BtVS comics: "The Road to Shur" (Buffy/Faith-ish)
Title: The Road to Shur
Fandom: BtVS comicsverse
Spoilers: Up to #5, "The Chain." (Which is as far as I've read.)
Pairing: Buffy/Faith, sort of
Rating: NWS/NSS
Summary: Faith's European tour, with flashbacks.
The Road to Shur
Sarai said to Abram, "Go, sleep with my maidservant." Abram agreed to what Sarai said. So after Abram had been living in Canaan ten years, Sarai his wife took her Egyptian maidservant Hagar and gave her to her husband to be his wife. Gn. 16:2-3, NIV, alt.
Sarai mistreated Hagar; so she fled from her. The angel of the Lord found Hagar near a spring in the desert; it was the spring that is beside the road to Shur. And he said, "Hagar, servant of Sarai, where have you come from, and where are you going?" "I'm running away from my mistress Sarai," she answered. Then the angel of the LORD told her, "Go back to your mistress and submit to her." Gn. 16:6b-9
Faith wanders.
She's still a wanted fugitive, but slipping out of the country into Canada is such a piece of cake it's sad, or would be if she gave a damn. She uses a different name--once or twice she even uses B's name--but doesn't bother to keep a low profile, like she could if she wanted to. Seventy-nine fucks and a long-ass boat ride (vamp-free, of course--she's so itching to kill something by the end of it that the moment she sees land again she jumps overboard and swims to shore) later, she finds herself in Denmark.
She does the whole "backpack 'cross Europe" thing, slaying vamps and demons and pretty-ass boys who don't know how to keep their hands to themselves (making sure to maim, not kill, that last group; she's reformed and shit) as she goes. She interrupts a virgin sacrifice to the demon Sachilmros in Salzburg, and twenty-four hours later the twenty-seven erstwhile sacrifices-to-be are no longer elligible for the position. She takes out a vamp ring in Stockholm who were trading heroine for blood. Least it wasn't Orpheus.
She visits Paris, steals somebody's credit card, or maybe a few somebodies' credit cards, and sets herself up in this palatial appartment, buys an $800 pair of designer jeans that are so tattered that they practically fall apart the first time she puts them on, and is shocked at how easily the horny rich boys of Paris' hoi poloi accept her as upper class. She can't even speak English good, and her French is pretty much limited to voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir, but nobody seems to care.
Eventually, she ends up in Italy.
. . .
"They've never even seen Buffy," the new Slayer, the Buffy-clone, Leah, insisted. "They won't know I'm not really her."
"They'll know," Faith contradicted her. "They can sense a newbie Slayer from a mile away. If this is gonna work, you'll gonna have to fight like her, fuck like her--hell, you have to be her." Faith knew: she'd worn B's skin.
. . .
She visits the Slayer enclave. Andrew's there, his hands full trying to manage a dozen superpowered teenaged girls. And the girls themselves, Slayers, sisters. And the one Slayer in particular whose claim to fame is that she looks remarkably like a woman she's never even met. She's a girl who answers to a name which is not her own, and which she does not, cannot, deserve.
They go clubbing, Faith and this girl, taking care to make a spectacle of themselves, something which isn't hard for two hot chicks with superpowers. They grind against each other on the dance floor, and every eye in the place is on the two Slayers.
. . .
"Take off your clothes."
Leah didn't move, just looked at Faith uncertainly. "Mr. Giles didn't need me to take off my clothes."
"As far as I know, Giles's never seen B' naked, so the only good it'd do him would be as a free peep show. Now, come on, I don't have all day."
She was petite, short and slender, like Buffy. She was even smaller-breasted than B', if that was possible.
But she would do, Faith decided. She wasn't Buffy, but Buffy wasn't an option, and Leah was good enough.
. . .
They fuck in the bathroom: not-Buffy pressed up against the stall as Faith furiously fists her. Her cries may be of pleasure, may be of pain; to Faith, one's just as good as the other.
. . .
"Even if this works," Faith said, "even if they believe she's B', this mission is still a fucking death sentence. A suicide run."
"Yes," Giles answered evenly. "I am aware of that."
. . .
They go slaying after, and it strikes Faith that the rich tourists she's encountered would pay big money for this: a nighttime tour of Rome's cemetaries.
Faith's careful to make sure she lets a couple of vamps get away, to tell the stories: Buffy and Faith, back in action, together again, fighting side by side.
. . .
She rapelled in with the others, fought her way through demonic hordes until at last she found Leah.
Lifeless eyes stared up at her out of the face that was not Buffy's.
. . .
As she leaves Italy, Faith looks north, considers heading to Edinburgh, then shakes her head and turns away. Barcelona might be nice this time of year.
Fandom: BtVS comicsverse
Spoilers: Up to #5, "The Chain." (Which is as far as I've read.)
Pairing: Buffy/Faith, sort of
Rating: NWS/NSS
Summary: Faith's European tour, with flashbacks.
The Road to Shur
Sarai said to Abram, "Go, sleep with my maidservant." Abram agreed to what Sarai said. So after Abram had been living in Canaan ten years, Sarai his wife took her Egyptian maidservant Hagar and gave her to her husband to be his wife. Gn. 16:2-3, NIV, alt.
Sarai mistreated Hagar; so she fled from her. The angel of the Lord found Hagar near a spring in the desert; it was the spring that is beside the road to Shur. And he said, "Hagar, servant of Sarai, where have you come from, and where are you going?" "I'm running away from my mistress Sarai," she answered. Then the angel of the LORD told her, "Go back to your mistress and submit to her." Gn. 16:6b-9
Faith wanders.
She's still a wanted fugitive, but slipping out of the country into Canada is such a piece of cake it's sad, or would be if she gave a damn. She uses a different name--once or twice she even uses B's name--but doesn't bother to keep a low profile, like she could if she wanted to. Seventy-nine fucks and a long-ass boat ride (vamp-free, of course--she's so itching to kill something by the end of it that the moment she sees land again she jumps overboard and swims to shore) later, she finds herself in Denmark.
She does the whole "backpack 'cross Europe" thing, slaying vamps and demons and pretty-ass boys who don't know how to keep their hands to themselves (making sure to maim, not kill, that last group; she's reformed and shit) as she goes. She interrupts a virgin sacrifice to the demon Sachilmros in Salzburg, and twenty-four hours later the twenty-seven erstwhile sacrifices-to-be are no longer elligible for the position. She takes out a vamp ring in Stockholm who were trading heroine for blood. Least it wasn't Orpheus.
She visits Paris, steals somebody's credit card, or maybe a few somebodies' credit cards, and sets herself up in this palatial appartment, buys an $800 pair of designer jeans that are so tattered that they practically fall apart the first time she puts them on, and is shocked at how easily the horny rich boys of Paris' hoi poloi accept her as upper class. She can't even speak English good, and her French is pretty much limited to voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir, but nobody seems to care.
Eventually, she ends up in Italy.
. . .
"They've never even seen Buffy," the new Slayer, the Buffy-clone, Leah, insisted. "They won't know I'm not really her."
"They'll know," Faith contradicted her. "They can sense a newbie Slayer from a mile away. If this is gonna work, you'll gonna have to fight like her, fuck like her--hell, you have to be her." Faith knew: she'd worn B's skin.
. . .
She visits the Slayer enclave. Andrew's there, his hands full trying to manage a dozen superpowered teenaged girls. And the girls themselves, Slayers, sisters. And the one Slayer in particular whose claim to fame is that she looks remarkably like a woman she's never even met. She's a girl who answers to a name which is not her own, and which she does not, cannot, deserve.
They go clubbing, Faith and this girl, taking care to make a spectacle of themselves, something which isn't hard for two hot chicks with superpowers. They grind against each other on the dance floor, and every eye in the place is on the two Slayers.
. . .
"Take off your clothes."
Leah didn't move, just looked at Faith uncertainly. "Mr. Giles didn't need me to take off my clothes."
"As far as I know, Giles's never seen B' naked, so the only good it'd do him would be as a free peep show. Now, come on, I don't have all day."
She was petite, short and slender, like Buffy. She was even smaller-breasted than B', if that was possible.
But she would do, Faith decided. She wasn't Buffy, but Buffy wasn't an option, and Leah was good enough.
. . .
They fuck in the bathroom: not-Buffy pressed up against the stall as Faith furiously fists her. Her cries may be of pleasure, may be of pain; to Faith, one's just as good as the other.
. . .
"Even if this works," Faith said, "even if they believe she's B', this mission is still a fucking death sentence. A suicide run."
"Yes," Giles answered evenly. "I am aware of that."
. . .
They go slaying after, and it strikes Faith that the rich tourists she's encountered would pay big money for this: a nighttime tour of Rome's cemetaries.
Faith's careful to make sure she lets a couple of vamps get away, to tell the stories: Buffy and Faith, back in action, together again, fighting side by side.
. . .
She rapelled in with the others, fought her way through demonic hordes until at last she found Leah.
Lifeless eyes stared up at her out of the face that was not Buffy's.
. . .
As she leaves Italy, Faith looks north, considers heading to Edinburgh, then shakes her head and turns away. Barcelona might be nice this time of year.