot customer. Spike muses aloud if he'll ever get a better job, or if playing nice with humans has ruined his career prospects.
I wake up choking on a scream.
