Faith Lehane (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
want_take_have) wrote2012-11-21 01:42 am
want_take_have) wrote2012-11-21 01:42 am
004 - If you say you want a player, then I'll be good to go
[For a few weeks, Luceti had seemed almost...promising.
The draft had been more than a little horrific, but that was oddly comforting, really. Felt like home, monsters and hellmouths and all...though she could have done without the power drainage. And finding out that there were folks in the enclosure who weren't aiming for puritanical denial had given her hope for finally making a go of it. But the draft was quickly done (and lost). She was avoiding Ivan, determined to keep it at a one-night-stand. And then everyone started talking holidays.
Thanksgiving. Right. 'Cause they had all sorts of things to be grateful for, being kidnapped and locked up.
Training at the Battle Dome wasn't taking the edge off, and there weren't any missions active enough for her liking and, without Drusilla around, patrolling was weak sauce. All of which meant she was in a worse mood than usual. But she never was a dwelling and moping kind of girl. No...much better to keep moving. And if she couldn't skip town, well...she'd deal with it in other ways.
So, tonight, she'd ditched her usual jean jacket and t-shirt and dressed for a night on the town as she heads into Cloud Nine. Tonight, she wants a drink, a dance, and a distraction.
Late in the night, after a few drinks and when she slips outside for a cigarette, she flips open her journal to actually address anyone who is still awake]
Y'know...there's something creepy about a place with no crime. I mean, hey...the warm and fuzzies are great, so long's there's no experiments going on. But c'mon. Someone around here's gotta want to act out, sometimes. Punch things. Curse. Screw someone. [she paused to take a slow drag and blow the smoke out, watching it billow and curl before it disappeared in the night air.]
Being here, sometimes, is like getting dropped into a purgatory full of boyscouts. [from her tone, that isn't a compliment. On the road to righteousness or not, someone is bored.]
The draft had been more than a little horrific, but that was oddly comforting, really. Felt like home, monsters and hellmouths and all...though she could have done without the power drainage. And finding out that there were folks in the enclosure who weren't aiming for puritanical denial had given her hope for finally making a go of it. But the draft was quickly done (and lost). She was avoiding Ivan, determined to keep it at a one-night-stand. And then everyone started talking holidays.
Thanksgiving. Right. 'Cause they had all sorts of things to be grateful for, being kidnapped and locked up.
Training at the Battle Dome wasn't taking the edge off, and there weren't any missions active enough for her liking and, without Drusilla around, patrolling was weak sauce. All of which meant she was in a worse mood than usual. But she never was a dwelling and moping kind of girl. No...much better to keep moving. And if she couldn't skip town, well...she'd deal with it in other ways.
So, tonight, she'd ditched her usual jean jacket and t-shirt and dressed for a night on the town as she heads into Cloud Nine. Tonight, she wants a drink, a dance, and a distraction.
Late in the night, after a few drinks and when she slips outside for a cigarette, she flips open her journal to actually address anyone who is still awake]
Y'know...there's something creepy about a place with no crime. I mean, hey...the warm and fuzzies are great, so long's there's no experiments going on. But c'mon. Someone around here's gotta want to act out, sometimes. Punch things. Curse. Screw someone. [she paused to take a slow drag and blow the smoke out, watching it billow and curl before it disappeared in the night air.]
Being here, sometimes, is like getting dropped into a purgatory full of boyscouts. [from her tone, that isn't a compliment. On the road to righteousness or not, someone is bored.]
no subject
There's an automatic twinge of guilt which she shrugs off.] I'm not wishing. Just...
bored. I'm thinking there's a reason I never stuck around small towns.
no subject
25% Filtered to Buffy.
Searchin' the woodwork's not really my thing.
[she hesitated before switching to a weak filter]
I'm not gonna start anything. I'm not looking for that. [it's important that Buffy knows that]
But sitting around like this-
I'm going crazy, B.
[ filtered 25% ]
[ she would have thought that drusilla's absence would make her feel...happier. safer.
but she's just more uncertain than ever. ] Or just wait until it's nearly your fourth year itch instead of your...how many months has it been, now?
[ filtered 25% ]
Seriously...what's the point it grabbing a couple of Slayers if they ain't going to give us something to do?
[ filtered 25% ]
[ it's so wrong. it's so very wrong. but her recent and utter dissatisfaction actually has her functioning a level where she can speak candidly with faith.
because faith, at least, understands. the frustration that came without fulfilling that basic, built-in function. the thumping heart and the dreams. ]
[ filtered 25% ]
[though there's some hesitation in it. Monsters she could handle. Infected people were something else entirely.]
[ filtered 25% ]
[ she trails off. playing sponsor for faith once again is not where she wants to find herself. and yet, it adequately fulfils the hypocritical to-do list: tell faith she can be more than what she is while not believing it about yourself. ]