paradisalost | 029; dictated

[Jet used to say life goes in cycles, but to Spike, here it's more like a spiral. Lose everything you never really had until you're left with the nothing you started with -- all those ways of thinking that make you a productive member of society. Just wait around for the next suicide mission to pop up and spend the meantime catching up on some sleep. As it happened, Brock's cabin was conveniently left up for grabs, and Spike found his nice little getaway to not give a damn in.

After briefly getting cheered up by the mischief of the 'new gang' in town, he returns with a case of beer to the only place that has nothing but solitude to offer. Sure, it could still use a big TV and a fridge full of food, maybe a decent fan to get some of that musk out of there, but he isn't in the mood to be picky.

It's only after he makes himself comfortable on the couch that he hears something off to the side... Movement catches his eye, and he automatically draws his gun. In the shuffling that follows, the journal falls out of nowhere and opens just in time to pick up a screeching animal and the hollow sound of empty cans scattering to the ground from a nearby pile.]

Hey! [Gunshots fire, but from his shouting, it sounds like he only succeeded in scaring something away.] Sonofabitch... Raccoons now.

[So he'll admit to some drawbacks in this brilliant plan. Maybe the castle is trying to make a point with that journal he sees on the ground and reluctantly reaches for. Everything's always got to be complicated.] Might have had better luck with a tent. Can you wish up bear traps, or is that against the rules?

[Good job checking in, Spike.]

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[Did he mention it was after the beer? -- Also, he's going to skip over the slim possibility he just shot at a resident on a raccoon loss.]

Where is everyone getting their pets from then?

[Oh. Well, in that case ...]

I think those are people wishing for animals and then abandoning them when they get sent home.

... [No wonder he's always tripping over them.]

Huh. [Maybe thinking of wishing for crocodiles the next time he's in the castle. But how the he'll do you transport them out here? Could be tricky.]

[Wish for little crates too, Spike! That'll work out just fine.]

I guess crocodiles aren't high up on the list, though.

[A truck to haul the crates would probably be too much to ask. Damn cheap castle.]

Not until now.

[It seems to have some kind of problem with giving people cars unless it's Christmas, anyway.]

Might as well go all-out and ask for sea monsters or something.

[And all Spike got for Christmas were some driving gloves. People wonder why he moved out.]

Too bad I couldn't bring any back with me on the pirate ship.

[Brock didn't get anything for Christmas. The castle is an asshole.]

Well, hindsight's 20/20.

[Good point.]

I might have to settle for whatever I can carry. Maybe some eels.

We could always just grab the ducks from the pond.

I dunno, put lasers on their heads or something.

They wouldn't see that coming.

[Noting how the 'we' snuck into the conversation. So close to getting him to do it for him.]

[Brock is really easily manipulated by people he trusts, I'm just saying ...]

Well, the element of surprise is always important.

[At least in Spike's case, it's for a totally innocent cause.]

Ever made something like that before?

[Well, that's something at least.]

Lasers? Nah. That's more of a super-scientist thing.

I guess I can leave that on the project board until the rest of it's finished.

Right. Can't have laser-ducks without a moat to put them in.

I wouldn't know where to store them until then.

Well, you'd have to build someplace laser-proof. It's just too much of a hassle.

[Seeing as he barely got the cabin built ...]

That's always the way simple ideas turn out.

Complicated ones, too.

I'll just keep my gun on me in the meantime.

Or you could just like, shoo them out.

Yeah right, I've fallen into that trap before. [Animals always go for the hair, and like hell he's going to pick up fleas out here. Or you know. Rabies.]

[Squinting at the journal ...]

Do you have some kind of history with raccoons that I should know about.

A pack of them killed my mother.

[What kind of question is that? He just hates animals, it's totally normal.]

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