la_champions: Wake me up inside
It always starts out the same -- big, beautiful, bright day, the stuff they make postcards to Florida with, me in some girly outfit I'd never be caught dead in, and him bearing that great big friendly smile and feeding me more of his Norman Rockefeller do-gooder talk. Funny that a guy so evil could have so many fucking morals. Really takes a girl for a ride when a guy tells you to eat your greens and if you kill a college professor, you'll get a brand new shiny weapon. The guy's a serious trip, but man, if I'm not crazy about him. Something nags at me, tellin' me he's dust under B's self-righteous stake, but I take what I can get. Girl's gotta eat, right?
We're sitting outside today, not in a park like the usual deal, but out on the balcony of the pad he gave me. Man, I'll always remember that day. I knew the guy was loaded but damn, how many evil folks set their right hand man up with their own private pad? Thought that maybe he just wanted a place away from the office to get down and dirty with me, but turns out? Wilkins wasn't into all that Lolita crap. He was the real deal, a total class act. There wasn't gonna be any trips under my non-existent skirts. He knew I was willing to spread 'em too, but he never pushed, never made a move. When you're used to every guy you meet wanting in your pants, it's a real trip to meet a man that makes good on his squeaky clean image. He didn't even take a peak down my cleavage. Now there's a boy with restraint.
He's dressed down today, clad in a powder blue button down top and a casual pair of khakis. You know, he's kind of cute for an old dude. When he's not workin' the suited politician look, he ain't so bad on the eyes. For once, I'm lacking the dress and in a simple pair of cut off shorts and a white tank. I grin down at myself, totally digging the image I've got working in my favor today. My legs are rockin' a major tan and I'm looking seriously hot with the revealing way these duds are hugging each and every one of my curves. Boss man's got to be crazy not to notice what a good looking chick I am.
"Beautiful day, wouldn't you say so Faith?" he asks suddenly, breaking me out of the lusty thoughts I was having. Man, you know you're in desperate need of a lay when middle aged men start looking tasty.
"It's alright," I drawl out with a lazy smile as I look up at the sky. No sun today, just some fierce looking storm clouds hanging out in the sky. "Looks like rain."
"Ah yes," he replies, still grinning a mile wide as a single raindrop falls from the sky and hits the cement floor. "But nothing will ever rain on our parade, Faith. Just you remember that. Even when you walk off into that sunset, you'll always be my girl. Nothing will ever change that."
He motions towards the horizon and I frown. Was this some kind of death metaphor? Walking off into the sunset always seems to spell out something ending. Works that way in the movies, anyway. Nobody ever starts their journey at sunset, you know? Always gotta end it there. It's all about that circle or life thing or something. Got that much from that lame Disney flick about jungle animals.
"Now, now, pretty girl, don't you frown," he scolds and I instantly stiffen. Sucks to actually care enough about someone to try to make good on their wishes, you know? So much easier when it was all about me. "Our time here may be ending, but your days are just beginning."
My head snaps up and I eye him warily. Huh? Was I actually gettin' out of this never-ending cycle of the holier-than-thou bitch Buffy killing me over and over again? It all starts to make sense in this messed up head of mine. Man, remind me that alcohol really *does* kill brain cells when I get out of this this place -- Hell, dreamland, whatever. I know it ain't Heaven, 'cause if it was, me and B would be screwing each other's pants off in some cheap 5 dollar motel room because we all know little miss perfect would never take me home to mom. I've come to think of it as a sort of limbo between dimensions in a matrix-y kind of way. I know Wilkins took the door downstairs, so maybe I've been good enough here to make up for all the bad. Fat fucking chance, but a girl can dream right? Not that I'm into the whole good girl thing, I'd just rather not burn, you know?
"No Buffy?" I ask, doin' a full 360 to check for the usual scenario. B always shows up around now. So far, no sign of Blondie. I gotta breathe out a sigh of relief at that fact. A girl can only be gutted so many times before it starts getting real old like some goddamned played out record stuck on repeat. "She always comes 'round right about now."
"Just you and me, Faithy," he smiles, coming around to put his hands on my shoulder so we're face-to-face. "This is your big day. Make me proud." He pauses for a tick to check the time. He's got one of those wicked expensive looking watches snapped around his wrist. Bet you anything it's a real gold band. These political types always get a hard on from showing off their riches. Makes up for the lack of something better elsewhere. "Well, time's a wasting. You have places to be, things to do. I wouldn't want to cause you be late with my silly talk, because gosh darnit, it's not good manners and I taught you better than that."
You know, I'm really gonna miss this guy when I'm out of here. Man, I hate to admit it, but the urge to shed a few tears is pretty damn severe and I might not be able to keep up the tough girl charade while saying farewell. I just don't get it. Why does B get the mom, the watcher, and all the little Scooby friends when I don't get jack? I finally get a guy, a good guy that actually gives a damn about me, and he gets taken away from me like everybody else in my life! First my watcher, now him.
Screw this. I don't need a damned Oprah moment ruining this for me. If I'm gonna go out, I'm goin' out with a bang. I won't let him down this time.
"I'll make it up to you," I promise, my body practically shaking with the utter determination pumping through my veins and giving me purpose again. "When I get out of here, Buffy's going down. No more playing around. She'll pay."
"There's my girl," he exclaims proudly, sending good vibes up and down my spine at the pride I see in his eyes for me. "Now get on out of here. It's time to finish the job we started. No loose ends."
I nod fiercely in reply as the scene changes before my eyes. Last thing I see is Wilkins smiling down at me with that familiar twinkle in his eyes before it all turns white. I blink, trying to get a handle on the blinding flash of light that don't seem to be letting up. Everything's blurry at first and I feel like I'm swimming under water. Dammit, if my vision's shot, I'm gonna be seriously pissed off. Can't exactly screw with B's life if I'm a half-blind slayer, you know?
A few more blinks and I'm seeing crystal clear again. The monitors serve up as one big obvious clue as to where I've been hanging for... however long it's been. Nothing gives the time frame away so I focus on me for the time being. Last thing I remember is gettin' this wicked knife wound to the gut and free failing from a couple of stories high building.
Man, I can't believe I'm alive after all that. I mean, the gut wound? No big. People have survived worse. Hell, I've survived worse than that. But the roof dive? Not many people can get up and walk away from a fall like that. There's no sign of a fight on me, so I figure I've been here long enough to heal. Not even a bandage on my gut or nothing. Guess that means Buffy didn't feed me to her undead boytoy after all. If I'm here, that's gotta mean one thing -- Angel's dust. I'd feel bad, but damn, that was kind of my intention in the first place. That, or it'd just be really, really funny to watch Buffy suffer while her boy took a slow road to a permanent death. Boss said the stuff works like a charm but it takes time. Works more on the slow and excruciating and less on the quick and painless.
It only takes about five minutes for me to realize that I'm all alone down here. I'm not really into sitting tight and waiting for something to happen, so I make quick work of the IVs stuck up in me and take the bod for a test drive. I step down onto the ground with bare feet. I've seen enough flicks about folks in comas to know about a little thing where lying flat on your back usually ends up meaning your muscles go slack and walking's a no-go 'till you build it back up. Lucky for me, slayers don't seem play by the same rules as other bed-ridden coma patients. My legs are sturdy as ever and the second I'm up and on my feet, I get a serious rush of adrenaline rolling through my body and making my blood shoot hot through my veins again. I'm chalking it up to bloodlust. I can't wait to see the look on everybody's faces when they get a load of me living it large in their world again. B's gonna freak!
I feel this weird itch in my brain once I'm out and about in the hospital hallways. Something tells me that I gotta get out of here and fast. Man, I almost forgot about how slamming my criminal record must be by now, what with the killings and all. Wilkin's might've given me a clean slate.... but with Buffy and the council goons? I got a feeling I'm in a whole lot of trouble, faked record or not. Bet you anything the cops'll be hot on my trail the second word of my wake up gets out. Guess that just means this'll have to be a quick revenge and then I'm bailing down to Mexico like any other fugitive on the run. Girl's gotta give chase, you know? I'm not ready to spend the rest of my young life in an 8 by 10 cell with the big Bertha types breathin' down my neck.
We're sitting outside today, not in a park like the usual deal, but out on the balcony of the pad he gave me. Man, I'll always remember that day. I knew the guy was loaded but damn, how many evil folks set their right hand man up with their own private pad? Thought that maybe he just wanted a place away from the office to get down and dirty with me, but turns out? Wilkins wasn't into all that Lolita crap. He was the real deal, a total class act. There wasn't gonna be any trips under my non-existent skirts. He knew I was willing to spread 'em too, but he never pushed, never made a move. When you're used to every guy you meet wanting in your pants, it's a real trip to meet a man that makes good on his squeaky clean image. He didn't even take a peak down my cleavage. Now there's a boy with restraint.
He's dressed down today, clad in a powder blue button down top and a casual pair of khakis. You know, he's kind of cute for an old dude. When he's not workin' the suited politician look, he ain't so bad on the eyes. For once, I'm lacking the dress and in a simple pair of cut off shorts and a white tank. I grin down at myself, totally digging the image I've got working in my favor today. My legs are rockin' a major tan and I'm looking seriously hot with the revealing way these duds are hugging each and every one of my curves. Boss man's got to be crazy not to notice what a good looking chick I am.
"Beautiful day, wouldn't you say so Faith?" he asks suddenly, breaking me out of the lusty thoughts I was having. Man, you know you're in desperate need of a lay when middle aged men start looking tasty.
"It's alright," I drawl out with a lazy smile as I look up at the sky. No sun today, just some fierce looking storm clouds hanging out in the sky. "Looks like rain."
"Ah yes," he replies, still grinning a mile wide as a single raindrop falls from the sky and hits the cement floor. "But nothing will ever rain on our parade, Faith. Just you remember that. Even when you walk off into that sunset, you'll always be my girl. Nothing will ever change that."
He motions towards the horizon and I frown. Was this some kind of death metaphor? Walking off into the sunset always seems to spell out something ending. Works that way in the movies, anyway. Nobody ever starts their journey at sunset, you know? Always gotta end it there. It's all about that circle or life thing or something. Got that much from that lame Disney flick about jungle animals.
"Now, now, pretty girl, don't you frown," he scolds and I instantly stiffen. Sucks to actually care enough about someone to try to make good on their wishes, you know? So much easier when it was all about me. "Our time here may be ending, but your days are just beginning."
My head snaps up and I eye him warily. Huh? Was I actually gettin' out of this never-ending cycle of the holier-than-thou bitch Buffy killing me over and over again? It all starts to make sense in this messed up head of mine. Man, remind me that alcohol really *does* kill brain cells when I get out of this this place -- Hell, dreamland, whatever. I know it ain't Heaven, 'cause if it was, me and B would be screwing each other's pants off in some cheap 5 dollar motel room because we all know little miss perfect would never take me home to mom. I've come to think of it as a sort of limbo between dimensions in a matrix-y kind of way. I know Wilkins took the door downstairs, so maybe I've been good enough here to make up for all the bad. Fat fucking chance, but a girl can dream right? Not that I'm into the whole good girl thing, I'd just rather not burn, you know?
"No Buffy?" I ask, doin' a full 360 to check for the usual scenario. B always shows up around now. So far, no sign of Blondie. I gotta breathe out a sigh of relief at that fact. A girl can only be gutted so many times before it starts getting real old like some goddamned played out record stuck on repeat. "She always comes 'round right about now."
"Just you and me, Faithy," he smiles, coming around to put his hands on my shoulder so we're face-to-face. "This is your big day. Make me proud." He pauses for a tick to check the time. He's got one of those wicked expensive looking watches snapped around his wrist. Bet you anything it's a real gold band. These political types always get a hard on from showing off their riches. Makes up for the lack of something better elsewhere. "Well, time's a wasting. You have places to be, things to do. I wouldn't want to cause you be late with my silly talk, because gosh darnit, it's not good manners and I taught you better than that."
You know, I'm really gonna miss this guy when I'm out of here. Man, I hate to admit it, but the urge to shed a few tears is pretty damn severe and I might not be able to keep up the tough girl charade while saying farewell. I just don't get it. Why does B get the mom, the watcher, and all the little Scooby friends when I don't get jack? I finally get a guy, a good guy that actually gives a damn about me, and he gets taken away from me like everybody else in my life! First my watcher, now him.
Screw this. I don't need a damned Oprah moment ruining this for me. If I'm gonna go out, I'm goin' out with a bang. I won't let him down this time.
"I'll make it up to you," I promise, my body practically shaking with the utter determination pumping through my veins and giving me purpose again. "When I get out of here, Buffy's going down. No more playing around. She'll pay."
"There's my girl," he exclaims proudly, sending good vibes up and down my spine at the pride I see in his eyes for me. "Now get on out of here. It's time to finish the job we started. No loose ends."
I nod fiercely in reply as the scene changes before my eyes. Last thing I see is Wilkins smiling down at me with that familiar twinkle in his eyes before it all turns white. I blink, trying to get a handle on the blinding flash of light that don't seem to be letting up. Everything's blurry at first and I feel like I'm swimming under water. Dammit, if my vision's shot, I'm gonna be seriously pissed off. Can't exactly screw with B's life if I'm a half-blind slayer, you know?
A few more blinks and I'm seeing crystal clear again. The monitors serve up as one big obvious clue as to where I've been hanging for... however long it's been. Nothing gives the time frame away so I focus on me for the time being. Last thing I remember is gettin' this wicked knife wound to the gut and free failing from a couple of stories high building.
Man, I can't believe I'm alive after all that. I mean, the gut wound? No big. People have survived worse. Hell, I've survived worse than that. But the roof dive? Not many people can get up and walk away from a fall like that. There's no sign of a fight on me, so I figure I've been here long enough to heal. Not even a bandage on my gut or nothing. Guess that means Buffy didn't feed me to her undead boytoy after all. If I'm here, that's gotta mean one thing -- Angel's dust. I'd feel bad, but damn, that was kind of my intention in the first place. That, or it'd just be really, really funny to watch Buffy suffer while her boy took a slow road to a permanent death. Boss said the stuff works like a charm but it takes time. Works more on the slow and excruciating and less on the quick and painless.
It only takes about five minutes for me to realize that I'm all alone down here. I'm not really into sitting tight and waiting for something to happen, so I make quick work of the IVs stuck up in me and take the bod for a test drive. I step down onto the ground with bare feet. I've seen enough flicks about folks in comas to know about a little thing where lying flat on your back usually ends up meaning your muscles go slack and walking's a no-go 'till you build it back up. Lucky for me, slayers don't seem play by the same rules as other bed-ridden coma patients. My legs are sturdy as ever and the second I'm up and on my feet, I get a serious rush of adrenaline rolling through my body and making my blood shoot hot through my veins again. I'm chalking it up to bloodlust. I can't wait to see the look on everybody's faces when they get a load of me living it large in their world again. B's gonna freak!
I feel this weird itch in my brain once I'm out and about in the hospital hallways. Something tells me that I gotta get out of here and fast. Man, I almost forgot about how slamming my criminal record must be by now, what with the killings and all. Wilkin's might've given me a clean slate.... but with Buffy and the council goons? I got a feeling I'm in a whole lot of trouble, faked record or not. Bet you anything the cops'll be hot on my trail the second word of my wake up gets out. Guess that just means this'll have to be a quick revenge and then I'm bailing down to Mexico like any other fugitive on the run. Girl's gotta give chase, you know? I'm not ready to spend the rest of my young life in an 8 by 10 cell with the big Bertha types breathin' down my neck.