Forgot to add disclaimer first time around. Thanks to the guy who was all like, "Add disclaimer" though he wasn't that scary. Anyway, I own nothing, except the plot, and even then I might've stolen it through accidental mind reading or something. Everything belongs to Joss Whedon. Except Dracula. He belongs to Bram Stoker. Cheers!
Spike stared at the cards, blue eyes wide. Looking up at his opponent, the vampire growled. “You cheated, you boughbag!”
His opponent merely laughed, the smooth tones rippling over Spike’s anger, smoothing it out somewhat, though not entirely.
“And vhy vould I need to cheet?” Dracula asked, exposing his fangs as he grinned.
“’Cause I’m the better player, you bugger, that’s why! Now hand over my money!”
“Ah, but you lost, yes?” Dracula stated, gesturing to the cards with an elegant wave of his hand.
Spike grumbled, reached into his pocket, and withdrew two pieces of paper, laying the notes on the table. “There,” Spike said, almost petulantly, “eleven pounds. Wanna go again?”
Dracula regarded the younger vampire with amusement. Reaching out, he took the eleven pounds, slightly crumpled, and folded them up neatly before placing them in a pocket in his black shirt.
“Now come on, poncy, and let’s deal again.”
Dracula shrugged elegantly, shuffled the cards, and began the game over.
Spike took out one of his fags, lit it, took a drag, and watched the other vampire closely. Apparently, something pleased him, for he jumped up and pointed at Dracula accusingly, triumphantly.
“Ha! Ah ha! I knew it! You are cheating!”
For the slightest second Dracula looked worried, shook it off and said, “How am I cheeting?”
Spike gestured to the cards wildly, jumping up and down in triumphant. “You’re rigging the fucking deck, you tosser, you!”
“I ham not!” Dracula protested, slipping a card up his sleeve.
“Hey! Again!” Spike grabbed the arm and shook it, watching with glee as the card, an ace of spades, fell to the table.
Dracula made a big show of rolling his eyes and huffing impatiently before he consented defeat. With perfect elegance and manners of course.
“Give me my eleven pounds back!” Spike demanded, hand out. Dracula smiled slightly and reached into his pocket. Before he could pull it out, however, there was a commotion at the gate.
Dracula looked slightly alarmed. “Oh Dear,” he murmured, “They haff found me.”
Spike turned to him in puzzlement. “Found you? Who?”
Dracula sighed heavily. “Aiya, thought I had another hour, at leest.”
Spike looked out the window and found a large, angry mob of people armed with fire, pitchforks, and… “What? Are those…Do they have stakes? How the bloody ‘ell did they find out how to kill us?” Spike turned to Dracula who, if he was able to, would have been blushing. As it stood, Dracula settled for looking sheepish.
“Wot the fuck’s the matter with you?” Spike asked. When Dracula continued to stay silent, Spike turned back to look at the angry mob.
Then it clicked.
“Wait, wot the fuck did you do? Did…Oh, bloody ‘ell! This is bloody perfect! Fan-fucking-tabulous!”
Outside, a voice yelled out, “We know yer in there, Dracula! Come out!”
Another said, “My poor child! She was only two! You drained ‘er dry, left no’ a drop, and now she’s dead!”
Spike turned back to Dracula, enraged. “You killed CHILDREN! You know what their blood does to us! It’s so pure, it’s like drinking Vodka!” Spike growled and paced back and forth, game face on. “So, you eat Junior, plural, then spout off how to destroy us! Are you fuckin’ insane!”
Looking to where Dracula was, Spike was surprised to find the space empty. “Wha-?”
Looking around, Spike spotted a bat flying away. Spike leapt after it, but it was too far out of reach.
“You fucking bastard!” the vampire yelled, “give me my eleven fucking pounds!”
Turning his gaze onto the crowd, who had just broken down the main door, Spike settled into a fighting stance.
“Oh bugger,” he muttered under his breath before launching himself forward.