Pubs. They were the same pretty much everywhere on earth. There wasn’t much difference between the Americans or the British ones. Except for the beer, they had real beer here. Not that it mattered to me, I stuck to my whiskey. They were the same dingy smoke filled far to small dark places where people came to bemoan their sorrows.
Odd how those were the same everywhere as well. The significant other, the weather and some sports game. I envied those people in their simplicity. I wished my biggest concern was about whether or not I would be able to pay the next bill. I actually vaguely remember that kind of life. Of course I also hunted demons on the side, so staying alive had been my main worry then.
Staying alive. I wonder if I’d known then what I know now… I might’ve let some demon kill me long before.
The small pub was filled with smoke, making me wonder about taking up smoking. What’s the worse it could do to me? Kill me? I actually had to snort at that thought, sipping my whiskey. My second, or third, could be my fourth. I stopped counting years back. Long before… before hell. Hell on earth.
I was sitting, minding my own business, hiding in the shadows. Didn’t mean I was going unnoticed at it appeared. Narrowing my eyes, I gave the woman before me a once over and took another slow drink. Obviously she has a disadvantage over me, and I didn’t like it one bit. “Depends on who wants to know,” I murmured with a gravely voice.
"Depends on who wants to know." Which made sense, actually. Especially when I was looking at a man far removed from the Wyndam-Pryce I'd seen so long ago. I took the seat in front of him and knocked the rest of my drink back.
"First," I said. "Let's just say it's good that you are already sitting down..." I poured myself another glass from the bottle I'd gotten and took a sip. Good stuff. I licked my lips and took a deep breath.
"As to who wants to know...that would be Dian Ramsey." There. Bomb dropped. Ball in his court and all that. In the meantime, I took another drink. Or two.
It's good thing I'm sitting down? Why? And where does she come of pouring herself a drink from *my* bottle? Do I look like the salvation army? The way she stood there and the way she said 'it's a good thing you're sitting down' was almost as though she was expecting me to be what...? Falling down?
I've already fallen. I've fallen so many times you'd think I'd know better by now and stay on the floor. The last time I fell right out of hell. I doubt there was anything she could tell me that would shock me.
Sipping my drink I watched her as she actually braced herself, taking a deep breath and everything before getting the news out. Dramatic pause and everything. I was actually expecting a drum roll or a flash of lighting before she told me who she was and was disappointed when there was nothing of the kind.
You can say what you want, but her timing is good.
I stared at her after the Big News, my eyebrow raised dryly. Apparently I was supposed to be impressed, but other then another vague familiar ring the name didn't mean much to me at all. I lifted my glass and shrugged at her.
Well, that wasn't the response I'd expected, but the difference was refreshing. Then I realized that I'd poured myself a drink from his bottle instead of mine. "Ah. Sorry about stealing your drink. Feel free to help yourself to my bottle when you need a refill."
I glanced around at the rest of the pub for a moment. So many people. Like the estate, only not so full of teenage girls. A relief, that. I took another drink and glanced back at him.
"Your apathy is actually refreshing," I said. I'd been a completely different sort than he had been back then. Not surprising I didn't ring a bloody gong.
"Used to be a Watcher. Not that means much at the moment." I shrugged, looking out at the rest of the patrons again.
Glancing at the bottle, mine, I shrugged again. My ribs reminded me that wasn't gesture I should be attempting to much yet. Faith, I reminded myself as I flexed my still swollen jaw, certainly could pack a punch. Then again, she is a Slayer, wasn't the first time she'd done that to me. Wasn't nearly as bad as the last time.
Sitting back in my chair I watched her sit down at my table, wondering what it was she wanted from me. Who was this woman anyway? Wasn't it clear from my 'aphetic' attitude that I'd like to be left alone? Apathy. I'm guessing that's an apt word to describe what I feel now, am now. Not that I cared much, or at all. Oh wait, that's what the whole apathy is about isn't.
"Was?" I said, even though it sounded like a question, it really wasn't. Pouring myself another drink I spend a very, very brief thought on how I *was* a watcher before dismissing that idea. Past, one shouldn't dwell on it. And yet...I can't seem to be able to let go.
"Got fired? I take it you're thinking of going back to the Council of wankers, since you mentioned 'at the moment'," I observed. Why on gods green earth would anyone want to go back there is beyond me. For one, Rupert Giles was leading it and...alright, that was my biggest obstacle. That and the fact that being a Watcher held little to no meaning to me these days.
"Not terribly soon, if I do. I'm not really in any condition to do much of anything for them except take up space and drink any liquor they have lying about." I took another drink and continued. "I am living at that estate of theirs at the moment, though. Needed to get out - place is crawling with teenage girls. One at a time, I could deal with. Swarms...calls for extra alcohol until I get used to it."
I tapped a finger on the rim of my glass and thought about the other question. "Probably could have got myself fired, if I'd had long enough. Travers was a royal fuck-up and I'd have called him on it eventually." I took another drink.
"Instead, I had a rather nasty run in with a vampire. Nasty here meaning very unpleasant way of dying..."
She's actually thinking of returning to that? Well, she can't have been that bad. In fact if she had been that bad, I'd have heard of her. It's not as though I've not seen look on the faces of the older watchers still around. I'm not a fool. I'm aware they're not thinking 'my goodness, Wyndam-Pryce is alive? Roger must be so thrilled'. No, it would be more along the lines of 'Bugger, I thought he was dead'.
I'm guessing she's still trying to deal with the whole a hundred, maybe thousand girls chosen in every generation. "I stayed at the estate to, for a little while," I observe, sipping my drinks. "Didn't see anyone but people in white coats though. But I must say the cells have certainly improved since the last time I was here. You actually get a blanket now."
Sarcasm, such a lovely defense mechanism.
I wince at her choice of words, however true it may be. You'd think someone like myself would be used to such language, but that's one word I have never seen the use of. No matter how true in this case, Travers is dead, I'm not wasting any time on him. I have enough to deal with.
"Hmm," I nod when she tells me she died. Why am I not surprised. What does surprise me is the spark I feel inside me. If she's back and I'm back, then others may as well. Angel, or Spike or... What about Fred? "Dying is usually a very unpleasant experience on an average. So, did you go to hell as well?" I ask, trying not to think of the possibilities her being alive as well may provide. I knock down my drink and don't waste any time pouring another.
Oh. He'd been dead too, then. Must have thought he was a demon, perhaps, to put him in a cell. "Damn, I've got a lot of catching up to do as far as events go...nearly panicked when I met a new Slayer..." I poured myself another drink, but was content enough for the moment just to look at it.
"And as much as I might have expected to end up in hell...I didn't. Place I ended up was a paradise to everyone there but me." I took a swig of whiskey tapped my finger against the glass. "The agreement I came back on gave me my own private hell in my dreams, though. Relive my death every time I fall asleep. So I don't sleep when I can help it, and enough whiskey keeps off the dreams a little. Not much, but a little." I raised my glass at the bottles. "Bloody Kakistos..." I murmured under my breath.
I glanced at him. "I take it your experience was far, far worse."
Kakistos? Now that rings a bell, though I have yet to find where the sound is coming from. Something about Faith? Maybe I should drink less. On the other hand, maybe I should drink more. Things make so much more sense when I’m utterly pissed up to the gills with whiskey or some such. Not that Faith was amused by this, but that wasn’t my problem.
“Paradise huh? I‘m sorry to hear that it didn‘t work out for you. ” Fred would’ve been in paradise, I’m sure of it. If it weren’t for the fact that her soul had been shattered. Alright, not thinking about Fred and paradise. Let’s get another drink or two, three, the whole bottle as per usual.
“I’m with you on the sleeping thing, it’s overrated anyway,” I agree with her, raising my glass in a silent salute. Everytime I close my eyes, there’s either Fred dying or my friends accusing me of…whatever they can. Sleep is so very overrated.
“Worse?” I pause at that, pondering it for a moment. “Depends on your point of view,” I shrug, a wince flitting over my face. “I find that watching the woman I love die over and over again while standing around helpless far, far worse then getting flayed, mauled, burned or any other imaginable painful death inflicted upon you ever hour on the hour personally.”
Sipping my drink, I look at her thoughtfully, taking in her appearance. It’s nice to have someone who doesn’t walk on eggshells around me for a change. “Or not knowing what is real and what isn’t,” I confess in a whisper, “wondering if you’re still in hell and they’ll reveal the clue of today’s torture at any given moment. You don't find yourself having that experience?”
I took another drink and frowned. "Left someone behind...abandoned, really, if you ask me, and I couldn't live in a place with people who were happy all the time when I felt horrible. Only the bastards running the place didn't bother to tell me that time was slower there. Thought I'd been gone two weeks at most. Huh. Closer to nine or ten years than weeks."
He had to watch...I felt myself paling. "Oh God...I...don't imagine the pain that would cause...bad enough getting carved open having your heart ripped out...that's a whole different kind of heart ripping."
I nodded slowly and said softly, "In a way. The first moments I wake up from the dream I have to make sure I've still got a heart..." I sighed. "Hangovers are my most prominent reminders of being alive. That and...seeing certain people when I venture out of my room."
"Having done both, I prefer getting carved open and having my heart ripped out," I agreed. If anyone were to hear us talk right we'd be into the mental institution so fast we'd barely have time to blink our ours. Although, considering the place we're in, they'd probably cast it off as drunk ramblings. Actually, I'm not sure if this wasn't just that.
"Anyway, I don't wish that on my worse enemy if I had any. It's...." Not something you'll ever get past, you'll ever get over, you'll ever forget. I can still feel her in my arms, pleading me Why can't I stay? and there was nothing, *nothing* I could do. Giving myself a mental shake, I tore out of my ponderings and focused on this...Dian Ramsey once more. The first person, I have to say, I didn't feel the need to strangle. Aside from Faith that is.
"Hmmm," I nodded at her assessment when she woke up. Seems the way I feel. That is if I wake up normally and how often did that happen? I'm guessing it's the same for... wait a moment. Heart ripped out, nine to ten years ago? Dian Ramsey. Narrowing my eyes, I looked at her, pointing my glass in her general direction.
"Say, Miss Ramsey, who's watcher were you? If you don't mind me asking."
"I must say I would not want to deal with the other," I said. If Faith died...I was not going to think about that right now.
I grinned faintly as finished off my drink again. The bells were beginning to ring, it seemed. I refilled my glass - making sure to use my own bottle - and looked at him.
"Faith Lehane. Who I still find it hard to think of as an adult, thus far. Part of me will always see her as sixteen, I think..." I sighed and stared at my glass.
Faith. Well. What a small world we do live in? Then again, if I'd have wanted anyone to show up back alive again... She wouldn't have been my first choice. Come to think of it, and this may sound harsh, she wouldn't have even crossed my mind. Of course I didn't really know her, although she seems to know me.
"Really?" I said with a slight slur. The whiskey is starting to go to my head. Nice. Only took me a bottle and a half so it's about bloody time. I don't sit here drinking because it's such fun.
"Well," I continued, holding up my glass to her. "Let me salute you from one Faith watcher to another. Though, I have to admit I rather like her the way she is now, even if she does seem to take great pleasure in knocking me unconscious still."
"Tell me," I added bitterly, alcohol starting to influence my way of thinking. "Did she do the whole tying one to a chair and going through the five basic torture groups for fun routine with you as well?" A black page I the history of one Faith Lehane and one Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. One neither of us will ever forget, but I hope we learned form it. I think I have, if I could think that is.
I choked on my drink and sputtered a bit. "They replaced me with you? I beg you pardon, as you've obviously come a long way now, but what I knew of you from before I went to America...you were vampire fodder without a controlled situation." I poured myself another drink and gulped it down. "Council was more insane than I thought..."
It took a moment for what he said about torture to register, and at first I just stared at him. My God. What had Faith been through to lead her to that. And what, if anything, had he done to provoke her.
"...no, she didn't. I obviously missed out on some rather...life altering events of hers...damn it, I knew I should have come back sooner..." I could have stopped it, whatever had happened. Faith was my girl, my Slayer. I sighed. Heavy emphasis on "was". Past tense. No more.
"Not that it's worth much...but I'm sorry you had to go through that."
If it had been years ago, I'd have bristled at those words. It helped to realize that since she was Council raised, she had been the same at one point. I *know* Giles had been when he first started at Buffy's watcher. I've heard the stories.
"The Council of Wankers has been insane since some old coots got up with their walkers and declared themselves gods," I shrugged, wincing when my ribs once again protested. Yes, Faith still packed quite a punch. Didn't help that she'd been thinking I was a demon.
"Obviously," I agreed dryly, sipping my drink and noticing my glass was empty. Well. Damn. We can't have that, now can we? Absolutely not.
Topping up -- alright, filling up my glass..ess? Hmm, there seem to be two glasses. I sighed at her words though, them coming from a stranger not meaning very much. "Thank you, you're the first one who is, so obviously everyone else was of the opinion I deserved it. Anyway, it's in the past, where I wish I would've stayed." Dead. Though, dead and not in hell would've been nice. Dead and nothing else, *that* would've been nice. I don't think I could've been happy in para--
"Pardon, what did you say? *Come back* sooner? You had a choice?"
I nodded. "Once I annoyed them enough with my demands to see whoever was running the bloody place, yes. I don't think they get that very often, and I don't think they liked the idea very much."
I held up my left hand to show him my palm...and blinked at it, as the edges seemed rather...fuzzy. "Signed in blood. Got back the memory of my death - with a vengeance, I might add - scars from what...Kakistos did t'me, and half the rest of my life knocked off for good measure." I took another drink, very tempted to just swig from the bottle already.
"Some people seem to think that's a rather...bad deal, but it got me back, and she's alive, and that was all that mattered. But I made things awkward and now I don't know what to do with myself. Besides drink. Whiskey," I said. "Is my friend."
Odd how those were the same everywhere as well. The significant other, the weather and some sports game. I envied those people in their simplicity. I wished my biggest concern was about whether or not I would be able to pay the next bill. I actually vaguely remember that kind of life. Of course I also hunted demons on the side, so staying alive had been my main worry then.
Staying alive. I wonder if I’d known then what I know now… I might’ve let some demon kill me long before.
The small pub was filled with smoke, making me wonder about taking up smoking. What’s the worse it could do to me? Kill me? I actually had to snort at that thought, sipping my whiskey. My second, or third, could be my fourth. I stopped counting years back. Long before… before hell. Hell on earth.
I was sitting, minding my own business, hiding in the shadows. Didn’t mean I was going unnoticed at it appeared. Narrowing my eyes, I gave the woman before me a once over and took another slow drink. Obviously she has a disadvantage over me, and I didn’t like it one bit. “Depends on who wants to know,” I murmured with a gravely voice.
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"First," I said. "Let's just say it's good that you are already sitting down..." I poured myself another glass from the bottle I'd gotten and took a sip. Good stuff. I licked my lips and took a deep breath.
"As to who wants to know...that would be Dian Ramsey." There. Bomb dropped. Ball in his court and all that. In the meantime, I took another drink. Or two.
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I've already fallen. I've fallen so many times you'd think I'd know better by now and stay on the floor. The last time I fell right out of hell. I doubt there was anything she could tell me that would shock me.
Sipping my drink I watched her as she actually braced herself, taking a deep breath and everything before getting the news out. Dramatic pause and everything. I was actually expecting a drum roll or a flash of lighting before she told me who she was and was disappointed when there was nothing of the kind.
You can say what you want, but her timing is good.
I stared at her after the Big News, my eyebrow raised dryly. Apparently I was supposed to be impressed, but other then another vague familiar ring the name didn't mean much to me at all. I lifted my glass and shrugged at her.
"Good for you? Hooray?" What?
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I glanced around at the rest of the pub for a moment. So many people. Like the estate, only not so full of teenage girls. A relief, that. I took another drink and glanced back at him.
"Your apathy is actually refreshing," I said. I'd been a completely different sort than he had been back then. Not surprising I didn't ring a bloody gong.
"Used to be a Watcher. Not that means much at the moment." I shrugged, looking out at the rest of the patrons again.
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Sitting back in my chair I watched her sit down at my table, wondering what it was she wanted from me. Who was this woman anyway? Wasn't it clear from my 'aphetic' attitude that I'd like to be left alone? Apathy. I'm guessing that's an apt word to describe what I feel now, am now. Not that I cared much, or at all. Oh wait, that's what the whole apathy is about isn't.
"Was?" I said, even though it sounded like a question, it really wasn't. Pouring myself another drink I spend a very, very brief thought on how I *was* a watcher before dismissing that idea. Past, one shouldn't dwell on it. And yet...I can't seem to be able to let go.
"Got fired? I take it you're thinking of going back to the Council of wankers, since you mentioned 'at the moment'," I observed. Why on gods green earth would anyone want to go back there is beyond me. For one, Rupert Giles was leading it and...alright, that was my biggest obstacle. That and the fact that being a Watcher held little to no meaning to me these days.
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I tapped a finger on the rim of my glass and thought about the other question. "Probably could have got myself fired, if I'd had long enough. Travers was a royal fuck-up and I'd have called him on it eventually." I took another drink.
"Instead, I had a rather nasty run in with a vampire. Nasty here meaning very unpleasant way of dying..."
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I'm guessing she's still trying to deal with the whole a hundred, maybe thousand girls chosen in every generation. "I stayed at the estate to, for a little while," I observe, sipping my drinks. "Didn't see anyone but people in white coats though. But I must say the cells have certainly improved since the last time I was here. You actually get a blanket now."
Sarcasm, such a lovely defense mechanism.
I wince at her choice of words, however true it may be. You'd think someone like myself would be used to such language, but that's one word I have never seen the use of. No matter how true in this case, Travers is dead, I'm not wasting any time on him. I have enough to deal with.
"Hmm," I nod when she tells me she died. Why am I not surprised. What does surprise me is the spark I feel inside me. If she's back and I'm back, then others may as well. Angel, or Spike or... What about Fred? "Dying is usually a very unpleasant experience on an average. So, did you go to hell as well?" I ask, trying not to think of the possibilities her being alive as well may provide. I knock down my drink and don't waste any time pouring another.
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"And as much as I might have expected to end up in hell...I didn't. Place I ended up was a paradise to everyone there but me." I took a swig of whiskey tapped my finger against the glass. "The agreement I came back on gave me my own private hell in my dreams, though. Relive my death every time I fall asleep. So I don't sleep when I can help it, and enough whiskey keeps off the dreams a little. Not much, but a little." I raised my glass at the bottles. "Bloody Kakistos..." I murmured under my breath.
I glanced at him. "I take it your experience was far, far worse."
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“Paradise huh? I‘m sorry to hear that it didn‘t work out for you. ” Fred would’ve been in paradise, I’m sure of it. If it weren’t for the fact that her soul had been shattered. Alright, not thinking about Fred and paradise. Let’s get another drink or two, three, the whole bottle as per usual.
“I’m with you on the sleeping thing, it’s overrated anyway,” I agree with her, raising my glass in a silent salute. Everytime I close my eyes, there’s either Fred dying or my friends accusing me of…whatever they can. Sleep is so very overrated.
“Worse?” I pause at that, pondering it for a moment. “Depends on your point of view,” I shrug, a wince flitting over my face. “I find that watching the woman I love die over and over again while standing around helpless far, far worse then getting flayed, mauled, burned or any other imaginable painful death inflicted upon you ever hour on the hour personally.”
Sipping my drink, I look at her thoughtfully, taking in her appearance. It’s nice to have someone who doesn’t walk on eggshells around me for a change. “Or not knowing what is real and what isn’t,” I confess in a whisper, “wondering if you’re still in hell and they’ll reveal the clue of today’s torture at any given moment. You don't find yourself having that experience?”
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He had to watch...I felt myself paling. "Oh God...I...don't imagine the pain that would cause...bad enough getting carved open having your heart ripped out...that's a whole different kind of heart ripping."
I nodded slowly and said softly, "In a way. The first moments I wake up from the dream I have to make sure I've still got a heart..." I sighed. "Hangovers are my most prominent reminders of being alive. That and...seeing certain people when I venture out of my room."
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"Anyway, I don't wish that on my worse enemy if I had any. It's...." Not something you'll ever get past, you'll ever get over, you'll ever forget. I can still feel her in my arms, pleading me Why can't I stay? and there was nothing, *nothing* I could do. Giving myself a mental shake, I tore out of my ponderings and focused on this...Dian Ramsey once more. The first person, I have to say, I didn't feel the need to strangle. Aside from Faith that is.
"Hmmm," I nodded at her assessment when she woke up. Seems the way I feel. That is if I wake up normally and how often did that happen? I'm guessing it's the same for... wait a moment. Heart ripped out, nine to ten years ago? Dian Ramsey. Narrowing my eyes, I looked at her, pointing my glass in her general direction.
"Say, Miss Ramsey, who's watcher were you? If you don't mind me asking."
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I grinned faintly as finished off my drink again. The bells were beginning to ring, it seemed. I refilled my glass - making sure to use my own bottle - and looked at him.
"Faith Lehane. Who I still find it hard to think of as an adult, thus far. Part of me will always see her as sixteen, I think..." I sighed and stared at my glass.
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"Really?" I said with a slight slur. The whiskey is starting to go to my head. Nice. Only took me a bottle and a half so it's about bloody time. I don't sit here drinking because it's such fun.
"Well," I continued, holding up my glass to her. "Let me salute you from one Faith watcher to another. Though, I have to admit I rather like her the way she is now, even if she does seem to take great pleasure in knocking me unconscious still."
"Tell me," I added bitterly, alcohol starting to influence my way of thinking. "Did she do the whole tying one to a chair and going through the five basic torture groups for fun routine with you as well?" A black page I the history of one Faith Lehane and one Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. One neither of us will ever forget, but I hope we learned form it. I think I have, if I could think that is.
Definately liking Faith so much better now.
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It took a moment for what he said about torture to register, and at first I just stared at him. My God. What had Faith been through to lead her to that. And what, if anything, had he done to provoke her.
"...no, she didn't. I obviously missed out on some rather...life altering events of hers...damn it, I knew I should have come back sooner..." I could have stopped it, whatever had happened. Faith was my girl, my Slayer. I sighed. Heavy emphasis on "was". Past tense. No more.
"Not that it's worth much...but I'm sorry you had to go through that."
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"The Council of Wankers has been insane since some old coots got up with their walkers and declared themselves gods," I shrugged, wincing when my ribs once again protested. Yes, Faith still packed quite a punch. Didn't help that she'd been thinking I was a demon.
"Obviously," I agreed dryly, sipping my drink and noticing my glass was empty. Well. Damn. We can't have that, now can we? Absolutely not.
Topping up -- alright, filling up my glass..ess? Hmm, there seem to be two glasses. I sighed at her words though, them coming from a stranger not meaning very much. "Thank you, you're the first one who is, so obviously everyone else was of the opinion I deserved it. Anyway, it's in the past, where I wish I would've stayed." Dead. Though, dead and not in hell would've been nice. Dead and nothing else, *that* would've been nice. I don't think I could've been happy in para--
"Pardon, what did you say? *Come back* sooner? You had a choice?"
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I held up my left hand to show him my palm...and blinked at it, as the edges seemed rather...fuzzy. "Signed in blood. Got back the memory of my death - with a vengeance, I might add - scars from what...Kakistos did t'me, and half the rest of my life knocked off for good measure." I took another drink, very tempted to just swig from the bottle already.
"Some people seem to think that's a rather...bad deal, but it got me back, and she's alive, and that was all that mattered. But I made things awkward and now I don't know what to do with myself. Besides drink. Whiskey," I said. "Is my friend."
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