01 | holo | location: sanctuary | ARRIVAL
"So... that's a whisky, two strawberry daquiris, and... a diet coke. Got it. Be right back!" She can feel the smile stretching her skin tight, trying to keep the level of cheer expected by The Powers that Be... in this case, the guys running the place. This polyester renaissance horror show that is her job right now, it manages to pay the bills, but she's not sure that the need for cash balances her need for some dignity.
It seemed like a good idea at the time, goes through her head for the millioneth time since she arrived in Vegas. Closer to Faith and... well, Faith (not anyone else especially some platinum haired annoyance, no way), closer to Reno, easy to slip into the mass of faces and just do what she needs to do.
Her mood decidedly trends towards the foul as she heads into a back hallway, tugging her skirt as if it might magically stretch to cover more. Got to double check the order, get it up and back out, and pray that they'll think she's cute enough to give a generous tip.
"Maybe I can take up a life of crime. Looting's OK when they're evil, right? They're just dust, I can pick up their clothes and..." She mimes shaking out something and then grimaces.
"Guess I'm not made for Catwoman life." She stops and rubs at her eyes, taking a moment to lean up against the wall, the rough nubbins of the wallpaper catching on the shoulder of her peasant blouse.
And in the next moment, it's gone. The almost-soothing song of slot machines, the lingering smell of smoke, everything, the atmosphere -- gone, and replaced with... with curved walls of steel.
And a steel floor too, which she notices as she's trying to regain her balance from suddenly having that casino wall removed as a support.
"Funny joke, guys! Really funny." What guys in particular, Buffy has no idea, but she's got a list of possible candidates. None of them that much into jewelry, though, and she pokes at the odd bracelet that adorns one wrist.
"We should take this show on the road, like... Slayer and Pals, with their hilarity-making disappearing act." She's turning, checking for an obvious exit and finding no such thing. The platform, steps down, a pedestal with something on it, and nothing else that even gives a bare glimpse of where this is or who was behind the whole mess.
It seemed like a good idea at the time, goes through her head for the millioneth time since she arrived in Vegas. Closer to Faith and... well, Faith (not anyone else especially some platinum haired annoyance, no way), closer to Reno, easy to slip into the mass of faces and just do what she needs to do.
Her mood decidedly trends towards the foul as she heads into a back hallway, tugging her skirt as if it might magically stretch to cover more. Got to double check the order, get it up and back out, and pray that they'll think she's cute enough to give a generous tip.
"Maybe I can take up a life of crime. Looting's OK when they're evil, right? They're just dust, I can pick up their clothes and..." She mimes shaking out something and then grimaces.
"Guess I'm not made for Catwoman life." She stops and rubs at her eyes, taking a moment to lean up against the wall, the rough nubbins of the wallpaper catching on the shoulder of her peasant blouse.
And in the next moment, it's gone. The almost-soothing song of slot machines, the lingering smell of smoke, everything, the atmosphere -- gone, and replaced with... with curved walls of steel.
And a steel floor too, which she notices as she's trying to regain her balance from suddenly having that casino wall removed as a support.
"Funny joke, guys! Really funny." What guys in particular, Buffy has no idea, but she's got a list of possible candidates. None of them that much into jewelry, though, and she pokes at the odd bracelet that adorns one wrist.
"We should take this show on the road, like... Slayer and Pals, with their hilarity-making disappearing act." She's turning, checking for an obvious exit and finding no such thing. The platform, steps down, a pedestal with something on it, and nothing else that even gives a bare glimpse of where this is or who was behind the whole mess.