Spike & Harmony Being Civil

His eyes burn from blackened filth of the tunnel covering his body. He's scorched in several places along his knuckles, dark smudges against UV-fearing skin. Spike rather likes the look of it, almost like a working man. Funny to think he had to die and live a century before having a welding rod in his hands. He must be sweating, or maybe rippling like a cola pusher from a commercial.

That or he's drawn blood.

Must be blood he thinks, watching Harmony crawl across the loose dirt of the floor until she is at his feet, begging to clean him.