[closed] //take a breath take a step meet me down below
Who: AU!Dawn Summers girl_unlocking & Jay Todd jaytodd
When: Soon after this conversation.
Where: What's passing for where Jason calls home these days.
Format: However it goes. Probably paragraph.
What: The forge violates Jay's brain, Dawn offers to sit watch with an axe so he can (maybe) sleep.
Warnings: Angst, language, possible violence? God knows what? It's probably all fair game unless it isn't.
The threat's no longer imminent, (Well, it might be, but that threat's something else, Dawnie.) so she figures the least she can do is grab her jeans.
Sorry, Anatole. No dinosaur print for you.
She almost leaves her jacket, but what the hell - it's part of the ~ensemble~ - and it kind of matches the axe. As much as black leather matches red ...whatever that thing is even made out of, anyway.
It's cold, but it only serves to wake her further. And suddenly three hours is more than enough sleep - she's on edge anyway since she's arrived here - it's all the fighting.
The friendly fire, the surprise undead, and too many shocks in between bittersweet moments that feel as if they're slipping through her fingers like grains of sand she can't hold.
It's itching under her skin as she makes her way toward his place. It's not that hard to find - from what she'd seen on the forge (that jar is still there against the darkness when she blinks - a ghosted image) and it's not long before she spies the open window.
It's an easy climb, and she pauses there on the sill, a dark silhouette of slayer's grace - the flicker of red catching the light just behind. "Jason?"
When: Soon after this conversation.
Where: What's passing for where Jason calls home these days.
Format: However it goes. Probably paragraph.
What: The forge violates Jay's brain, Dawn offers to sit watch with an axe so he can (maybe) sleep.
Warnings: Angst, language, possible violence? God knows what? It's probably all fair game unless it isn't.
The threat's no longer imminent, (Well, it might be, but that threat's something else, Dawnie.) so she figures the least she can do is grab her jeans.
Sorry, Anatole. No dinosaur print for you.
She almost leaves her jacket, but what the hell - it's part of the ~ensemble~ - and it kind of matches the axe. As much as black leather matches red ...whatever that thing is even made out of, anyway.
It's cold, but it only serves to wake her further. And suddenly three hours is more than enough sleep - she's on edge anyway since she's arrived here - it's all the fighting.
The friendly fire, the surprise undead, and too many shocks in between bittersweet moments that feel as if they're slipping through her fingers like grains of sand she can't hold.
It's itching under her skin as she makes her way toward his place. It's not that hard to find - from what she'd seen on the forge (that jar is still there against the darkness when she blinks - a ghosted image) and it's not long before she spies the open window.
It's an easy climb, and she pauses there on the sill, a dark silhouette of slayer's grace - the flicker of red catching the light just behind. "Jason?"