First update, la di frickin' da.
Figured this journal thing might be a good idea to help keep my thoughts straigh. God knows everything else went to hell in a fast car.
First off, the last time I was on Earth That Was, the way everyone around here calls it, was about three months ago. The last 'great battle' or something, back in the fight for good ol' Sunny-D.
And I was about to get gutted when I blinked, and the next thing I knew, I was facedown in a warehouse, chokin' on dust.
If you figure that pissed me off, you're right. I don't like being yanked out of a fight, even less when it seems like I'm winning.
I got my explanation a few minutes later. The big PTBs apparently yanked me five hundred gorram - I did not just say that. I am not starting to talk like these cowboy wannabes out here - years into the future. The Slayer line would have ended right then if they hadn't.
Which means B's dead. All her little Slayers in Training. Xander, Willow, Wesley. Angel, probably, even though I've been trying like hell to track him down, since I figure if anyone's around. The world I used to know went kablooey, everyone around here speaks frickin' Chinese most of the time, it's been three months, and nothing's sunk in yet.
Except I'm alive, and I'm planning on staying that way.
I keep taking on freelance jobs here in the Core, picking up on information, acting as a go-between, whatever I can do to pick up food and a place to crash. Keeping my ear to the ground, though, because first chance I have to get out of Ariel, I'm taking it. The government around here's a little too Big Brother for my tastes, and I always get claustrophobic, staying in one place too long.
I've heard rumors about transport ships that take on passengers, so I'm saving up to see if I can latch on there. Got a few contacts who promise to slip me the word whenever one of them docks.
But...and I hate writing this...
I'm wigged. More than anything, I want to go back home. Except it doesn't exist anymore, and there doesn't seem to be a real call for Slaying around here.
If I'm not the Slayer, then who am I?
and you don't wanna be here in the future
so you say "the present's just a pleasant interruption from the past"
and you don't wanna look much closer
'cause you're afraid to find out all this hope you sent into the sky had crashed
and it did
afraid to find out you're alone
Christ, enough whining. I've got boxes to haul. And if that one son of a bitch on the dock tries to grab my ass again, I'm yanking off his arm and beating him to death with it.
First off, the last time I was on Earth That Was, the way everyone around here calls it, was about three months ago. The last 'great battle' or something, back in the fight for good ol' Sunny-D.
And I was about to get gutted when I blinked, and the next thing I knew, I was facedown in a warehouse, chokin' on dust.
If you figure that pissed me off, you're right. I don't like being yanked out of a fight, even less when it seems like I'm winning.
I got my explanation a few minutes later. The big PTBs apparently yanked me five hundred gorram - I did not just say that. I am not starting to talk like these cowboy wannabes out here - years into the future. The Slayer line would have ended right then if they hadn't.
Which means B's dead. All her little Slayers in Training. Xander, Willow, Wesley. Angel, probably, even though I've been trying like hell to track him down, since I figure if anyone's around. The world I used to know went kablooey, everyone around here speaks frickin' Chinese most of the time, it's been three months, and nothing's sunk in yet.
Except I'm alive, and I'm planning on staying that way.
I keep taking on freelance jobs here in the Core, picking up on information, acting as a go-between, whatever I can do to pick up food and a place to crash. Keeping my ear to the ground, though, because first chance I have to get out of Ariel, I'm taking it. The government around here's a little too Big Brother for my tastes, and I always get claustrophobic, staying in one place too long.
I've heard rumors about transport ships that take on passengers, so I'm saving up to see if I can latch on there. Got a few contacts who promise to slip me the word whenever one of them docks.
But...and I hate writing this...
I'm wigged. More than anything, I want to go back home. Except it doesn't exist anymore, and there doesn't seem to be a real call for Slaying around here.
If I'm not the Slayer, then who am I?
and you don't wanna be here in the future
so you say "the present's just a pleasant interruption from the past"
and you don't wanna look much closer
'cause you're afraid to find out all this hope you sent into the sky had crashed
and it did
afraid to find out you're alone
Christ, enough whining. I've got boxes to haul. And if that one son of a bitch on the dock tries to grab my ass again, I'm yanking off his arm and beating him to death with it.