✝ 001 ; open } { when they finally come to destroy the earth, they'll have to go through you first
Buffy Summers is an unstoppable force that has yet to meet an immovable object.
There is a part of her, a small prideful part that thinks that she could just smash through the immovable object and continue to be that unstoppable force, but for the most part, she knows that she just hasn’t met that object yet. It isn’t the Master, and it isn’t the First, and it certainly isn’t whoever this Twilight guy is. Big Bads may try as they might, but it took more than their quest for power to bring a Slayer down. She is made of tougher stuff-always had been, always would be.
That immovable object, sadly, isn’t Willow Rosenberg either.
She warns her. She grips the scythe in her hand and tells her that if Willow doesn’t step aside that Buffy will, in fact, go through her. Willow doesn’t seem to care-Willow, her rock and her best friend, wants her to tear through her in order to let Buffy get back to where she belongs, and Buffy doesn’t understand why. She’ll never understand why it had to be her-but she does it anyway. It doesn’t take much-one motion for the stabbing, and then a quick press up, before she is tossing her body to the side and diving head first into the portal.
Then there’s nothing but pain. Traveling through time isn’t an easy thing, and it doesn’t look to be getting better anytime soon. Add to that the fact that she had to kill someone to do it, and Buffy is not in the best emotional place at the moment, which might have lead to the semi-wrong turn she took that landed her wherever here is.
This is not Manhattan.
This isn’t even creepy future Manhattan, where she just had to kill her best friend, even if she wasn’t exactly her best friend anymore.
Buffy tucks and rolls as she lands on the streets of Chicago, clutching her scythe in one hand, and trying not to freak out. In fact don’tfreakoutdon’tfreakoutdon’tfreakout is the mantra playing in her head, but this is not where she’s supposed to be. The place itself seems harmless enough, but she knows better than anyone that looks can be decieving. She’s alone, in a strange place, and there is probably something, somewhere, that was going to come and try and get her.
Bring it on, freaky city of doom. Bring it on.
There is a part of her, a small prideful part that thinks that she could just smash through the immovable object and continue to be that unstoppable force, but for the most part, she knows that she just hasn’t met that object yet. It isn’t the Master, and it isn’t the First, and it certainly isn’t whoever this Twilight guy is. Big Bads may try as they might, but it took more than their quest for power to bring a Slayer down. She is made of tougher stuff-always had been, always would be.
That immovable object, sadly, isn’t Willow Rosenberg either.
She warns her. She grips the scythe in her hand and tells her that if Willow doesn’t step aside that Buffy will, in fact, go through her. Willow doesn’t seem to care-Willow, her rock and her best friend, wants her to tear through her in order to let Buffy get back to where she belongs, and Buffy doesn’t understand why. She’ll never understand why it had to be her-but she does it anyway. It doesn’t take much-one motion for the stabbing, and then a quick press up, before she is tossing her body to the side and diving head first into the portal.
Then there’s nothing but pain. Traveling through time isn’t an easy thing, and it doesn’t look to be getting better anytime soon. Add to that the fact that she had to kill someone to do it, and Buffy is not in the best emotional place at the moment, which might have lead to the semi-wrong turn she took that landed her wherever here is.
This is not Manhattan.
This isn’t even creepy future Manhattan, where she just had to kill her best friend, even if she wasn’t exactly her best friend anymore.
Buffy tucks and rolls as she lands on the streets of Chicago, clutching her scythe in one hand, and trying not to freak out. In fact don’tfreakoutdon’tfreakoutdon’tfreakout is the mantra playing in her head, but this is not where she’s supposed to be. The place itself seems harmless enough, but she knows better than anyone that looks can be decieving. She’s alone, in a strange place, and there is probably something, somewhere, that was going to come and try and get her.
Bring it on, freaky city of doom. Bring it on.