(no subject)
Faith, despite what most would believe, preferred to have a comfortable working station. Luxurious frivolity wasn't necessary, however, when training and working out, the more adequate a space, the better. Or at least that had been her opinion, since learning she would need a place to do such things.
Kate had given her basic training, of course. But it hadn't been in depth, a test of her strengths. It hadn't been a challenge. So, needless to say, it would do little to prepare her for what she assumed her new Watcher would throw at her. A harder task to accomplish. Though it was beyond even her grasp, she couldn't help but search for the answer to a recurring question amongst her mental debates-- was she hoping to gain skill in battle or his respect ?
Maybe it was both. Though one of the two obviously disturbed her more. She'd been a loner for so long, even with the grace period of Kate, it was hard to imagine putting that much trust into another human being. People, as a whole, were capable of error, sometimes resulting in death. Not just their own. The worry wasn't over Wesley doing something intentional or not to guide harm to her. It was her being distracted by having someone else to look after. Protect.
He wasn't green when it came to demon activity or the mystical world, of course. But he wasn't a Slayer. He would never possess the eloquence for violence, the drive of the kill, the heat of victory, the sensation of simply owning that power. Not the way she did. Not the way she knew Buffy did, even though she was cross country and the two had never met.
Hours after she had left his apartment last, a thought had struck her, hollow in its meaning before even being completed. Perhaps it wasn't the hypothetical threat of physical danger she resented. He had made it clear that he was staying on board as her Watcher, no matter how much either of them disliked the idea or the Council for causing such a situation. But he was distant from her. If she could feel it, an apprentice in emotional connections, he surely must. He was purposely refusing to get close to her. She assumed it was directly linked to whatever he had done to land him this not so cushy gig. Beyond that, there was only blurrier speculation.
Four days, she kept her distance, intentionally avoiding him. Changing her schedule, her sidestops throughout the day and night. Allowing them both a bit of room after their violent coming together and allowing her to do what she wished with her soon to be training room. He was the smarts and she was the brute strength. And strength was good for laboring.
During those days, she had recruited the closest things to friends she could label. Someone who owed her a favor, or someone who simply wanted to hang out. Her crowd was for the most part mellow. They all enjoyed rowdiness when the need called, but drugs, liquor and alcohol were big factors to mood and agenda. So, cleaning an entire floor of space posed little threat to her determination when Rocco was hyped up from six lines of coke, or Angie was in a goofy, jittery drunk zone.
A few fixer up places in the wall and ceiling, courtesy of a few so-called handy men and she'd slapped on the coat of paint by herself. Basic white, as she wanted to avoid argument from Wesley on proper color schemes, etc. where training was concerned. The other floors remained in cobwebbed distress and dustball battles, but this one piece. . it was for her. A haven amidst chaos.
It was on the fourth day, in the afternoon, as to ensure that he had gotten his sleep this time, that she found herself on the corner nearby the warehouses at a payphone. Having not long ago finished the before mentioned paint job, she didn't bother with trying to remove the white smudges now. She'd wait for her shower. Picking up the receiver and sliding in her money, she dialed a now memorized phone number and waited through the rings for a familiar, scolding tone.
[ Sorry if that was too long for you, I got carried away. Also, wasn't exactly sure where you wanted to jump next so I figured this was a safe place for most possibilities-- be it the training, or if you wanted to bring the Council in soon as well. Anyway, if something's off lemme know. ]
Kate had given her basic training, of course. But it hadn't been in depth, a test of her strengths. It hadn't been a challenge. So, needless to say, it would do little to prepare her for what she assumed her new Watcher would throw at her. A harder task to accomplish. Though it was beyond even her grasp, she couldn't help but search for the answer to a recurring question amongst her mental debates-- was she hoping to gain skill in battle or his respect ?
Maybe it was both. Though one of the two obviously disturbed her more. She'd been a loner for so long, even with the grace period of Kate, it was hard to imagine putting that much trust into another human being. People, as a whole, were capable of error, sometimes resulting in death. Not just their own. The worry wasn't over Wesley doing something intentional or not to guide harm to her. It was her being distracted by having someone else to look after. Protect.
He wasn't green when it came to demon activity or the mystical world, of course. But he wasn't a Slayer. He would never possess the eloquence for violence, the drive of the kill, the heat of victory, the sensation of simply owning that power. Not the way she did. Not the way she knew Buffy did, even though she was cross country and the two had never met.
Hours after she had left his apartment last, a thought had struck her, hollow in its meaning before even being completed. Perhaps it wasn't the hypothetical threat of physical danger she resented. He had made it clear that he was staying on board as her Watcher, no matter how much either of them disliked the idea or the Council for causing such a situation. But he was distant from her. If she could feel it, an apprentice in emotional connections, he surely must. He was purposely refusing to get close to her. She assumed it was directly linked to whatever he had done to land him this not so cushy gig. Beyond that, there was only blurrier speculation.
Four days, she kept her distance, intentionally avoiding him. Changing her schedule, her sidestops throughout the day and night. Allowing them both a bit of room after their violent coming together and allowing her to do what she wished with her soon to be training room. He was the smarts and she was the brute strength. And strength was good for laboring.
During those days, she had recruited the closest things to friends she could label. Someone who owed her a favor, or someone who simply wanted to hang out. Her crowd was for the most part mellow. They all enjoyed rowdiness when the need called, but drugs, liquor and alcohol were big factors to mood and agenda. So, cleaning an entire floor of space posed little threat to her determination when Rocco was hyped up from six lines of coke, or Angie was in a goofy, jittery drunk zone.
A few fixer up places in the wall and ceiling, courtesy of a few so-called handy men and she'd slapped on the coat of paint by herself. Basic white, as she wanted to avoid argument from Wesley on proper color schemes, etc. where training was concerned. The other floors remained in cobwebbed distress and dustball battles, but this one piece. . it was for her. A haven amidst chaos.
It was on the fourth day, in the afternoon, as to ensure that he had gotten his sleep this time, that she found herself on the corner nearby the warehouses at a payphone. Having not long ago finished the before mentioned paint job, she didn't bother with trying to remove the white smudges now. She'd wait for her shower. Picking up the receiver and sliding in her money, she dialed a now memorized phone number and waited through the rings for a familiar, scolding tone.
[ Sorry if that was too long for you, I got carried away. Also, wasn't exactly sure where you wanted to jump next so I figured this was a safe place for most possibilities-- be it the training, or if you wanted to bring the Council in soon as well. Anyway, if something's off lemme know. ]