Face to Face (locked to angel_ceo_ )
Trinity is an Irish pub, with dancing in the first floor; she tells herself she picked it as a joke, not as a sentimental indulgence. But then again, she has never been entirely sure of her motives when it came to Angel.
They have Connor to talk about, and it’s important not to be distracted too much from that by everything else there was. Except “everything else” was so much. She has that human life he once fought for now, and if she is dying, then just as much as any human being was. It still feels unnatural to her quite often, though she has begun to form human ties, and has found there were things about humans she had not known, not even after four hundred years.
And yet. Her dreams, her mind, aren’t human. She still longs for the kill, for the taste of blood, and if she needed a confirmation that her ruthlessness was not the product of any demon, the easy way in which she had organized Erin’s death would have given it to her. She is no damsel in distress to be saved, and that might have been what he wanted her to be the last time she was human.
Then there was the question of what she truly wanted from him, ways to keep their son safe from further catastrophes aside. It wasn’t the deep friendship with sexual benefits she shared with the Immortal, or the improbable comraderie that was starting to develop between her and his former associates. It wasn’t the gift of immortality, no matter her dreams. What they had always excelled at providing for each other was passion and pain. But then again, she’s supposed to be wiser now. Weren’t repeated deaths supposed to provide wisdom?
She has dressed in black. White would have been too reminiscent of their first meeting and the night Drusilla had sired her, and red would have seemed blatant. So, something sleek and elegant in black silk. And a mental list of clear priorities. Yes. She’s set.
They have Connor to talk about, and it’s important not to be distracted too much from that by everything else there was. Except “everything else” was so much. She has that human life he once fought for now, and if she is dying, then just as much as any human being was. It still feels unnatural to her quite often, though she has begun to form human ties, and has found there were things about humans she had not known, not even after four hundred years.
And yet. Her dreams, her mind, aren’t human. She still longs for the kill, for the taste of blood, and if she needed a confirmation that her ruthlessness was not the product of any demon, the easy way in which she had organized Erin’s death would have given it to her. She is no damsel in distress to be saved, and that might have been what he wanted her to be the last time she was human.
Then there was the question of what she truly wanted from him, ways to keep their son safe from further catastrophes aside. It wasn’t the deep friendship with sexual benefits she shared with the Immortal, or the improbable comraderie that was starting to develop between her and his former associates. It wasn’t the gift of immortality, no matter her dreams. What they had always excelled at providing for each other was passion and pain. But then again, she’s supposed to be wiser now. Weren’t repeated deaths supposed to provide wisdom?
She has dressed in black. White would have been too reminiscent of their first meeting and the night Drusilla had sired her, and red would have seemed blatant. So, something sleek and elegant in black silk. And a mental list of clear priorities. Yes. She’s set.