She smiles at the kiss, leaning into it a little. "It really does," she says wryly. Too bad she can't get it in the waking world - though dream summer is better than nothing. It feels real.
"Uh, they're--" is as far as she gets before Spike starts to reach for one, and the shock of it cuts her short. Categorically speaking, charms aren't for vampires - or not for their benefit, anyway. They're nowhere near on par with a ward, say, but since they're generally well-meaning, and vampires generally aren't - and since nothing here is on the same level as Con's Tasteless Cabinet of Surprisingly High-Quality Curios - Sunshine isn't sure how any of them would take to being... handled... by a vampire. Even a vampire lite. Oh, gods, what if it combusts or something? She would have warned him, if it had occurred to her that any vampire would casually reach for a charm in the first place.
It doesn't combust. But it does twitch in Spike's grasp, and let out a high-pitched trill of objection that makes her wince. "... Charms," she finishes, touching Spike's arm. "You might... not want to touch them." They seem pretty well secured to their displays, and none of them should be that live, yet. But if Spike is vampire enough to set them off, they might decide to collectively do something stupid, anyway.
She slides her free arm around his waist and leans against him, like a nonverbal apology for the feathered whammy's rude behavior. "They're sort of... well, they're not wards. Wards are to charms what an elite private security detail is to, like, one of those little fluffy dogs that thinks it's big. They're mostly for things like... not getting lost on the way home from school, or keeping your milk fresh for a week past its expiration date. They like to be helpful." She looks up at Spike with a faint, sheepish smile. "They're not super bright, generally speaking. But I think they can tell you're a vampire." She speaks the last word in a conspiratorial undertone, mostly so the salesperson won't overhear it and start getting twitchy and shrieky, too.
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"Uh, they're--" is as far as she gets before Spike starts to reach for one, and the shock of it cuts her short. Categorically speaking, charms aren't for vampires - or not for their benefit, anyway. They're nowhere near on par with a ward, say, but since they're generally well-meaning, and vampires generally aren't - and since nothing here is on the same level as Con's Tasteless Cabinet of Surprisingly High-Quality Curios - Sunshine isn't sure how any of them would take to being... handled... by a vampire. Even a vampire lite. Oh, gods, what if it combusts or something? She would have warned him, if it had occurred to her that any vampire would casually reach for a charm in the first place.
It doesn't combust. But it does twitch in Spike's grasp, and let out a high-pitched trill of objection that makes her wince. "... Charms," she finishes, touching Spike's arm. "You might... not want to touch them." They seem pretty well secured to their displays, and none of them should be that live, yet. But if Spike is vampire enough to set them off, they might decide to collectively do something stupid, anyway.
She slides her free arm around his waist and leans against him, like a nonverbal apology for the feathered whammy's rude behavior. "They're sort of... well, they're not wards. Wards are to charms what an elite private security detail is to, like, one of those little fluffy dogs that thinks it's big. They're mostly for things like... not getting lost on the way home from school, or keeping your milk fresh for a week past its expiration date. They like to be helpful." She looks up at Spike with a faint, sheepish smile. "They're not super bright, generally speaking. But I think they can tell you're a vampire." She speaks the last word in a conspiratorial undertone, mostly so the salesperson won't overhear it and start getting twitchy and shrieky, too.