Thirty-Six Bells: [Written/Action]

[simplestgift]

[Written:]

In light of my new duties as first lieutenant of the LES Britannia, impending matrimony, and being bloody terrible at running a foodhouse, I shall soon retire as the owner of Cloud Nine. I'd like to continue to work a few shifts, of course, but the club will need new management. Which brave soul will shoulder the task?

-A. Kennedy

[Action only: He is enjoying the last night of the voyage, simply meditating upon the lovely roll of the ship beneath him. It's chilly out, and he can see his breath, but he doesn't mind, wrapped up tightly in his heavy wool greatcoat. Softly he sings a song swallowed by the night, evidenced mainly by the mist of it in the air around his lips.]

The maiden, oh, the maiden oh.
The sailor loves the maiden, oh!
So early in the morning,
The sailor loves the maiden, oh!
A maid that is young,
A maid that is fair,
A maid that is kind and pleasant, oh,
So early in the morning,
The sailor loves the maiden, oh!

Comments

[simplestgift]

Clearly Buffy hasn't told you very much about me.

[deadpoet]

I know enough that it wasn't a full sodding year before you found yourself a new bird to marry. That says all I need to know.

[simplestgift]

I wasn't marrying Dawn.

[deadpoet]

Malnosso saw to that, didn't they?

[simplestgift]

The Malnosso have jack-all to do with anything.

[deadpoet]

They plucked her away before you had your chance to pop the question. Seems plenty relevant.

[simplestgift]

They don't pluck anyone away. They'd love to learn what makes people go home, because it'd mean they wouldn't be trapped here themselves.

[Diverting away from the fact that he hadn't planned to propose to Dawn before she left.]

[deadpoet]

Don't try and weasel out of it with technicalities.

[Spike is pretty convinced Archie was planning on it. He won't be dissuaded.]

[simplestgift]

Well, technically, then, you should be very glad indeed that I wasn't inflicted upon her any longer.

[deadpoet]

Very, very glad.

[simplestgift]

Then you have no complaint whatever about the way things were handled. Good day, sir!

[deadpoet]

[That rotten little, oh bugger it. Dawn isn't here.]

Likewise, mate. Seems you and your new missus deserve each other.

[simplestgift]

[...That. That. Crossed the line.

Hearing Archie swear is a rare event to be treasured. The smarmy coolness gives way.]

...You fucking ungrateful bastard, rot in hell!

[deadpoet]

No worries. I'm working on getting back there. Won't be long 'til I do.

[simplestgift]

Sod off.

[He flips the journal to the deck, and it closes at some point before it settles.]

[deadpoet]

[That went well.

How much trouble will Spike get in for that? Remains to be seen. Spike feeling not as satisfied as he hoped he would from that, tosses the journal to his side, gets up, and laments that it's still too early in the evening to go out and get some booze.

Not without a sprint anyway. He goes to grab a blanket.]