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]
[voice]
[except...]
How hard's the programming thing?
[voice]
[voice]
[Buffy again.] Buffy. She go there a lot?
[voice]
[voice]
[....oops]
With the whos who this place's got, there's gotta be all kinds of things there, I guess.
[voice]
[voice]
[voice]
[But she says this with a sarcastic sort of tone]