Author: Asrai
E-Mail: ikh@haefft.de
Rating: R
Summary: What if Buffy was the screwed up one?
Spoilers: General spoilers for Btvs seasons 1 - 3
Disclaimers: I don't own Btvs nor do I make any money out of this; no copyright infringement is intended.
Chapter 06 - I Don't Have Anything
*The policeman rang the doorbell and Buffy swallowed and looked down at her worn out shoes. In a few minutes all hell would break loose and she secretly estimated her chances to escape from the cop- she could run down the stairs, out of the door- and into the arms of his partner who waited outside.
He rang again and a moment later she could hear somebody inside yelling, "Yes, yes, yes! I'm fucking coming, so don't sweat it!"
Her mother. Buffy had hoped that she somehow wouldn't be at home, or passed out, or anything, just unable to answer the door- surely they'd let her go then? No such luck.
The door opened and she could see her mother, hair uncombed, face void of make up and clad in a bathrobe. It was four o'clock in the afternoon and Joyce's day had just begun.
"What is it?" she asked a tad more friendly as she saw the uniform of the man next to Buffy.
"We found you daughter stealing in a supermarket. This time it'll be without consequences, but next time- you really should teach her that stealing is a bad thing. Good afternoon."
"Goodbye and thank you, officer. I'll keep it in mind, it won't happen again."
Joyce shut the door behind Buffy and said nothing for a moment. Buffy looked down at her shoes again. She should've tried to run.*
~~~
"Do you want more chicken, honey?"
"No. Thanks."
I swear, I'm going to hurl. I feel like I'm in some fucking episode of Dawson's Creek or something like that. Why did I ever accept Faith's invitation for dinner with her family? I must've been on crack, because now I'm stuck here with her stupid little brother, who I will kill personally if he opens his mouth once more, Faith herself who's barely said a word for an hour- and her parents. And if I ever was jealous of her family, which I of course never was, I take that back.
How does she put up with them? Her mother has that I'm-so-proud-of-you- darling smile plastered all over her face, which is perfectly accented by make-up, and who hasn't stopped talking for the whole time, firing questions about his football practice at David and about last night's patrol at Faith; as if it's the most normal thing in the world. Her father doesn't speak as much but he, too, has that smile.
Picture perfect and I really have to control myself not to scream. There's only so much family sweetness that I can take.
Picture perfect mom now takes the half empty bowls - she's cooked enough to feed a small army - and says, "Faith, can you help me with the dessert?"
"Of course, Mom."
And Faith! She drives me nuts with her "Of course, Mom", "Yes, Mom", "No, Dad". How old is she, five?
They disappear into the kitchen and I can hear them talking softly. Which leaves me alone with picture perfect dad and picture perfect brother. Somebody shoot me now.
"So," picture perfect das clears his throat, "Faith has told us that you've arrive in Sunnydale only two weeks ago. How do you like it so far?"
I shrug and play with my napkin that lies crumpled on the table. "I don't know. Many churches. More cemeteries. Enough work for me."
He smiles, but this time it's not the I'm-so-proud-of-you-darling smile, it's the I-don't-know-what-to-say-now smile.
"I bet my sister can kick your ass," picture perfect brother announces suddenly.
"David, watch your language."
"Sorry, Dad," he says, not sounding sorry at all.
"What makes you think that?"
"You're too small. Kind of like Willow, like a girl. Not like a slayer."
Now he's insulting me and I ask myself what would happen if I threw him out of the window, just for fun.
"Want me to demonstrate my strength?"
Picture perfect dad seems to notice the slightly dangerous edge in my voice, 'cause he laughs awkwardly, "Nobody doubts your strength- Faith said that your skills are impressive. Have you been training for a long time? Faith only started when she was called, but we know there are girls who are trained from birth."
"I started training when I was twelve."
"Wow."
Yeah. Wow. Can't he just drop it? Why's everyone interested in my past anyway? I'm here now, that's what counts. What happened before is nobody's business.
"Do you have a watcher?" he asks and now it's definitely enough. I stand up faster than is polite. "I got to go to the ladies."
"Of course. Second door to the left."
I can feel their questioning eyes staring after me as I almost bolt from the room. Thank God, this bathroom has a window. I open it and peek outside. There's a few flowers that I'll probably destroy, but I give a damn. All that questions, all that family-crap, all that perfect-ness, I can't stand that. I'm going nuts if I have to stay for dessert - some special homemade stuff after a receipt form grand-mom, no doubt - and although I'm well aware that it's really not nice, I climb out of the window, directly on the perfectly groomed flowers and run down the street.
Free at last.
~~~
The stars are pretty tonight.
I sit cross-legged on top of a mausoleum, listening to music coming out of my discman and watching the stars. I like them and they're a rare thing in LA. Too much smog, I guess. But here, in SunnyD you can see them quite clearly. So many, and they're so little- or at least they seem to be little. When I was a little kid I used to sit on the tiny balcony in front of my room and stare at the stars for hours. I don't know why they're so fascinating to me even now- I mean, I know now that there are no knights in shining spacesuits living on faraway stars, who one day get on their spaceship to save the damsel in distress, namely me.
No, they're just pretty. And still a bit mysterious.
From where I'm sitting I can overlook almost the whole graveyard, and I can see that a few graves further there's another messed up one, like the one I saw a week ago. Funny. I'm not sure yet what it means although I have a suspicion that's most likely to be true. I'll check it out tomorrow. I've had enough stress for today, with the family dinner.
I can imagine their reaction to my "escape", picture perfect mom coming into the room with Faith in tow, in her hands the dessert, her surprised asking where I am, picture perfect dad glancing at his watch and muttering that I've been on the toilet for quite a while. Faith will check it out, will knock and call and finally just open the door. She'll see the open door, the trampled flowers and know the rest. And she'll be mad because I just took off, so mad that she'll search for me, probably to beat the crap out of me, and she'll say-
"What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Ah. Faith's standing down there and she looks up to me on my mausoleum as if she's ready to kill me. Am I supposed to feel guilty for my little stunt? Probably. Do I feel guilty? Let me think about it. no. Not really.
"Hi, sis'," I drawl and switch my discman off- now she's really pissed.
"I'm not your sister," she snaps, "And I asked you something!"
"Well, as I see it, I'm sitting here in a graveyard and watch out for the undead."
"You know what I mean, so don't play dumb!"
"I'm playing dumb? Okay, so I decided I wasn't in the mood for dessert. So I left a little sudden, what's the big deal?"
"The big deal?" She almost screams now. "You just left! Through a window no less! I invite you for dinner and you manage to screw it up!"
"Easy," I say and jump in one fluid motion from the mausoleum and land right in front of her. The dramatic effect is a little ruined by the fact that Faith's taller than me and I have to look up to glare at her, but still, I think it's pretty impressive. Not that she seems impressed by the daggers in my eyes. "I believe it was more your mother who had the brilliant idea of checking out SunnyD's latest addition to the good guys. I'll never see them again anyway! I'm not some kind of superhero who does a round of slaying before going home and helping Mommy doing the dishes. Sorry. And you can tell that your parents word for word. So if you excuse me now, I got vampires to slay, demons to kill, I'm already late tonight. Bye."
I leave her standing there, staring after me and all. Now I do feel a tiny little bit bad, not so much for her but for her parents. After all, they couldn't have known that they'd invited a psychotic slayer without manners to dinner.
E-Mail: ikh@haefft.de
Rating: R
Summary: What if Buffy was the screwed up one?
Spoilers: General spoilers for Btvs seasons 1 - 3
Disclaimers: I don't own Btvs nor do I make any money out of this; no copyright infringement is intended.
Chapter 06 - I Don't Have Anything
*The policeman rang the doorbell and Buffy swallowed and looked down at her worn out shoes. In a few minutes all hell would break loose and she secretly estimated her chances to escape from the cop- she could run down the stairs, out of the door- and into the arms of his partner who waited outside.
He rang again and a moment later she could hear somebody inside yelling, "Yes, yes, yes! I'm fucking coming, so don't sweat it!"
Her mother. Buffy had hoped that she somehow wouldn't be at home, or passed out, or anything, just unable to answer the door- surely they'd let her go then? No such luck.
The door opened and she could see her mother, hair uncombed, face void of make up and clad in a bathrobe. It was four o'clock in the afternoon and Joyce's day had just begun.
"What is it?" she asked a tad more friendly as she saw the uniform of the man next to Buffy.
"We found you daughter stealing in a supermarket. This time it'll be without consequences, but next time- you really should teach her that stealing is a bad thing. Good afternoon."
"Goodbye and thank you, officer. I'll keep it in mind, it won't happen again."
Joyce shut the door behind Buffy and said nothing for a moment. Buffy looked down at her shoes again. She should've tried to run.*
~~~
"Do you want more chicken, honey?"
"No. Thanks."
I swear, I'm going to hurl. I feel like I'm in some fucking episode of Dawson's Creek or something like that. Why did I ever accept Faith's invitation for dinner with her family? I must've been on crack, because now I'm stuck here with her stupid little brother, who I will kill personally if he opens his mouth once more, Faith herself who's barely said a word for an hour- and her parents. And if I ever was jealous of her family, which I of course never was, I take that back.
How does she put up with them? Her mother has that I'm-so-proud-of-you- darling smile plastered all over her face, which is perfectly accented by make-up, and who hasn't stopped talking for the whole time, firing questions about his football practice at David and about last night's patrol at Faith; as if it's the most normal thing in the world. Her father doesn't speak as much but he, too, has that smile.
Picture perfect and I really have to control myself not to scream. There's only so much family sweetness that I can take.
Picture perfect mom now takes the half empty bowls - she's cooked enough to feed a small army - and says, "Faith, can you help me with the dessert?"
"Of course, Mom."
And Faith! She drives me nuts with her "Of course, Mom", "Yes, Mom", "No, Dad". How old is she, five?
They disappear into the kitchen and I can hear them talking softly. Which leaves me alone with picture perfect dad and picture perfect brother. Somebody shoot me now.
"So," picture perfect das clears his throat, "Faith has told us that you've arrive in Sunnydale only two weeks ago. How do you like it so far?"
I shrug and play with my napkin that lies crumpled on the table. "I don't know. Many churches. More cemeteries. Enough work for me."
He smiles, but this time it's not the I'm-so-proud-of-you-darling smile, it's the I-don't-know-what-to-say-now smile.
"I bet my sister can kick your ass," picture perfect brother announces suddenly.
"David, watch your language."
"Sorry, Dad," he says, not sounding sorry at all.
"What makes you think that?"
"You're too small. Kind of like Willow, like a girl. Not like a slayer."
Now he's insulting me and I ask myself what would happen if I threw him out of the window, just for fun.
"Want me to demonstrate my strength?"
Picture perfect dad seems to notice the slightly dangerous edge in my voice, 'cause he laughs awkwardly, "Nobody doubts your strength- Faith said that your skills are impressive. Have you been training for a long time? Faith only started when she was called, but we know there are girls who are trained from birth."
"I started training when I was twelve."
"Wow."
Yeah. Wow. Can't he just drop it? Why's everyone interested in my past anyway? I'm here now, that's what counts. What happened before is nobody's business.
"Do you have a watcher?" he asks and now it's definitely enough. I stand up faster than is polite. "I got to go to the ladies."
"Of course. Second door to the left."
I can feel their questioning eyes staring after me as I almost bolt from the room. Thank God, this bathroom has a window. I open it and peek outside. There's a few flowers that I'll probably destroy, but I give a damn. All that questions, all that family-crap, all that perfect-ness, I can't stand that. I'm going nuts if I have to stay for dessert - some special homemade stuff after a receipt form grand-mom, no doubt - and although I'm well aware that it's really not nice, I climb out of the window, directly on the perfectly groomed flowers and run down the street.
Free at last.
~~~
The stars are pretty tonight.
I sit cross-legged on top of a mausoleum, listening to music coming out of my discman and watching the stars. I like them and they're a rare thing in LA. Too much smog, I guess. But here, in SunnyD you can see them quite clearly. So many, and they're so little- or at least they seem to be little. When I was a little kid I used to sit on the tiny balcony in front of my room and stare at the stars for hours. I don't know why they're so fascinating to me even now- I mean, I know now that there are no knights in shining spacesuits living on faraway stars, who one day get on their spaceship to save the damsel in distress, namely me.
No, they're just pretty. And still a bit mysterious.
From where I'm sitting I can overlook almost the whole graveyard, and I can see that a few graves further there's another messed up one, like the one I saw a week ago. Funny. I'm not sure yet what it means although I have a suspicion that's most likely to be true. I'll check it out tomorrow. I've had enough stress for today, with the family dinner.
I can imagine their reaction to my "escape", picture perfect mom coming into the room with Faith in tow, in her hands the dessert, her surprised asking where I am, picture perfect dad glancing at his watch and muttering that I've been on the toilet for quite a while. Faith will check it out, will knock and call and finally just open the door. She'll see the open door, the trampled flowers and know the rest. And she'll be mad because I just took off, so mad that she'll search for me, probably to beat the crap out of me, and she'll say-
"What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Ah. Faith's standing down there and she looks up to me on my mausoleum as if she's ready to kill me. Am I supposed to feel guilty for my little stunt? Probably. Do I feel guilty? Let me think about it. no. Not really.
"Hi, sis'," I drawl and switch my discman off- now she's really pissed.
"I'm not your sister," she snaps, "And I asked you something!"
"Well, as I see it, I'm sitting here in a graveyard and watch out for the undead."
"You know what I mean, so don't play dumb!"
"I'm playing dumb? Okay, so I decided I wasn't in the mood for dessert. So I left a little sudden, what's the big deal?"
"The big deal?" She almost screams now. "You just left! Through a window no less! I invite you for dinner and you manage to screw it up!"
"Easy," I say and jump in one fluid motion from the mausoleum and land right in front of her. The dramatic effect is a little ruined by the fact that Faith's taller than me and I have to look up to glare at her, but still, I think it's pretty impressive. Not that she seems impressed by the daggers in my eyes. "I believe it was more your mother who had the brilliant idea of checking out SunnyD's latest addition to the good guys. I'll never see them again anyway! I'm not some kind of superhero who does a round of slaying before going home and helping Mommy doing the dishes. Sorry. And you can tell that your parents word for word. So if you excuse me now, I got vampires to slay, demons to kill, I'm already late tonight. Bye."
I leave her standing there, staring after me and all. Now I do feel a tiny little bit bad, not so much for her but for her parents. After all, they couldn't have known that they'd invited a psychotic slayer without manners to dinner.