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A quiet day at the Roadhouse after a dust-up. Spike shares a moment with Adam.

June 1, 2022
Harvelle's Roadhouse


The Roadhouse hasn't changed a whole lot in the five years since the Croatoan Virus swept the landscape and things went, as Spike would put it (and does in most every account he tells of events) "tits up". The place has become far more secure, with a perimeter and heavy doors, guns and spotlights and all that. It's more necessary for the packs of crazy plain humans than it is the zombies...or close enough to zombies. Might as well call them zombies, Spike figures.

He strolls from the back hallway of rooms and such, looking freshly-showered because he is. Humming melodically, he steps behind the bar, opens his special cooler, and takes out a bag of blood. Leaving it unopened just yet, he sets it on the bar top and starts rummaging around.

He's been out fighting, evidently, from both his attention to hygiene and the quiet that seems pervasive around the Roadhouse's extended borders.

Adam is in the kitchen and pokes his head out. He's currently shirtless with an apron over his pants. He likes to leave his neck exposed to Spike as much as possible just to tease him. And yes the roadhouse may look the same, but its not. For on there are a ton wards and such all around the place the zombies can't enter the building, still it is best that Spike goes out hunting and makes sure to find and refugees, and invite them to stay. "Don't get a cold one, there's one on the bar perfect temperature, just how you like it." And it was precisely how Spike liked, it possibly mixed with spices or alcohol, whatever Spike was currently craving is what it would be.

Adam does stuff like that now a lot. He just seems to know things. When someone is around, when they need help and often packs little supplies into the others bags that seem pointless, but make a big difference. Currently he's working on something, most likely something magical. He might not have much power but he has a spark, a touch of it, and a touch is all it takes usually.

Spike pauses as that is pointed out to him. He'd thought he would have to let the pack warm up...but not so! He smirks a little and replaces the still-cold one in the cooler, shutting it up tight, and picks up the one prepared for him. "Cheers."

Then he picks it up and opens it, sucking a small amount from it before licking his lips. "So," he glances over, eyes only lingering for an instant on the exposed throat, "miss anything thrilling?" He takes a few steps to the closest side of the bar, to lean on it as he sips his sustaining drink. "Approximately three dozen less of those shambling bores outside." There's no specification as to whether he means zombies or witch-hunters. They're about the same to him. But if it were just the regular human fanatics, he'd probably have already fed.

Adam had toned up over the past 5 years, he wasn't the scrawny kid he'd been, but he also wasn't muscular -- he was lithe and lean and obviously did his share or more of the work nearby. For one, they had a rather nice garden to feed the human inhabitants, and he spent a lot of time out there, among other things.

He shakes his head, "Not overly, the former Supreme was here for a bit, And there was a hot werewolf from the past." He says as if that's totally normal. He hands Spike a little bottle of something -- cologne maybe? " Start putting this on every day. The witch-hunters are getting smart sooner or later they'll figure a way to take advantage of your weakness to sunlight."

Spike looks down at the bottle, setting it on the bar after holding it for only a handful of seconds. "That would probably require the sun to actually, y'know, *come out* at some point." He doesn't seem bothered, but then it is Spike. He's watched as Adam has grown, at least for part of that time. By now he's almost used to him. Him, the remarkably manipulable Jo, too-clever-for-his-own-good Ash, even the irrepressible Ellen -- he figures that's the most important group of people to be in good with, since the rest of the hunters that come and go are pretty much always secondary in terms of how they rate.

"So you said from the past?" Spike takes another sip from the well-prepared bag, like a tube of snack that used to be popular, back in the day when they could get things like that. "Sounds about right, dunnit. Thought it was about time for time-based hijinks."

Adam nods, "Yeah, maybe they can do something about it." He looks over at Spike and softens a bit, "If you'd wanted I could have scrubbed your back." There was no malice there, but was it a serious offer or him being a tease... It's hard to tell with Adam these days.

"And the sun is still there. Remember last week when that busted window pane managed to magnify it just right and I had to put that balm on you?" Adam is irrepressible in his own way, and clever as well, and he's also at least on the surface easy to manipulate, but in all the cases its just a little different.

Adam is decently well known to be a witch. This is also the last place a witch-hunter would dare come, with Spike, Ellen, and Jo around, not to mention a constant stream of refugees and hunters, but that means he doesn't get to leave the grounds much. He's too tempting a target for those who have sense, and while he's decent in a fight, he knows he wouldn't last long out there at all.

"You're awfully cavalier about it all," Spike comments, raising a brow as he works on the blood prepared for him. "You had to put the balm on me because the window decided to gift us with a shower of shards of glass and I was enough of a wally to take one for the team. Or more like half a dozen," he mutters, looking just a hint irritated about the mirror.

But whatever the real reason was, he seems highly comfortable around Adam. He should, by now. "Don't toy with me, you're not good at it." Even saying that, though, he doesn't seem to really mean it.

Adam just rolls his eyes, "The world is about to collapse any day now, and the closest I've ever had to a real relationship is a wanker of a vampire. If I wasn't cavalier about everything I'd go crazy."

He shrugs and then comes out to sit on the bar next to Spike. "But on a more serious note, I'm almost done with that last step of the preparations. Once I spread this gunk around the grounds, anyone with hostile intent won't even be able to see the roadhouse. Don't worry, snark doesn't count as hostility. Of course that won't stop the roving bands of zombies from finding us, but it'll keep out witch-hunters, and even most of the demons won't see it." Adam was constantly adding new protections to the roadhouse and trying to find little ways to make everyone's lives better. Early on, Fiona and Lucas had both stopped by the roadhouse, and realizing that Adam was a nascent witch, gave him a quite a few books to study...once he'd made it clear he wasn't leaving.

"Better," Spike comments, as if the use of proper terminology alone placates him, at least for the time being.

He finishes what's left in the bag of blood, careful to get every last drop he can, and then he sets it aside. Because they'll probably want to wash it out and recycle it, since he's just eating from them anyway. Every little bit they can preserve and reuse is one less thing they have to put themselves or their allies in danger to scavenge, to say nothing of making things themselves.

"Oh really? Sounds good. You're not gonna..." Spike waves a hand, wiggling his fingers. "Go all mad with power and all, are you?"

Adam isn't just being a brat by not letting Spike drink from him. Since he's apparently a born witch, though witch of very limited power, his blood could be used in quite a few rituals...including those to bypass all their protections. "Oh I've got a few more packs ready to put in the fridge. The last group of refugees each offered up some when we told them what you were."

He doesn't respond to going mad with power, he knew Spike knew full well his power was in little things: tiny enchantments, potions that were as much herbs as magic. He tilts his head, "I better get back to work. Ellen will be back soon, and If I don't have her kitchen cleaned up of the potions she'll... Well she probably won't do anything but scowl, but you never know."

That little bit makes Spike puff out his chest a bit, stand up straighter. It's a little bit of his typical posturing, although he's done it much less than before since everything went to hell. Or, more accurately, hell came to everything and infested all of it. "Well it's just about right! After all, who saved them gloriously from a pack of crazed, bloodthirsty demons? Yours truly!"

He stops for just a moment to glance around. Since coming back inside after his fight, he hadn't really given the place a look-over, but he can assume that Ellen and Jo are busy and Ash, as usual, is tinkering with things, trying to maintain some semblance of tech. Might as well be a fool's errand, as far as Spike's concerned, but he can't deny that some luxuries that come with technology certainly have a special place in his heart.

"I'll pitch in." Spike shuffles out from behind the bar, yawning and stretching as he trudges behind Adam. "Got nothin' better to do."

Adam knows no one is around, and gives a bit of a grin, at Spike's reactions and his willingness to help. He knows that it has less to with having nothing better to do, than who he'd be helping. He also knows that Spike would die (again) before admitting even being fond of him. He leans over and gives Spike a kiss on the cheek and whispers, "You could clean up the bar and I'll finish the last little bit. Then you can help me clean the kitchen if you want."

He considers saying something about rewarding the glorious hero, but decides against it, that'd be a bit much, plus it'd make Spike's ego unbearable if he knew Adam actually thought of him that way. And with the whisper ended he is back in the kitchen, suddenly -- so suddenly that one would think he'd teleported, but Adam couldn't do that. Could he?

Spike doesn't react, for a second, but then he's smacking lightly at Adam as if he's just initiated a slap fight. Even if no one else is around, he still has to keep up appearances. It wouldn't do for him to accept affection or gratitude without finding a way to angle it just right to support the level of ego he presents to the world.

After making a sound of distaste, Spike snorts and goes to tidying up the bar, which won't take long. It's generally kept neat by those who use it.

"You start calling me your blondie bear and I'll sew your mouth shut," Spike grumbles. But like the rest of his threats...he doesn't really mean it. It's always better than all that stuff he constantly had to hear at Angel's. But it does always bring him a little happiness to know that, with the fall of civilization as a whole...so too fell ubiquitous hair care products.

It tickles his corrupt little heart, in all the wrong ways.

And maybe what Adam said, just a bit.

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