The dog's ears are straight up, eyes bright and focussed, every muscle in its body alert. Spike holds his hand open and relaxed as the dog barely moves its head forward to sniff.
The animal doesn't growl or indicate its about to try to make mincemeat of Spike's hand, so that's encouraging. He keeps a steady eye on the animal, not quite a defiant eye-lock, he doesn't want to challenge to dog, just to establish a little bit of an understanding.
"Norah Jones is smashin! Very fierce. Got a good, strong voice, hasn't she? Sweet, but strong. Reminds me of a sort of special lady I know, sometimes."
The corner of his mouth quirks slightly at the thought of Darla. What would she make of this place? A cosy little rock hurtling through space, quietly going off its rocker, complete with nihilistic walls and temperamental goody-dispensers.
Finch might be surprised when it isn't McCartney who gets the reaction. Instead, Spike grins, a little groan evident in his voice although he doesn't turn his head to look at Finch, keeping his eyes on the dog.
"Oh blimey, Michael Buble, really? Well, I suppose it takes all sorts, mate."
Spike has heard Aphex Twin-- popular amongst some of the necromancers he knows-- but would not in a million years consider the group's work in any context related to Finch. Michael Buble and McCartney went hand-in-hand with his mental stereotype of the music preferences of a quietly posh ...network administrator (? Are network administrators given to low-key poshness? Somehow Spike's always assumed they were more of the sort whose shirts were polyester or emblazoned with comic book logos). He grins in a harmless sort of way as he carefully leaves his hand within sniffing distance of the alert dog.
no subject
The animal doesn't growl or indicate its about to try to make mincemeat of Spike's hand, so that's encouraging. He keeps a steady eye on the animal, not quite a defiant eye-lock, he doesn't want to challenge to dog, just to establish a little bit of an understanding.
"Norah Jones is smashin! Very fierce. Got a good, strong voice, hasn't she? Sweet, but strong. Reminds me of a sort of special lady I know, sometimes."
The corner of his mouth quirks slightly at the thought of Darla. What would she make of this place? A cosy little rock hurtling through space, quietly going off its rocker, complete with nihilistic walls and temperamental goody-dispensers.
Finch might be surprised when it isn't McCartney who gets the reaction. Instead, Spike grins, a little groan evident in his voice although he doesn't turn his head to look at Finch, keeping his eyes on the dog.
"Oh blimey, Michael Buble, really? Well, I suppose it takes all sorts, mate."
Spike has heard Aphex Twin-- popular amongst some of the necromancers he knows-- but would not in a million years consider the group's work in any context related to Finch. Michael Buble and McCartney went hand-in-hand with his mental stereotype of the music preferences of a quietly posh ...network administrator (? Are network administrators given to low-key poshness? Somehow Spike's always assumed they were more of the sort whose shirts were polyester or emblazoned with comic book logos). He grins in a harmless sort of way as he carefully leaves his hand within sniffing distance of the alert dog.
"Is he on the job, then?" Spike asks.