voice + action ✪ there must be some way to bring the hero home

[herotypical]

[ after a week of agonizing combat, buffy summers returns home with only exhaustion on her mind. despite all the excitement and crisis, there's little left to do other than collapse onto her bed and fall into a sleep fit for a weary, worn-out soul. morning sees her feeling no less -- shudder -- zombieish. the horror of the last week is bone-and-marrow deep and has yet to fully make itself known in her system. the slayer is running on auxillery humanity, stringing herself along from second to second until she can find a friendly face. find willow and...

and all she finds is an empty room. an empty closet. empty drawers. her best friend is gone. deported while she wasn't even looking. come the afternoon, after she's gotten the first onslaught of emotions out of her system, buffy sits alone on the empty bed. she addresses her journal: ]

Willow and I have this game we like to play. Willow Rosenberg. She was in town...but now she's not. [ a pause allows buffy to catch her breath. to stay strong. ] We call it 'Anywhere But Here' -- self-explanatory, really. Pick a fantasty-elsewhere to be and a fantasy-someone to share it with. I'm not talking about the obvious ones: home or family or anything even remotely whiffing of responsibility. I'm talking about fun. I'm talking about pure escapism. I'm talking Daniel Craig on the beach or Amy Yip at the waterpark.

I'll go first. Show you how it's done. [ but which escape route from reality should she take? ] The '88 Winter Olympics. The Saddledome. Calgary, of all places. Brian Boitano is taking the time to personally skate me through his gold medal routine. Perhaps there's hot chocolate involved. I, being made entirely of my own imagination, copy each move perfectly.

Got it? Good. Because now it's your turn.

[ when her broken little tribute to an absent friend is finished, she'll be searching out her injured pirate (wherever he may be convalescing) and it's off to good spirits, where she can be found working a shift behind the bar. ]

Comments

[Voice]

[herotypical]

Hey. You don't know yet if I will be. Fingers crossed?

I have a shift tonight. Check for the blonde behind the bar.

[Voice]

[asthehawkflies]

I'll do that. I think I could use a drink right now anyway.

[Voice > Action]

[herotypical]

You and half the freaking bubble.

[ but -- because it's her job -- she'll be there. waiting on people. scrubbing down the bar. chatting with some familiar face. ]

[Voice > Action]

[asthehawkflies]

Amen.

[He hadn't been lying when he'd said that he needed a drink. He's sent off a few messages to people to join him and turns up later that evening and heads to the bar.]

Buffy Summers?

[herotypical]

[ ...

silently, she stares at him. stares hard. she knew a man, once, with this face. but that man was long gone. but the last draft had her thinking on him often and-- ]

S-sorry. Is that you, Clint?

[ she lowers the glass she had previously been cleaning. ]

[asthehawkflies]

[Oh hell. He recognises that look, that recognition because he's seen Adele wear it when she forgets who he is.]

Yeah. That's me.

[he looks away, a slightly bitter smile on his lips.]

Let me guess, you knew a guy who looked just like me?

[herotypical]

Casual friends. It's impossible not to meet just about everyone who comes through this place, if they're of drinking age.

[ clint also happens to be the face-twin of one of her vampire ex-boyfriend's tormented victims, but luckily she never had the chance to meet that guy... ]

[asthehawkflies]

I guess so. You're not the first person to have that reaction.

[First he's apparently dead in one universe, now his face twin is a vampire.]

[herotypical]

And you're not the first person to suffer it. It's a common misfortune, in this parts. Sorry for the wigging.

[asthehawkflies]

So I'm gathering. And don't worry about it. I think that was a fairly restrained reaction.

[herotypical]

At this point? Very little surprises me. I'm afraid.

[ a pause. ] Can I get you something?

[asthehawkflies]

I thought that too, but things have been getting weirder by the week, even before I got here.

Um, a beer?

[herotypical]

Will an IPA do? Or are you not a hophead?

[ she reaches for a mug. ]

[asthehawkflies]

It's fine with me. I'm at the point where I'm just glad for a drink that won't kill me.

[herotypical]

Y-yeah. I promise. Our drinks? Not diseased. Or infected in anyway. Except possibly with deliciousness.

[asthehawkflies]

Oh well, I think my immune system can hold up to deliciousness.

[herotypical]

[ she pops the cap on a fine ipa with a bare hand, draining the bottle into a tall mug and handing it over once the froth settles. ]

Enjoy. Someone ought to.

[asthehawkflies]

[He gives a slightly impressed look when she pops the cap without an opener. Stronger than she looks then.]

Thanks.

[He takes a swig.]

Good stuff. Cheers.

[herotypical]

Is it? [ she's pleased. ] I'm not much of a drinker, myself. Ironic. I know.

[asthehawkflies]

Yeah. It's good.

[He smiles slightly.]

I don't drink often myself, but I think if there's ever a time to drink, then it's now.

[herotypical]

After--?

[ a beat. a breath. ] Y-yeah. Probably.

[asthehawkflies]

Not everyday I'm conscripted to fight the undead.

[He smiles, a wry, somewhat bitter expression.]

Not an experience I'm in a rush to repeat.

[herotypical]

Technically? These guys...were not the undead. [ a wry, buffyesque delivery. ] But otherwise? That is my everyday. Conscription and all.

[asthehawkflies]

Oh well, if we're talking about technicalities...

[He grins and takes a sip of the beer, giving her an interested look.]

So, you regularly fight zombie hordes?

[herotypical]

...Vampires. Another kind of undead menace.