buffy anne summers (
herotypical) wrote2012-11-01 11:22 am
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voice + action ✪ there must be some way to bring the hero home
[ 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. ]
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. ]
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"Oh. She's....she's betrayed him..."
He hadn't seen THAT coming. It was telling.
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Ah. The expected and anticipated and thrill-packed train roof scene. She'd seen it a dozen times before -- with Joyce, with Dawn, with Xander, with Willow. Willow always shut her eyes.
Buffy never could. So instead she moved from kissing his hand to nibbling anxiously on the edge of Jack's thumb.
"Surprising difficult to do, that. Jump and grab hold of a helicopter," she muttered.
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He would. If Ethan Hunt could live through that, then Jack could...
"Cinema of the Caribbean?!"
And then the music played. Bum bum BUM BUM bum bum BUM BUM bum bum BUM BUM.
"He goes to the Caribbean?!"
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Now and again, she turned her head -- temporarily abandoning the gnaw-work on his thumb -- to not so much kiss his forehead but to simply press her lips against his skin. Almost kisses. Small blessings, perhaps. Gratitude crumbs.
"But the second one's more...Australia-based."
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"...Anyway. Spies work for governments and I can't really see that as your bag, hun."
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And here they were, both serving an organization of sorts with little choice in the matter.
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She downed the rest of her coffee in one anxious swallow. "I don't know about kings and corporations, but the American government? Can't really be trusted to deal with demons. The head of the Initiative didn't even believe I existed."
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"Sounds safer that way -- for a slayer not to be believed in."
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With a sigh, she picked an unpopped kernel off his shirt. "Not that...I mean, they never tried...I was treated much better than the demons, I can assure you."
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Because .... demons.
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Bad choice in words. Buffy dropped her chin against Jack's shoulder. "Werewolves, for example. And others are harmless. Friendly, even."
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1/2
"Oz's a mostly good egg." She knew she ought to hold a grudge for what had happened with Veruca, but Willow had forgiven him. So too could Buffy. And..."Always let us borrow his van when we needed wheels. And he was so good for..."
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"He didn't hold it against you. Heck, swap the rifle out for a tranq gun and even I've shot him a few times..."
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A shrug. She wrapped her arms around him.
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"Not easy to be a wolf, then," was the quiet reply.
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But she wanted to think it was to keep him safe, too. "He didn't ask to be what he became, but people still turned their noses up. 'Oh,' someone said once. 'Didn't think Willow was that kind of girl.'
It was awful."
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