Abstract, post-Chosen. Props go to Mutant Enemy and Joss Whedon & Co.
And the crayon fell to the floor, the stub of it still grasped tightly between her fingers as she vainly attempted to complete the picture. The coloring book was opened to the middle, a connect-the-dots finished on one page, a half-colored dinosaur on the other. Sighing, Faith lowered her hand and glanced down at the brown crayon on the floor.
"Broke another one," Faith murmured, bending to one side to pick it up and place it on the table top from where it had rolled.
Pausing to peel back the paper covering of the broken end she held, Faith glanced up at Buffy, who was smiling gently at her from across the table. In one hand she held a cup of coffee, lifting it gently to her lips, a pen in the other, her hand flat on the page of the newspaper where she was currently doing a crossword puzzle.
Placing the paper wrapper on the table, Faith looked down, seeing the myriad crayons, their bodies cracked and broken, paper wrappers ripped and strewn around them. It was chaos, and Faith felt a sadness at the fact that she couldn't even get through a coloring book without breaking a crayon.
