one [ holo ✝ location: sanctuary ]
This was supposed to have been a victory. Buffy blinked against the brightness of the room; she already missed the comforting sunlight of Sunnydale, California. Or what used to be Sunnydale. She continuously had to compensate with the knowledge that the town she had spent years protecting was gone. Crater'd. Ka-freakin'-blooey. And yet it seemed to be the least of her problems, as she spun on the spot and observed this strange new frontier. It was weird and new and not at all comfortable. But since when did Buffy Summers ever do comfortable outside of a Thursday night pajama date with MTV? So she took that bold first step onto the staircase with poise and confidence. And why not? She had won. Correction: she was supposed to have won. But if winning meant no longer being on that road with her few, her happy few, her band of victors? Then perhaps this wasn't winning at all.
"Hello?" She called, neck craning to see more of the room without getting too footloose and fancy free with the steps. "Anybody there? Don't make me threaten to huff and puff." She licked her lips. How ineffectual she sounded to herself, undermining the glorious high of success she had been enjoying. "'Cause you won't like my huff and my puff is totally a metaphor for my right hook. Which you also won't like."
Buffy descended the stairs, tucking hair behind her ears in an unconscious gesture of insecurity. That was when she noticed the bracelet. "Fabulous," Buffy intoned flatly. She pressed her thumb against the metal -- tempted to dig at the skin and remove it once she realized it was fused to her. "The latest and greatest in hostage fashion, I presume?" She shook her wrist, limply. Better not risk tearing it from the flesh. Not now. She completed her thought aloud: "Hate to get blood all over your squeaky clean lab-o-horrors."
Best to set the bracelet conundrum aside for now. She focused on the pedestal instead. Perhaps it held answers? So she walked carefully up to it -- sure to check her flanks and keep all senses on high, high alert. Her footsteps eerily echoed and enforced her sudden solitaryness. Deep in in the pit of her, she longed to be back amongst the other victors. Leading them to safety. They have each other and...and what does she get for her great reward? "A techno...something. Oh, skippy." She quipped sarcastically to herself. Buffy gingerly lifted the tablet, unsure as to what it could really be. She never was one for the gadgetry. At least not gadgetry that dated past the middle ages. Which seemed to be just about the most appropriate time for her eyes to catch on a flash of red--on the floor--across the room. The scythe.
"Well, at least I have one piece of home. Better weapon-up and go slice myself some more."
"Hello?" She called, neck craning to see more of the room without getting too footloose and fancy free with the steps. "Anybody there? Don't make me threaten to huff and puff." She licked her lips. How ineffectual she sounded to herself, undermining the glorious high of success she had been enjoying. "'Cause you won't like my huff and my puff is totally a metaphor for my right hook. Which you also won't like."
Buffy descended the stairs, tucking hair behind her ears in an unconscious gesture of insecurity. That was when she noticed the bracelet. "Fabulous," Buffy intoned flatly. She pressed her thumb against the metal -- tempted to dig at the skin and remove it once she realized it was fused to her. "The latest and greatest in hostage fashion, I presume?" She shook her wrist, limply. Better not risk tearing it from the flesh. Not now. She completed her thought aloud: "Hate to get blood all over your squeaky clean lab-o-horrors."
Best to set the bracelet conundrum aside for now. She focused on the pedestal instead. Perhaps it held answers? So she walked carefully up to it -- sure to check her flanks and keep all senses on high, high alert. Her footsteps eerily echoed and enforced her sudden solitaryness. Deep in in the pit of her, she longed to be back amongst the other victors. Leading them to safety. They have each other and...and what does she get for her great reward? "A techno...something. Oh, skippy." She quipped sarcastically to herself. Buffy gingerly lifted the tablet, unsure as to what it could really be. She never was one for the gadgetry. At least not gadgetry that dated past the middle ages. Which seemed to be just about the most appropriate time for her eyes to catch on a flash of red--on the floor--across the room. The scythe.
"Well, at least I have one piece of home. Better weapon-up and go slice myself some more."