Orpheusaurus
"Scratch you out," Faith muttered in her sleep. Angelus taunted, she parried and dodged his barbs. "Little Miss Muffet."
Beneath the sheet, her stomach burned and festered, the infection spreading and raising her temperature.
"Rolled the dice. Even odds." Her arms spread wider and she kicked the soaking cover off. She'd taken off her jeans, but the torn remnants of the same filty, bloody shirt clung to her body. "Saved a puppy."
A gasp and she sat bolt upright, eyes wild, air flooding her lungs.
She was in an alley, holding her neck. The sweet blanket of Orpheus wrapped her up and she didn't even care that the life was still pumping out the two holes in her neck.
"Kicked his ass," she muttered as she looked over at Wes.
Wes.
Had to find Wes.
She crawled out of bed and stumbled through the trees, tall buildings, alleys, grimy dumpsters and the smell of dust and the sour metal scent of blood in her nose. Sweat poured off her brow, pasting her hair to her face. Walking down a hospital corridor, stealing clothes, her gut aching where Buffy had stabbed her. Coma, no...not a coma. Wes. Had to find Wes before Angelus got to him. In her mind she was tough, full of bravado, full of herself. As she got to the door of the hut Wes shared with Doyle and Gunn, she didn't see it at all. What swam in her vision was a murky cloud of the past. She could see Diana laying there, floating on a pool of blood, her limbs torn from her torso.
"won't stop fighting," she whispered, then crumpled to the floor just inside the doorway, hand still pressed to her throat.
Beneath the sheet, her stomach burned and festered, the infection spreading and raising her temperature.
"Rolled the dice. Even odds." Her arms spread wider and she kicked the soaking cover off. She'd taken off her jeans, but the torn remnants of the same filty, bloody shirt clung to her body. "Saved a puppy."
A gasp and she sat bolt upright, eyes wild, air flooding her lungs.
She was in an alley, holding her neck. The sweet blanket of Orpheus wrapped her up and she didn't even care that the life was still pumping out the two holes in her neck.
"Kicked his ass," she muttered as she looked over at Wes.
Wes.
Had to find Wes.
She crawled out of bed and stumbled through the trees, tall buildings, alleys, grimy dumpsters and the smell of dust and the sour metal scent of blood in her nose. Sweat poured off her brow, pasting her hair to her face. Walking down a hospital corridor, stealing clothes, her gut aching where Buffy had stabbed her. Coma, no...not a coma. Wes. Had to find Wes before Angelus got to him. In her mind she was tough, full of bravado, full of herself. As she got to the door of the hut Wes shared with Doyle and Gunn, she didn't see it at all. What swam in her vision was a murky cloud of the past. She could see Diana laying there, floating on a pool of blood, her limbs torn from her torso.
"won't stop fighting," she whispered, then crumpled to the floor just inside the doorway, hand still pressed to her throat.