Ceallach jotted down Spike's comments on her PDA and trotted along after him, stopping by his side at the next artefact and invading his personal space yet again.
Sighing to himself as he handled what looked like a mahogany umbrella stand decorated with arcane symbols that were inlaid in silver, Spike wondered what he'd done to get lumbered with such an over enthusiastic assistant. She had developed an instant and less than subtle crush on him.
It's not that she wasn't attractive, she was, although Spike had to admit that her wild mane of hair appeared to be a force of nature in its own right. It was just that he'd finally pulled his finger out and got together with Dawn and now women were throwing themselves at him. Fate had a strange sense of humour.
To be honest, Ceallach was slightly disturbing. She muttered under her breath in Irish whenever Spike had to bend over or reach for an object. He didn't think she'd be quite so blunt about voicing what she'd like to do to his body if she knew he understood what she was saying. Spike found the humour in that.
What was really odd, was the holster at her waist that held chopsticks. She disappeared during lunch and when she returned, Spike could smell blood emanating from the holster.
He shook his head. To each their own. If Ceallach wanted to run about killing things in her lunch break, it was no skin off his nose.
At least she didn't drive him insane with inane arguments about the scientific soundness of engineering principles in Star Trek, like Dawn's assistant. He would have throttled the bloke by now. With a brief pang of sympathy for Dawn, Spike went back to work.
15minuteficlets — word #74: natural
Part of the Rome!verse, the London!verse and the Wolf&Declán!verse