It was made mostly of leather, and pretty cool if you didn't know what it was actually supposed to be. Beneath the coat while she waited out the washing machine, it really wasn't that bad
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Anita hadn't done clothes in a while so she found herself making her way day to the basement. She probably had a lot to think about, but it sometimes it was easier to just ignore something until it was staring you in the face. Of course it always meant more trouble but somehow she found that easier to deal with. Whether that made her crazy or not she wasn't about to even ponder.
She blinked a few times at the other woman until she found herself asking, "So I take it you lost a battle with the clothes box." Because really she couldn't imagine anyone wearing that by choice. Of course she'd seen people wearing stuff like that by choice; that didn't mean it made sense.
Alice glanced over her shoulder and felt something icy cold and burning hot at the same time constrict in her chest.
That face - the last time she'd seen that face it had a bullet in it. Rain Ocampo had died on the train back to the entrance of the Hive, and there was no way she could be standing there looking at her right now. But she was.
And Alice could do nothing but stare, looking as if she'd just seen a ghost - because she had.
Anita's smirk faded and was replaced by a look of concern. "Are you okay?" Oh she did not just say that? Okay, try something a little less lame and obvious. "Should you sit down?" She couldn't understand the woman's reaction at first, other than it must have something to do with 'home'. Other than that Anita was way out of her element.
In the dryer was several jeans and some tank tops. Seemingly simple, but they definitely were practical and stylish and machine washable. All very good things.
The other girl in there... she looked like Alice, and when Buffy rounded the corner, she smiled and almost called out to her. You'd think after losing enough people in that place you'd catch on. So she did.
"Hey," she said. The worse that happened is that she said "OH MY GOD, HI BUFFY!" (but, you know, in her Alice way) and they hugged in a moment that would make Xander make those choking noises. She bent over and pulled her clothes out of the dryer.
"Maybe," Buffy admitted, standing and inspecting the outfit. She wasn't surprised. It probably wasn't practical, but she could see why someone would wear it. Anyway, laundry day.
"I knew a girl named Alice who looked like you. But I've been here a long time. I know you could be someone else. Or even the same Alice with a different memory, different place." She shrugged.
Rictor was pretty sure there had never been a better time to do laundry than this moment right here. He did his best not to stare at the woman and silently wished himself a happy birthday before adding clothes to the washing machine.
"I'll try not to stare, but..." She was probably going to punch him in the face for saying this. "Ridiculous is not the first adjective that comes to mind."
Lucy the genet was generally a well-behaved beast, but today she had elected to use Stephen's favorite red scarf as a litterbox. He had put the offending garment in a paper bag, and was bringing it down to the laundry room when he stopped on the stairs, arrested (so to speak) by the sight of a tall, striking young lady dressed in... a garment he could not describe, but which left very little to the imagination.
"Good day, madam," he said stiffly, not certain where to look. "I hope I am not interrupting anything; I merely sought to do some washing."
Oh, dear. A British man. They were very proper, some of them, weren't they? Isaacs didn't count. He was just a bastard.
Embarrassed, though she couldn't figure out why - she hadn't been before, when she'd put on the thing - Alice drew her coat closer around herself and offered a weak smile.
"No, you're not interrupting. There's...plenty of free machines."
Stephen was not British (and indeed, would have been offended to hear himself described as such), but he was from an era in which the sight of a lady's petticoats was considered risque. He had grown more or less accustomed to seeing ladies in skimpy outfits, but this particular outfit was skimpier than most, and clearly intended to inflame one's senses.
Still averting his eyes, he went over to one of the laundry machines and dumped the soiled scarf into it. "I apologize for the smell," he said uncomfortably, remembering how Diana had grown ill due to the stench of fish when they were escaping from Boston. "I have an ill-mannered pet at home; I suppose this is her idea of a joke, if genets have a sense of humor."
"The smell?" Alice supposed months going without bathing and travelling with people who also had gone months without seeing the inside of a working bathroom, as well as the all-pervasive stench of the undead, had dulled her sense of smell somewhat.
Having lived in LA for all his life, it was safe to say that Gunn had never seen snow. Damn it was cold outside and he'd been making regular trips to the clothes box in hopes of getting something just a bit warmer.
...Alice's outfit was a good start.
He raised an eyebrow as he dropped into a crouch beside the clothes box.
"Damn, girl. You fight zombies in that outfit?" said Gunn.
Alice glanced over her shoulder and smiled. It figured Gunn would catch her while she was in a state of - for lack of a better word - undress, considering that was how she'd met him first.
"I could try," she said. "But I think they'd take one look at me and run away before I got close enough." She thought she made a pretty scary dominatrix. Pity the box hadn't provided a whip with everything else.
He pulled out a pair of mittens from the box but since they were close to the neon side of pink he tossed them back in, hoping to get something a little less conspicuous.
"Never know, some of them might be into the whole 'Mistress of Pain' thing."
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She blinked a few times at the other woman until she found herself asking, "So I take it you lost a battle with the clothes box." Because really she couldn't imagine anyone wearing that by choice. Of course she'd seen people wearing stuff like that by choice; that didn't mean it made sense.
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That face - the last time she'd seen that face it had a bullet in it. Rain Ocampo had died on the train back to the entrance of the Hive, and there was no way she could be standing there looking at her right now. But she was.
And Alice could do nothing but stare, looking as if she'd just seen a ghost - because she had.
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"You're supposed to be dead." It was a stupid fucking thing to say, in spite of all the evidence, but it was the only thing she could think of.
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The other girl in there... she looked like Alice, and when Buffy rounded the corner, she smiled and almost called out to her. You'd think after losing enough people in that place you'd catch on. So she did.
"Hey," she said. The worse that happened is that she said "OH MY GOD, HI BUFFY!" (but, you know, in her Alice way) and they hugged in a moment that would make Xander make those choking noises. She bent over and pulled her clothes out of the dryer.
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Another person who had known another her?
"Do you know me?" she asked, without preamble. She didn't ask 'Do I know you' because she didn't. Not yet, anyway.
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"I knew a girl named Alice who looked like you. But I've been here a long time. I know you could be someone else. Or even the same Alice with a different memory, different place." She shrugged.
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"I wonder if the clothes box hated me this much before."
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"It's all right," she sighed, "I know I look ridiculous. You can stare if you want, just please don't point and laugh."
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"Oh? Try me."
If she was going to punch him in the face, she was going to make sure it was for a very good reason.
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"Good day, madam," he said stiffly, not certain where to look. "I hope I am not interrupting anything; I merely sought to do some washing."
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Embarrassed, though she couldn't figure out why - she hadn't been before, when she'd put on the thing - Alice drew her coat closer around herself and offered a weak smile.
"No, you're not interrupting. There's...plenty of free machines."
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Still averting his eyes, he went over to one of the laundry machines and dumped the soiled scarf into it. "I apologize for the smell," he said uncomfortably, remembering how Diana had grown ill due to the stench of fish when they were escaping from Boston. "I have an ill-mannered pet at home; I suppose this is her idea of a joke, if genets have a sense of humor."
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"It's okay," she said, "I've smelled worse."
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...Alice's outfit was a good start.
He raised an eyebrow as he dropped into a crouch beside the clothes box.
"Damn, girl. You fight zombies in that outfit?" said Gunn.
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"I could try," she said. "But I think they'd take one look at me and run away before I got close enough." She thought she made a pretty scary dominatrix. Pity the box hadn't provided a whip with everything else.
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"Never know, some of them might be into the whole 'Mistress of Pain' thing."
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"That box wouldn't give me anything else," she added, sobering somewhat, "I'd be careful, if I were you. Unless you like parachute pants."
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