sorry about your guitar

Two things regarding the the promised fic cards, that were originally the promised postcards:
1. crazydiamondsue broke my drabble gland. Seriously. I cannot write anything under 250 words and in my handwriting that don't fit on no holiday card.
2. Which would be more of a problem if I hadn't lost the holiday cards in the first place.

So they are getting posted here, one a day, in the order they were requested. The first is for karabair from way back in the postcard meme days. She asked for Spike in El Paso, TX. My hometown. (Contains a shout out to elcazavampiros and crazydiamondsue's living room.)


On the Way There
Since lifting his feet out of the DeSoto and placing them onto sun-baked dirt he’s been in awe of how many good and bad sides of this town there are. Parts where the ancient buildings are gouged and crumbling, graffiti lining the fences and running across the billboards; yet there are sections where the homes are newly built in bold terra cotta stucco, the rock walls are clean and the pavement is unmarred.

It’s just a stop off; a place to segue from the states to Mexico and then it’s down the stretch of spice and heat to Brazil. But the sun is out for too many hours of the day and even during this time of year his duster is out of place and his boots are the wrong kind. He weighs the benefits of steel points over sharp tips of snakeskin against steel toes under the rounded and scratched black leather.

It’s been weeks and his segue is turning out to not be one. Spike has become a bar regular at all the watering holes, no matter the location. He stands out; he’s too pale, even the white boys take notice. They call him ‘El Vampiro’, some in authentic accents and others with a stiff twang, all with irony in their voices.

The newspapers are starting to take notice of all the missing college girls. Small redheads, all from a bottle, but it’s nearly the same. Worried parents calling campus friends, wondering why their daughters haven’t come home for Christmas break. Bodies in the desert are nothing out of the ordinary here, but the style is different than the norm and his nickname has moved from being a welcoming yell to a whispered warning. Maybe it’s time to go. Grab Dru, head back to Sunndydale and reintroduce her to Willow. After all, judging from the Star of David dangling in the hollow of her throat, the witch won’t care if it’s Christmas or not.