Okay...This is a VERY strange little fic that attacked me. *mutters* Damn plot bunnies biting my arse...
Prepare for some Spangel science, Fred style...
(Warnings for language, angst and vague attempts at humour)



Reading Between the Lines


by
Ash Carpenter





Reading between the lines: Why disagreements occur.

A study of misinterpretation between vampire Champions, conducted by Winifred Burkle, Head of Science Division, Wolfram & Hart.
__________________________________________________________________________
 
 
Subjects: Angel [CEO, Wolfram & Hart], Spike [‘Loose Affiliate’, Wolfram & Hart]
 
Hypothesis: Ensouled male vampire Champions fall into a spiralling pattern of contention, disagreement and violent retaliation based on a fundamental misinterpretation of verbal intercourse.
 
It is therefore hypothesised that any randomly selected excerpt of discourse will have been interpreted differently by the test subjects.
 
It is further hypothesised that both subjects will have incorrectly analysed the discourse, including their own responses, giving rise to two different misinterpretations.
 
__________________________________________________________________________
 
 
Input Data: Transcript of conversation between Angel and Spike, compiled from security footage of Wolfram & Hart CEO office, Monday 31 March, 14:17:
 
“Hey, pouf.”
 
“Get the hell out of here.”
 
“Yeah, right. Heard there’s a new big nasty needs hacking to itty bitty pieces.”
 
“There always is. So? What do you care?”
 
“Thought I’d have at it. You know, since you can’t be bothered to get your lardy arse out of that bloody ridiculous throne any more…”
 
“Yeah, well I’d actually like this problem dealt with properly. And by that, what I really mean is not by you. I really don’t need you wading in with those laughable fashion-victim boots of yours and screwing the whole thing up.”
 
“Sod off, git. Like you can talk with those froofy brogues you’ve taken to wearing. These “laughable” boots kicked your arse well enough.”
 
“Once, Spike. Now, why don’t you do everyone a favour and get lost before I put one of my froofy brogues up your ass?”
 
“There a particular reason you’re acting like a bear with a sore arse this afternoon?”
 
“Yes. And, as usual, that reason is you.”
 
“Oh, right. I see. Bloody typical, that is. Blame everything on me…You know, one day you’re gonna have to find another scapegoat for the fact that you’re a miserable tit.”
 
“Don’t call me a tit!”
 
“Wotever. Fine, I’ll go find Percy to tell me wot needs doing about this beastie then. You stay here and…sign an expense form while you brood about your hair gel or wotever the fuck it is that you do these days.”
 
“Good. Don’t let the door hit you on the ass on the way out.”
 
“Fuck off. I’ll be back later.”
 
“To annoy me some more?”
 
“With any luck.”
 
“Idiot…”
 
“Ponce.”
 
 
END TRANSCRIPT: 14:20.
 
 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 
 
Experiment #1: Transcript of conversation provided to Angel, with a request for an honest annotated interpretation of the underlying meaning behind the words (Monday, 31 March, 16:07). Annotations in italics.
 
NB: Subject refused to undertake experiment without blood-bound contractual agreement that a copy of the annotated transcript would not be provided to Spike
 
 
“Hey, pouf.”
“I’m here to mock and insult you.”
 
“Get the hell out of here.”
“Hi.”
 
“Yeah, right. Heard there’s a new big nasty needs hacking to itty bitty pieces.”
“I’m going to pretend that I want to help out as a thinly veiled excuse for inflicting pain on something…preferably in a really messy way.”
 
“There always is. So? What do you care?”
“I hate my job. I want to be hacking the nasty into pieces too, but apparently it’s too dangerous and I have to send in the operatives instead, which is totally pissing me off. But I’ll just give you a hard time instead of telling you that.”
 
“Thought I’d have at it. You know, since you can’t be bothered to get your lardy arse out of that bloody ridiculous throne any more…”
“You’re a waste of space. I’m a better Champion than you. Oh…and you’ve really packed on the pounds as well.”
 
“Yeah, well I’d actually like this problem dealt with properly. And by that, what I really mean is not by you. I really don’t need you wading in with those laughable fashion-victim boots of yours and screwing the whole thing up.”
“Actually, this thing is too dangerous for one person to handle; I don’t want you getting hurt.”
 
“Sod off, git. Like you can talk with those froofy brogues you’ve taken to wearing. These “laughable” boots kicked your arse well enough.”
“Sod off, git. Just because you’re a corporate puppet, it doesn’t mean that I am. I can beat anything, just like I beat you. I have no respect for you now and I don’t adore and admire you the way I used to. And your shoes are stupid.”
 
“Once, Spike. Now, why don’t you do everyone a favour and get lost before I put one of my froofy brogues up your ass?”
“Damn it, you only beat me the one time! Why can’t things be like they used to be? Leave me alone; I want to brood.”
 
“There a particular reason you’re acting like a bear with a sore arse this afternoon?”
“Why are you being so ridiculously melodramatic this time?”
 
“Yes. And, as usual, that reason is you.”
“I’m overtired. You wore me out last night with all the fighting and fucking, and then I stayed up watching you sleep, like I usually do, thinking about how beautiful you are and wishing we got along as well during the day.”
 
“Oh, right. I see. Bloody typical, that is. Blame everything on me…You know, one day you’re gonna have to find another scapegoat for the fact that you’re a miserable tit.”
“Don’t blame me because you’re pathetic. You don’t see me losing sleep over you, do you? Tit.”
 
“Don’t call me a tit!”
“Don’t call me a tit!”
 
“Wotever. Fine, I’ll go find Percy to tell me wot needs doing about this beastie then. You stay here and…sign an expense form while you brood about your hair gel or wotever the fuck it is that you do these days.”
“I will, of course, continue to call you a tit. You stay here and continue being a fucking idiot. I’ll be the good guy and save the day.”
 
“Good. Don’t let the door hit you on the ass on the way out.”
“I wish you wouldn’t leave like this.”
 
“Fuck off. I’ll be back later.”
“Fuck off. I’ll be back for sex later.”
 
“To annoy me some more?”
“I’ll just pretend that I didn’t get the obvious reference to the fact that we’re gonna fuck. But we are gonna fuck, right?”
 
“With any luck.”
“Of course we are. Why else would I come?”
 
“Idiot…”
“You’re an idiot…but I still want you to come back for sex.”
 
“Ponce.”
“I’ll insult you with random British slang that you don’t understand so that you can’t think of a suitable comeback and I will win. Ha.”
 
 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 
 
Experiment #2: Transcript of conversation provided to Spike, with a request for an honest annotated interpretation of the underlying meaning behind the words (Monday, 31 March, 16:35). Annotations in italics.
 
NB: Subject threatened violent recrimination if a copy of the annotated transcript was provided to Angel
 
 
“Hey, pouf.”
“Hey, pouf.”
 
“Get the hell out of here.”
“I don’t want you here.”
 
“Yeah, right. Heard there’s a new big nasty needs hacking to itty bitty pieces.”
“I know that. Just thought I’d offer to help.”
 
“There always is. So? What do you care?”
“You’re not a proper White Hat. This doesn’t concern you.”
 
“Thought I’d have at it. You know, since you can’t be bothered to get your lardy arse out of that bloody ridiculous throne any more…”
“I just want to do something, Angel. I know I can’t do the important things like you, but I can be useful if you’ll let me.”
 
“Yeah, well I’d actually like this problem dealt with properly. And by that, what I really mean is not by you. I really don’t need you wading in with those laughable fashion-victim boots of yours and screwing the whole thing up.”
“You’ll fuck it up. And you have stupid boots.”
 
“Sod off, git. Like you can talk with those froofy brogues you’ve taken to wearing. These “laughable” boots kicked your arse well enough.”
“Sod off, git. Like you can talk with those froofy brogues you’ve taken to wearing. These “laughable” boots kicked your arse well enough. See? I know what a ‘brogue’ is. And if you’re mean to me then I’m gonna rub in the fact that I beat you once.”
 
“Once, Spike. Now, why don’t you do everyone a favour and get lost before I put one of my froofy brogues up your ass?”
“Seriously, you’re pissing me off now. We both know that it was a fluke.”
 
“There a particular reason you’re acting like a bear with a sore arse this afternoon?”
“Sorry. Are you feeling okay?”
 
“Yes. And, as usual, that reason is you.”
“No, I’m not feeling okay, and it’s your fault. You annoy the shit out of me and I wish you’d just pack up and leave.”
 
“Oh, right. I see. Bloody typical, that is. Blame everything on me…You know, one day you’re gonna have to find another scapegoat for the fact that you’re a miserable tit.”
“I don’t do it on purpose. Miserable tit.”
 
“Don’t call me a tit!”
“Don’t call me a tit!”
 
“Wotever. Fine, I’ll go find Percy to tell me wot needs doing about this beastie then. You stay here and…sign an expense form while you brood about your hair gel or wotever the fuck it is that you do these days.”
“Tit.”
 
“Good. Don’t let the door hit you on the ass on the way out.”
“Thank God you’re leaving. I’ve pretty much already dismissed you from my thoughts.”
 
“Fuck off. I’ll be back later.”
“Fuck off. Can I come back to see you later?”
 
“To annoy me some more?”
“To fuck?”
 
“With any luck.”
“Sure. If that’s the only way I can have you.”
 
“Idiot…”
“Idiot…”
 
“Ponce.”
“I’ll take that as a yes, then and call you a name you don’t really understand to cover up the fact that I’m hurt.”
 
 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 
 
Control Experiment: Transcript and video footage provided to Wolfram & Hart Psychoanalysis and Mindreading Division, with a request for an objective interpretation of the intention behind the words (Monday, 31 March 17:20). Intentions in italics.
 
 
“Hey, pouf.”
“Hey, lover.”
 
“Get the hell out of here.”
“Hey, I’ve been thinking about you.”
 
“Yeah, right. Heard there’s a new big nasty needs hacking to itty bitty pieces.”
“Heard there’s a big nasty; I’d like to help.”
 
“There always is. So? What do you care?”
“Yeah. Wish we could do more about it.”
 
“Thought I’d have at it. You know, since you can’t be bothered to get your lardy arse out of that bloody ridiculous throne any more…”
“Want me to take care of it?”
 
“Yeah, well I’d actually like this problem dealt with properly. And by that, what I really mean is not by you. I really don’t need you wading in with those laughable fashion-victim boots of yours and screwing the whole thing up.”
“No, it’s too dangerous. I’ve been told that I have to send the operatives in.”
 
“Sod off, git. Like you can talk with those froofy brogues you’ve taken to wearing. These “laughable” boots kicked your arse well enough.”
“Fine. It’s frustrating isn’t it?”
 
“Once, Spike. Now, why don’t you do everyone a favour and get lost before I put one of my froofy brogues up your ass?”
“Yeah, it really is.”
 
“There a particular reason you’re acting like a bear with a sore arse this afternoon?”
“I know it’s hard. Are you okay?”
 
“Yes. And, as usual, that reason is you.”
“Not really. It doesn’t help that we kept each other awake all night.”
 
“Oh, right. I see. Bloody typical, that is. Blame everything on me…You know, one day you’re gonna have to find another scapegoat for the fact that you’re a miserable tit.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m knackered too…Was worth it though. Tit.”
 
“Don’t call me a tit!”
“Seriously. Don’t call me a tit; it really annoys me.”
 
“Wotever. Fine, I’ll go find Percy to tell me wot needs doing about this beastie then. You stay here and…sign an expense form while you brood about your hair gel or wotever the fuck it is that you do these days.”
“I’m probably never going to stop calling you a tit. But I’ll compensate by trying to help out and leaving you to work.”
 
“Good. Don’t let the door hit you on the ass on the way out.”
“Thanks. I’ll miss you.”
 
“Fuck off. I’ll be back later.”
“I’ll miss you too. I’ll see you later.”
 
“To annoy me some more?”
“For hot sweaty monkey sex and hopefully some Daddy!kink?”
 
“With any luck.”
“With any luck.”
 
“Idiot…”
“Love you.”
 
“Ponce.”
“Love you too.”
 
 
__________________________________________________________________________
 
 
 
Results: As hypothesised, both subjects not only interpreted their dialogue differently, but both did so incorrectly. This limitation of understanding was not restricted to the opposing party’s responses, but also included their own personal words and intentions.
 
As expected, this pervasive misinterpretation caused aggression and contention, and resulted in both ill-feeling and damage to property and person that was based on misconception and could thus have been avoided entirely. An admission of the affection existing between the subjects and the initiation of honest, open dialogue would be both psychologically beneficial and commercially beneficial via the increase of efficiency and the decrease of expenses pertaining to damage to the Wolfram & Hart office building.  
 
When presented with the evidence documented in this study, both subjects reacted with vehement denial.
 
 
 
Conclusion: Vampire Champions are fucktards.
 
 
 
Signed: Winifred Burkle, 31 March 19:45.





The End





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