Faith Lehane (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
want_take_have) wrote2012-05-15 08:33 pm
want_take_have) wrote2012-05-15 08:33 pm
001 - Every time that I wake it's like I only wake into a dream
[she dreamt of a picnic.
Mayor Wilkins was there. Happy. Whole. Cracking his stupid, corny jokes that should have made her roll her eyes...except they didn't. There was a nagging sense of deja vu, like she'd seen this before and it hadn't ended well, but they finished their meal and he talked with her and...nothing happened. It was perfect.
She was content enough that she laid back on the grass and closed her eyes, just enjoying the breeze against her face and the fact that, for once, she didn't have to be on edge.
When she woke, she could still feel the hint of that breeze. An illusion, of course. Something left over from her imagination, because you didn't get wind in prison cells. She kept her eyes closed though, trying to pretend, because she wasn't quite ready to let it go...except there was a dull ache between her shoulder blades that wouldn't let her fully relax. Finally, she swore, grit her teeth, and opened her eyes-
...And stared.
It takes a few minutes of quietly freaking out before she finds the journal, and a few more before she gets ahold of herself enough to attempt to use it. She was from Sunnydale...She could handle screwed up. She'd figure it out as she went. Right?
When she actually speaks, she sounds pretty chill, especially to anyone who doesn't know what she sounds like when she's wigged.]
So...not saying I totally buy the whole "this is real" thing, 'cause this is all kinds of messed up...but pretending I did...where's a girl gotta go to get a hard drink around here?
[because she really, really needed one]
Mayor Wilkins was there. Happy. Whole. Cracking his stupid, corny jokes that should have made her roll her eyes...except they didn't. There was a nagging sense of deja vu, like she'd seen this before and it hadn't ended well, but they finished their meal and he talked with her and...nothing happened. It was perfect.
She was content enough that she laid back on the grass and closed her eyes, just enjoying the breeze against her face and the fact that, for once, she didn't have to be on edge.
When she woke, she could still feel the hint of that breeze. An illusion, of course. Something left over from her imagination, because you didn't get wind in prison cells. She kept her eyes closed though, trying to pretend, because she wasn't quite ready to let it go...except there was a dull ache between her shoulder blades that wouldn't let her fully relax. Finally, she swore, grit her teeth, and opened her eyes-
...And stared.
It takes a few minutes of quietly freaking out before she finds the journal, and a few more before she gets ahold of herself enough to attempt to use it. She was from Sunnydale...She could handle screwed up. She'd figure it out as she went. Right?
When she actually speaks, she sounds pretty chill, especially to anyone who doesn't know what she sounds like when she's wigged.]
So...not saying I totally buy the whole "this is real" thing, 'cause this is all kinds of messed up...but pretending I did...where's a girl gotta go to get a hard drink around here?
[because she really, really needed one]
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[Okay, so maybe deep down, Amelia is starting to have a little fun at Faith's expense. A little. It's still true though.]
Humans didn't start off on Gunsmoke. They crashed there a century and a half ago. I'm descended from them.
By the way, people come from different times too. Even ones you know.
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Yeah...I heard something about that.
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[It's not really a question, after the look Faith just got.]
From your future or your past?
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...I guess. [she shrugs] And she ain't really the lying type.
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[Which had left Amelia with some unwanted knowledge.]
You supposedly don't remember anything from here when you go home, which means you can't change anything. In case you want to ask them not to tell you anything about what happens.
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So what's the point in playing mix 'n match with history? They just trying to fuck with us?
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It's about as likely as anything else. For everything that seems good in this place, there's a reminder that it's really not. No one starves or dies of thirst, but everyone gets experimented on or kidnapped or sent off to fight in a war.
[Amelia hesitates, considering, before she offers a bit more carefully.]
Or you get here and meet people you care about, only to learn they're dead.
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Sounds like home.
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Like home? You don't get to call me crazy if that's the case.
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...'Least, I'm pretty sure not.
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[Yeah, she's mostly joking. But still, Faith's got something of a double standard if people not actually being dead when they should be is normal.]
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Hey, maybe I missed the day in school where they talked about little green men. I'm just sayin' it's weird.
[moving among the racks, she begins to leaf through items, looking for something tolerable]
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[By the way, Amelia doesn't technically know she's an alien. But she's getting a bit bored with just standing around, so she moves to another rack.]
What sort of clothes do you wear?
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...they got anything leather?
[though she's picking out jeans and tank tops, too. Maybe even going a bit overboard. It's been ages since she could wear a decent outfit.] Nothing orange.
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[Although she has seen some oddly shaped people in her life. Generally though, Amelia's clueless enough to just gloss over it.]
Probably. Are you looking for pants, or a skirt? [Hey, it's not like Amelia minds. She still comes to this store on a fairly regular basis. It's one of the things she likes about not having to be ready to travel on a moment's notice: having a closet.]
Why not orange? [Not that it's a color Amelia cares for, but she might as well ask.]
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[she holds up a shirt, considering] Pants. Gotta be able to move. And it just ain't good with my complexion.
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[Amelia nods in appreciation of the choice--both of them, really. For as hard as she is, there are still some feminine things Amelia goes for, right down to the beaded tassel hanging from the butt of her riffle.
She picks up a pair of black jeans--not leather, but she's working her way there. Holding it up, she looks between them and Faith, trying to decide if they look like they're fit.]
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...Bet the nightlife sucks around here, too.
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It can get pretty routine sometimes. [Which can be good or bad, depending on if the Malnosso have been acting up.] If you're used to a lot of noise, that'll be hard to adjust to. It's usually quiet.