(Untitled)

[faithful_slayer]

The battle was a massacre - short, bloody, and utterly one-sided. At the end of it, the ground was soaked with demonic blood, the Senior Partners were locked up in a pocket dimension that would hold them for years, and none of the army of Slayers on the field had so much as a bruise

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[rebelheartalien]

Michael has a picture of Faith, acquired from Max. He has an idea of what he needs to do to Walk her, though he's never done it quite like this before. And he's ready to begin.

He sits on his bed in the palace, holding the photo. And he concentrates, until he sees the image ripple.

And then he's asleep.

[faithful_slayer]

She's waiting for him.

Hard to say why, or how she knew to be.

But she's there, in the middle of a field of dead bodies, perched on top of one of the corpses and using a machete to cut her hair.

She's also naked, and her eyes, when she looks at him, seem not to want to pick a color.

It's a little confused in her head right, say sorry.

[rebelheartalien]

He doesn't look at the corpses. He's keeping his eyes on her face. It's not difficult - her eyes are drawing his attention.

"Hey, Faith."

[faithful_slayer]

She raises her hand, briefly, in acknowledgement.

"Hey, Schmoopypants."

[faithful_slayer]

Faith does not know how to deal with this.

Somebody, deep in her subconscious, does, however.

Which is probably why Faith's eyes are hazel when she says "Oh god, not this again."

[faithful_slayer]

"Hi."

The hazel eyes darken, to something closer to Faith's.

"Are you you, or are you me?"

[watcher_g_man]

Giles is standing there somewhere in the middle of a vast desert landscape, or is it him? Briefly his features shift to other forms, a man in Victorian clothes, a woman in 1930s attire, a young man attired as a Roman citizen, another in Chinese robes, and finally an African shaman gazing back angrily, his walking stick with charms shaking in rage.

Giles reappears, but his voices echoed oddly with thousands of years of Watchers, of time and history.

"Slayer..."

[faithful_slayer]

Faith's eyes are yellow, when she replies, and her voice contains thousands.

"Shaman."

She does not fear him.

[watcher_g_man]

"You presume much... You betrayed us." An answering voice of thousands.

"There has always been one. One girl in a generation, given the power, the sacred duty."

[faithful_slayer]

She laughs, cold and bitter.

"We betrayed you? When you forced this duty upon us, never giving any choice, and slaughtered all those who did not do as you wished? No, Shaman, the betrayal is not ours, but yours."

[balletrat]

*This particular person can't, of course.

That doesn't mean there's not a version of her running around in Faith's subconscious, though. She's insidious like that.*

[faithful_slayer]

She is. Sneaky and insidious like her tutus.

That's probably why Faith's wearing one.

Though given that at least one of the people in her brain has dances in the past, maybe not.

[balletrat]

It suits you, *Meg says, approvingly. She looks like she's just come from a performance; full stage makeup and massive amounts of ruffles.*

Now if you'd only practice -

[faithful_slayer]

Somebody, at least, in Faith's head, has been a dancer.

There are pirouettes, and grand jêtés, leaps and twirls as polished and perfect as any of Meg's have ever been.

Faith is not in control, just now.

[creator_raven]

Sometimes accidentally.

But Raven enjoys travelling; he craves it, sometimes, and parts of him are very concerned with his mental well being.

And so in her dreams there might be a bird who is a woman who is a man who is a child who is a stone who is clay who is space who is change who is--

There.

[faithful_slayer]

She is many people, just now. All of them young, all of them female, and all mortal - but none entirely human, and no two exactly the same.

For him, her eyes are yellow - and because he is Raven, a carrion bird, her mental landscape is a battlefield.

"Lots of eyeballs to steal, here."

[creator_raven]

"This is very true. Although they are not as nice as bouncy-balls, perhaps. Not here, at any rate."

He shrugs.

"It is an expected thing, that."

[faithful_slayer]

"I haven't had a bouncy ball in ages."

Her voice is a little wistful, now, and young.

"Not since before I was Chosen."