What's in a Name?
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"You're not even trying, Spike."
"Told you - it's poofy."
"It is not poofy. How many times… Oh for goodness sake. Just do your best. You're our last hope."
"Really?" Spike threw out his chest. "So what Wes said about 'scraping the barrel with me was…"
"Spike! Concentrate."
Spike squared his shoulders and faced the enemy, his hand gripping the polished wood.
Angel closed his eyes against the sight of the missile curving through the air.
"Strike three. You're out!" cried Fred hugging Willow.
"Told you Rounders was a girly game. Bloke doesn't stand a chance against 'em," grumbled Spike.
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Written for open_on_Sunday - June 2007