Post by zaiafantasy on Feb 28, 2012 1:07:39 GMT -4
The brunette Slayer was never really sure of her place here. With them. But she was here now, with the Scoobies, and pretending to be one of them when she never had been before. Sure, being put front and center with the First Evil tended to put things into perspective but she was far from huddling around a fire singing kumbaya with the gang. Travel time had conveniently reiterated this for her. By the time they tumbled out of the car onto the waiting sidewalk she could have kissed the filthy London streets. When Giles let them into his flat she rolled her eyes in typical Faith fashion and responded.
"Where's the booze?"
She didn't worry about her liver because she probably wouldn't live long enough to destroy it and if, by some miracle, she did her Slayer healing would take care of it. She was covered either way. She dropped her bags and went further into the flat exploring the terrain of her new home. It looked old and very...Giles. Though the guitar sitting on a stand in the corner intrigued her. It was a small place and she found the bathroom first, memorizing how to get to it from all angles in case she got drunk or needed to go at two am. Jetlag didn't agree with the girl as she actually wanted to go to sleep now while the sun was down instead of just as it was rising again. Some things just didn't seem fair. She stumbled upon a bedroom and, better yet, a bed.
"I'm taking this!"
She called it back to the rest of the house. By this, of course, she meant Giles' bed. And once it was taken she had little inclination to give it back even with protest. It was a bed and looked like heaven. She stumbled toward it without the benefit of alcohol and fell onto it fully clothed, gathering the bedclothes and pillows up in her arms in a grateful gesture only to sigh happily. Yes. This. This is exactly what she wanted after a twelve hour flight and subsequent car ride. Screw transcontinental travel. She wasn't doing that again anytime soon. England was just going to have to like her. Or she'd take the train. She heard Paris was nice this time of year...
If she let herself she'd easily fall asleep right now and rob the Watcher of being able to wag his finger at her and tell her how impolite it was to steal their host's bed. Not that she'd care but she liked seeing that Britishly exasperated look on his face. It was comical to her and she liked driving him to it as much as possible even now after their spotty history together. He could understand that, though. He had his own past to live down. He of all people would know comebacks are possible.
If she was awake she'd have offered to share with him, much to what she assumed would be his distaste. She knew just what he'd do - what he always did. He'd brush her off and tell her that what she suggested was not only inappropriate but it was also ridiculous. There was another perfectly good couch down the hall and he'd use that for tonight. Or something similar. Then he'd stand there a minute and let his eyes linger on her form settled over his bed and indulge in his annoyance. Or possibly think of other things he'd never express or share with anyone. And then he'd resolutely move down the hall to the couch like he said he would do and put himself to sleep thinking of his duties or alphabetizing demons or whatever he managed to do instead of counting sheep.
That was about perfect.
While the brunette Slayer liked to tease Giles for his sensibilities and his very tweed driven wardrobe she occasionally found genuine interest buried beneath the words. She was interested in seeing him, not like this all bound and pent up as he was sure to be, but broken open and raw. She was convinced it would happen someday. One could only be a professed celibate in the cause of duty for so long before one cracked. He was not an old man. He was still youngish and powerful and still liked all the dark things he was capable of. He still liked what he'd done in his youth. It was still there beneath his skin, she was convince. She knew because she carried the same burden. The urge to be the "bad girl" was with her all the time knowing what she was capable of. Though she had herself carefully under control there were moments when she could very easily slip back into old habits. She would never be the good Slayer. She would never be Buffy. She'd drink and fuck and enjoy the hunt because that was who she was. She didn't want to be anyone else.
"Where's the booze?"
She didn't worry about her liver because she probably wouldn't live long enough to destroy it and if, by some miracle, she did her Slayer healing would take care of it. She was covered either way. She dropped her bags and went further into the flat exploring the terrain of her new home. It looked old and very...Giles. Though the guitar sitting on a stand in the corner intrigued her. It was a small place and she found the bathroom first, memorizing how to get to it from all angles in case she got drunk or needed to go at two am. Jetlag didn't agree with the girl as she actually wanted to go to sleep now while the sun was down instead of just as it was rising again. Some things just didn't seem fair. She stumbled upon a bedroom and, better yet, a bed.
"I'm taking this!"
She called it back to the rest of the house. By this, of course, she meant Giles' bed. And once it was taken she had little inclination to give it back even with protest. It was a bed and looked like heaven. She stumbled toward it without the benefit of alcohol and fell onto it fully clothed, gathering the bedclothes and pillows up in her arms in a grateful gesture only to sigh happily. Yes. This. This is exactly what she wanted after a twelve hour flight and subsequent car ride. Screw transcontinental travel. She wasn't doing that again anytime soon. England was just going to have to like her. Or she'd take the train. She heard Paris was nice this time of year...
If she let herself she'd easily fall asleep right now and rob the Watcher of being able to wag his finger at her and tell her how impolite it was to steal their host's bed. Not that she'd care but she liked seeing that Britishly exasperated look on his face. It was comical to her and she liked driving him to it as much as possible even now after their spotty history together. He could understand that, though. He had his own past to live down. He of all people would know comebacks are possible.
If she was awake she'd have offered to share with him, much to what she assumed would be his distaste. She knew just what he'd do - what he always did. He'd brush her off and tell her that what she suggested was not only inappropriate but it was also ridiculous. There was another perfectly good couch down the hall and he'd use that for tonight. Or something similar. Then he'd stand there a minute and let his eyes linger on her form settled over his bed and indulge in his annoyance. Or possibly think of other things he'd never express or share with anyone. And then he'd resolutely move down the hall to the couch like he said he would do and put himself to sleep thinking of his duties or alphabetizing demons or whatever he managed to do instead of counting sheep.
That was about perfect.
While the brunette Slayer liked to tease Giles for his sensibilities and his very tweed driven wardrobe she occasionally found genuine interest buried beneath the words. She was interested in seeing him, not like this all bound and pent up as he was sure to be, but broken open and raw. She was convinced it would happen someday. One could only be a professed celibate in the cause of duty for so long before one cracked. He was not an old man. He was still youngish and powerful and still liked all the dark things he was capable of. He still liked what he'd done in his youth. It was still there beneath his skin, she was convince. She knew because she carried the same burden. The urge to be the "bad girl" was with her all the time knowing what she was capable of. Though she had herself carefully under control there were moments when she could very easily slip back into old habits. She would never be the good Slayer. She would never be Buffy. She'd drink and fuck and enjoy the hunt because that was who she was. She didn't want to be anyone else.