We've all got WIPs on the go. You do, I do, she does, he does, they do. Fact of life, yes/no? Bugger that. It's about time we make 'em work for us then, isn't it? Yeah!
So grab 'em -- grab 'em all! Yoink a snippet, a sentence, a drabble, a flopsy, a fragment, or a ficlet from them. Whatever you wanna call it -- make with the yoinking!
Then POST it! Ha! *eg*
That'll teach that WIP who's boss!! Mwuahahaha!!!
"We're vampires, mate," Spike said, sharing a bewildered glance with his sire. He'd have thought that'd be pretty obvious.
"Uh, no. I am a vampire," the stranger said disbelievingly, "and I've never heard of a vampire looking like you."
"Well, you're young yet," Angel theorized, but the stranger cut him off.
"Not that young. I'm over eight hundred years old and I've seen my share of the strange and mysterious." Nick cocked his head, staring intensely at them. "You do feel kind of like a vampire, but less... controlled. Like a carouche, only more..."
"I believe the term you are looking for, my son, is 'demonic'."
Everyone in the alley turned to look at the new arrival. Dressed all in black, pale skin gleaming starkly in the flicker yellow of forgotten street lamps, LaCroix stepped out of the darknes with shadows trailing after him.
Nick was the first to speak. "What do you mean, LaCroix?"
The ancient glided over to his son, unconsciously placing his body between his childe's and the foreign vampires while eyeing the hovering mortals disdainfully. "They are a far lesser breed of vampire than even the carouche, Nicholas. They have no control over themselves, are mere slaves to their bloodlust. Their kind are weak, worthless creatures undeserving of the dark gift they've been given."
Spie took a menacing step forward. "Now listen here, who the hell you callin' weak, ya bloody pillock?"
LaCroix met his challenge with a sneer. "Mindless brutes. It's no wonder a Slayer exists to hunt your kind to extinction."
Now Angel got in on the act, protective as always of his ex-love. "You know the Slayer?"
But LaCroix didn't answer. "Come, Nicholas," he said, placing a proprietory hand on the blond's arm.
P.S. It does not matter if it makes sense or not. Just DO IT! That is all. :)