One moment, he'd been yelling at Angel for having trapped him in the ridiculous situation of haunting Wolfram and Hart (never mind that Angel had probably had nothing to do with it), and the next he'd found here. Wherever that was, and Spike wasn't sure he liked it any better. For one thing, suddenly appearing places seldom boded well. For another, he'd been building up a good head of steam and he didn't know anyone here and fucking with them might be fun, but it would never achieve the transcendent glory of fucking with Angel.

But then, he'd realized that he was actually there. As in, could touch things. And pick them up. He was, in fact, still in this phase of rediscovery. Touching walls. Picking up salt shakers (at least he assumed that's what they were, it was hard to say). And eating anything at all he could find, just because he could. He'd worry about blood later. Right now, any sensation was a novelty.