02 | Location: Wandering | And in your soul they poked a million holes

[buffy_slayer]

It had driven her out of the house that morning.

There had been a whisper that drifted into her just-waking consciousness, a familiar voice that felt as comfortable as anything had ever been.

"Wake up, Buffy. You're going to be late..." There's a touch of a hand on her head, smoothing back hair, and Buffy leans into the contact, mostly still

Comments

[colacherri]

Maybe it was because it was looking for conversation?

..Or maybe, just maybe, it's because he's a little loopy and always would be. It's why he can understand Drusilla a little better than others, from a sun-cooked desert to a testing facility to a winter wonderland of a prison.

It could be a number of things--a childish demeanor, a playful streak, or hell--maybe he picks up on the fact that the blonde girl's spooked. Either way, it's all battle cries as he proceeds to run across the street towards the blonde and lob the biggest snowball he could.

[buffy_slayer]

Her reaction is automatic, spinning around to kick whatever it is straight in something sensitive.

Which would have connected if she hadn't spun around and gotten a face full of snowball. Which then knocks her off balance and lands her sputtering in the street, straight on her butt on the snowy ground.

[colacherri]

"Awwwwwwwwwh yeah." Who said Cherri wasn't productive? He's clapping enthusiastically at the blonde, looking down. He's not wearing gloves so the bracelet of a fellow captive shows, but then again--with liberty spikes and a neon purple, 90's styled ski-jacket for a winter coat, it's not hard to tell he's not really from here.

He offers a hand, though, an oddly sinister grin on his face, despite the nonchalant snowball lob.

"Sorry, your princess is in another castle."

[buffy_slayer]

"My who's in a what now?" She's perfectly able to get up on her own, thank you very much, and shakes her head to loosen up the snow clinging to her hair.

"How many castles do you people have here, anyways?" Buffy's got one hand in her jacket pocket now, ready to pull out the stake she always keeps there just in case.

[Location] Did someone say 'weird and unsettling'?

[the_bluethunder]

The cold feels like nothing to Illyria. It feels as all air does upon her hard skin--like silken thread upon armor. It did not move her, one way or the other. It is decoration.

She enjoys being outside more than remaining indoors. It is more bearable, somehow. She breathes easier. She expects to encounter lower creatures in this expansive space, and they are easily ignored.

But the girl's presence consumes her awareness and taints her sanctuary of privacy. She is no longer alone. "Your agitation spills off of you in rusty waves," sneers Illyria to Buffy from several feet away, barely sparing her a glance. "I can hardly bear it."

[Location] Did someone say 'weird and unsettling'?

[buffy_slayer]

"And... you're very blue." The words So there! almost follow that, but Buffy manages to hold them back. Just barely.

She shakes a bit of snow from her hair, taking a moment to evaluate the woman in front of her. Blue, obviously, with strangely colored eyes and hair topping off an odd ensemble of some sort of hardened red leather and rope.

"I am deeply sorry that my... agitation seems to be bothering you. I really think you're just going to have to deal with it. Or, you know, walk down the road a bit until you can't 'feel the waves', or whatever it is that you're feeling."

[Location]

[the_bluethunder]

Her pointless observation goes ignored. It is obvious and inconsequential to her. Meaningless. As is her existence.

But such is a concept beyond her understanding. She does not bother to instill it. It is not her job to teach.

But to learn.

"I will remain where I please," she answers, as if that settles the matter. She cranes her neck to look at the sky, and then at the ground, and finally...at Buffy. Her eyes, blue and frozen, are troubled. "Everything here is as it should be. I wish to escape the bombardment of illusions. Phantoms... of things that cannot be." This last is said forcefully, as if her words automatically make them truths.

No, there are no ghosts here.

Re: [Location]

[buffy_slayer]

"It was... just a suggestion, y'know. I'm fairly certain that I am not the boss of you." She can't help but notice the troubled look. It does not sit well on that face, seemingly used to being on much more stable emotional ground.

"What, are you seeing things?"

[imperial_long]

"Good afternoon," says a polite British voice, coming from a man very muffled and wrapped up in clothing. A long coat, nearly brushing the sidewalk, and gloved hands tucked under his arms, and a grey scarf that swathes almost all of his face except for a few inches just below the brim of a furry hat.

"You appear lost. May I be of assistance?"

[buffy_slayer]

"Can you find me a way back home? I would like to go home now." Her hands are tucked into jacket pockets and Buffy shivers involuntarily. That's what she gets for leaving the house without gloves or scarf.

[imperial_long]

The man spreads his gloved hands apologetically.

"If such were in my power I would not be here myself. I am sorry.

"Also, if you will forgive some unsolicited advice, you might wish to hatch a warmer coat for this appalling weather."

[buffy_slayer]

"I forgot to check the weather before I ran out of the house this morning. And I haven't had the chance to try the hatching thing yet, though I did get some super helpful info on it right after I got here."

Buffy breathes out, visible in the cold air, and shoves her hands deeper into her pockets.

"I'm Buffy, by the way."

[a_pretty_fire]

Drusilla was waiting. Not for anything in particular - not even for the Slayer herself - but waiting. Waiting with the patience of the dead.

When she spotted an unusually anxious Buffy scurrying through the city, she rose to her feet and drifted off after her. They were in the very heart of winter, but the vampire dressed as she always did. The snow settled on her dark hair and dampened her thin white dress. Occasionally, she closed her eyes and tilted her head up, trying to remember what they’d tasted like when she’d caught them on her tongue as a child.

“Are you running? They’ll only follow.”

The ghosts were everywhere, these days.