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.]
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