DISCLAIMER: Need I say ... not mine? Anyway, first off I just want to warn
you that I
don't have a very large grasp on proper prison procedure, visiting
regulations, etc.,
so please excuse any inaccuracies you might find concerning Angel and
Gunn's visit to
the jail. (I don't think security would be a super high priority if it was
raining fire though ... more like, panic and run, probably.) This is gonna
be short, but you try writing six essays in six weeks! :) The song's 'Last
Year's War' by Sarah Slean (going to see her play Tuesday! Yay!) Hopefully,
I'll have the next installment out in two weeks or so, depending if my muse
wants to come out and play. I love them reviews!
"I put this battle in a box
With my military thoughts
And the days where I was almost at my end
Seems to me quite clear now
Now that you are here how
Easily I could begin again
I'm still bloody from last year's war
With liars and lovers untrue
And hey you with your stars out
I have no angry words for you
You didn't have my heart yet
But you stopped before we started
So now you tell me what you want me to do
I can start believing
I can watch you sleeping
But I can't hold my breath 'til she comes back for you
I'm still bloody from last year's war
But no longer drowning in the flood
And hey you with your stars out
You've kissed again don't you see you've already won
You're still bloody from last year's war
Your bandages your bullet holes like mine
And I'm here with my stars out
You say you're scared well so am I
********************************
"It's doing WHAT?!"
Mentally, Angel upped his current tally of 'how many times will Faith ask what's happening outside with shock and disbelief' to six, mildly surprised that a Slayer would find the End of Days (yet again) so unexpected. She'd dealt with a virtual Armageddon before; faced vampires and demons and other assortments of other-worldly creatures. Faced death. But now, as the prospect of saving the world again from some vicious monster loomed in front of her, Faith seemed oddly ... frightened.
"Rainin' fire, apocalyptic nightmare ..." Gunn was impatient, pacing anxiously. "Can we just move on ta the whole 'savin' your ass' part?" He had a bad feeling about this. A real bad feeling. Charles Gunn was spooked. Something was making him itch; the kinda itch where your senses, your intuition catch things before the rest of you does. Where every nerve in your body is screaming 'Get the hell out!' 'The jitters', Alonna had always called them. Survival instincts, really. You got the jitters when that alleyway looked a little too dark, when that mission was a little too easy, when something just wasn't right. And something wasn't right here.
They were seated in the visitation room, a sparse, minimally decorated chamber bathed the sickly white glow of overhead neon lights. Outside, the remaining skeleton crew of guards were busy gathering fire extinguishers, corralling prisoners, answering panicked phone calls. When two young men had arrived, the tall, serious one claiming to be Faith's brother, no one paid much attention. The prison supervisor had quickly ushered them into the room, announcing a ten-minute time limit; the girl would be leaving to transfer jails soon. To some place where fire didn't fall from the sky.
"Chill," Faith retorted, smoothing back her thick, brown mane. "I've just been outta the game for a little while, alright?" Angel realized, quite suddenly, that she was all too right. The young Slayer had been in prison almost three years; no undead creatures to vanish or evil spells to thwart. And here he was, expecting her to dive headfirst back into what had almost killed her.
Angel knelt beside the girl, hand resting gently on her shoulder. Faith looked much older now; hair was longer, no makeup, features pale and drawn. Older ... but wiser. Her wary gaze flickered from the vampire's face to his pale hand, tenderly gripping her upper arm. "Can you do this?" Angel demanded, voice low and full of compassion. It wasn't a challenge, or a threat, or restless confrontation; he just ... cared, that was all. Cared if she could handle being thrust back into the madness of her old life, and all the unpleasant memories that accompanied it.
(-I killed a man.-)
(-... killer ...-)
(-I'm a killer.-)
But then there was Angel, somber brown eyes boring deep into her's, practically pleading for her help, relying on that Slayer prowess and skill to save that day again (-nonononono-) and leaving with him would be the Big Step, the affirmation of her return. She'd have to be strong and responsible; the tragic heroine trying to atone, the fallen phoenix rising from the ashes. Her happy vacation in 'Denial' would be officially over, and she'd have to face the consequences of that little flirtation with the dark side.
Buffy.
Cordelia.
Wesley.
(-Oh god.-)
Faith gazed up at Angel, eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I don't know ..." she whispered, feeling very small and very frightened. "I'm ... not sure." The vampire was taken aback at her unabashed display of emotion. Her icy facade of yester-year was gone, replaced by a plainly terrified young woman, her bewildered emotions naked and honest. He stood, sighing deeply.
Gunn, who had watched the scene with a measure of silence, was thoroughly confused. This was the badass Evil Slayer? Where was the killing and pillaging and burning? The vampire heads for trophies? According to Cordelia's colourful stories, she'd tortured Wes, beaten the crap out of Cor herself and even given Angel a run for his money. All Charles Gunn could see was a broken woman. Pale limbs that had been hardy and agile, plunging stakes into vampiric hearts and ripping demon heads from their bodies. Red lips that might of once sneered in arrogance, or taunted opponents, or smiled wickedly at the thought of the hunt. Dark eyes that used to flash with intensity and passion, a smoldering fire hidden in their deep brown depths.
And now?
This was no heartless monster, no sinister killer.
This was just a little girl.
"The vision," Faith demanded, gaze still trained on Angel. "What did your gal Friday see, exactly?" She was calmer now, seeming to regain some of her infamous aplomb. The Slayer leaned forward in her chair, elbows resting lightly on knees, insides like Jell-O. (-Have to do this. Has to be done.-) "What big bad is coming to get me?"
Angel glanced up at Gunn, who shrugged indifferently and continued his intense study of the ceiling. The vampire turned back to Faith, uncertain in this rapid change of character. (-She's bluffing, but so help me, it doesn't matter. We need her, even if she's terrified.-) "In Cordelia's vision, you were attacked by the Beast ..."
"The Beast?" Faith echoed. Something was bothering her. It had begun as an annoying itch, an irritating niggle at the back of her mind. Now the sensation of 'wrongness' had spread into a cool fear that gripped her bones, her entire body humming with static protest. Beads of sweat collected at the back of her neck; her blood sang. (-Something, something ... not right ... where the fuck is that coming from?!-)
"Horns, cloven hooves, the whole deal," Gunn interrupted, apparently unaware of her panic. "Nasty bastard. Did the whole risin'-outta-the-earth- thing, had a little post-rising-outta-the-earth slaughter, started all the fire, kicked the crap out a' Connor an' Cordy. Not the only weird crap that's been goin' down lately. Don't even get me started on the resurrected Irish guy. All he does is faint and tell us we're all gonna die."
Angel immediately detected the hitch in Faith's breathing, the rapid leap of her heartbeat. Adrenaline was coursing through her veins, system subconsciously revving up for 'fight-or-flight'. She knew, felt the proximity of something decidedly supernatural just like he had. 'The perks of Champions,' Angel thought dryly. Almost two hundred years had honed his senses sharper than Faith's, but the vampire couldn't shake the feeling of being utterly surrounded by this dark presence. There was no location to pinpoint, no distinguishing scent or movement. Just ... a blackness at the edge of his senses, some demonic force hovering near his intuition. (- Almost intangible.-) The creature (what Angel assumed to be The Beast), could be on the other side of South L.A or right next door and they wouldn't know the difference.
By this time, Faith, shaken by the onslaught of ethereal danger, had bolted out of her chair and paced nervously, mimicking Gunn's earlier gesture. "Resurrected Irish guy, huh?" she echoed, shooting a look at Angel. "Don't we already have one of those kickin' around?"
Gunn ignored her dead panned joke, gaze flying between one disturbed- looking vampire and an anxious Slayer, was growing more and more confused. His sense of unease had increased ten-fold, fueled by Angel and Faith's mounting tensions. The young demon hunter might of lacked mystic gifts or heritage, but a life on the streets had taught him one valuable lesson: trust your instincts. (-An' right now, my instincts are tellin' me to grab the girl and run like hell.-)
Gunn wanted to run, bust Faith out anyway they could and hightail it. He was already drawing up a mental plan of escape, calculating the number of guards, nearby exits. At that moment, it wouldn't of mattered if they were busting her out of Alcatraz; Gunn would have fought nail and tooth out of that jail, to get away from that 'un-right' feeling. Was just about to inform the others of his intentions ...
But then the screaming started.
"I put this battle in a box
With my military thoughts
And the days where I was almost at my end
Seems to me quite clear now
Now that you are here how
Easily I could begin again
I'm still bloody from last year's war
With liars and lovers untrue
And hey you with your stars out
I have no angry words for you
You didn't have my heart yet
But you stopped before we started
So now you tell me what you want me to do
I can start believing
I can watch you sleeping
But I can't hold my breath 'til she comes back for you
I'm still bloody from last year's war
But no longer drowning in the flood
And hey you with your stars out
You've kissed again don't you see you've already won
You're still bloody from last year's war
Your bandages your bullet holes like mine
And I'm here with my stars out
You say you're scared well so am I
********************************
"It's doing WHAT?!"
Mentally, Angel upped his current tally of 'how many times will Faith ask what's happening outside with shock and disbelief' to six, mildly surprised that a Slayer would find the End of Days (yet again) so unexpected. She'd dealt with a virtual Armageddon before; faced vampires and demons and other assortments of other-worldly creatures. Faced death. But now, as the prospect of saving the world again from some vicious monster loomed in front of her, Faith seemed oddly ... frightened.
"Rainin' fire, apocalyptic nightmare ..." Gunn was impatient, pacing anxiously. "Can we just move on ta the whole 'savin' your ass' part?" He had a bad feeling about this. A real bad feeling. Charles Gunn was spooked. Something was making him itch; the kinda itch where your senses, your intuition catch things before the rest of you does. Where every nerve in your body is screaming 'Get the hell out!' 'The jitters', Alonna had always called them. Survival instincts, really. You got the jitters when that alleyway looked a little too dark, when that mission was a little too easy, when something just wasn't right. And something wasn't right here.
They were seated in the visitation room, a sparse, minimally decorated chamber bathed the sickly white glow of overhead neon lights. Outside, the remaining skeleton crew of guards were busy gathering fire extinguishers, corralling prisoners, answering panicked phone calls. When two young men had arrived, the tall, serious one claiming to be Faith's brother, no one paid much attention. The prison supervisor had quickly ushered them into the room, announcing a ten-minute time limit; the girl would be leaving to transfer jails soon. To some place where fire didn't fall from the sky.
"Chill," Faith retorted, smoothing back her thick, brown mane. "I've just been outta the game for a little while, alright?" Angel realized, quite suddenly, that she was all too right. The young Slayer had been in prison almost three years; no undead creatures to vanish or evil spells to thwart. And here he was, expecting her to dive headfirst back into what had almost killed her.
Angel knelt beside the girl, hand resting gently on her shoulder. Faith looked much older now; hair was longer, no makeup, features pale and drawn. Older ... but wiser. Her wary gaze flickered from the vampire's face to his pale hand, tenderly gripping her upper arm. "Can you do this?" Angel demanded, voice low and full of compassion. It wasn't a challenge, or a threat, or restless confrontation; he just ... cared, that was all. Cared if she could handle being thrust back into the madness of her old life, and all the unpleasant memories that accompanied it.
(-I killed a man.-)
(-... killer ...-)
(-I'm a killer.-)
But then there was Angel, somber brown eyes boring deep into her's, practically pleading for her help, relying on that Slayer prowess and skill to save that day again (-nonononono-) and leaving with him would be the Big Step, the affirmation of her return. She'd have to be strong and responsible; the tragic heroine trying to atone, the fallen phoenix rising from the ashes. Her happy vacation in 'Denial' would be officially over, and she'd have to face the consequences of that little flirtation with the dark side.
Buffy.
Cordelia.
Wesley.
(-Oh god.-)
Faith gazed up at Angel, eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I don't know ..." she whispered, feeling very small and very frightened. "I'm ... not sure." The vampire was taken aback at her unabashed display of emotion. Her icy facade of yester-year was gone, replaced by a plainly terrified young woman, her bewildered emotions naked and honest. He stood, sighing deeply.
Gunn, who had watched the scene with a measure of silence, was thoroughly confused. This was the badass Evil Slayer? Where was the killing and pillaging and burning? The vampire heads for trophies? According to Cordelia's colourful stories, she'd tortured Wes, beaten the crap out of Cor herself and even given Angel a run for his money. All Charles Gunn could see was a broken woman. Pale limbs that had been hardy and agile, plunging stakes into vampiric hearts and ripping demon heads from their bodies. Red lips that might of once sneered in arrogance, or taunted opponents, or smiled wickedly at the thought of the hunt. Dark eyes that used to flash with intensity and passion, a smoldering fire hidden in their deep brown depths.
And now?
This was no heartless monster, no sinister killer.
This was just a little girl.
"The vision," Faith demanded, gaze still trained on Angel. "What did your gal Friday see, exactly?" She was calmer now, seeming to regain some of her infamous aplomb. The Slayer leaned forward in her chair, elbows resting lightly on knees, insides like Jell-O. (-Have to do this. Has to be done.-) "What big bad is coming to get me?"
Angel glanced up at Gunn, who shrugged indifferently and continued his intense study of the ceiling. The vampire turned back to Faith, uncertain in this rapid change of character. (-She's bluffing, but so help me, it doesn't matter. We need her, even if she's terrified.-) "In Cordelia's vision, you were attacked by the Beast ..."
"The Beast?" Faith echoed. Something was bothering her. It had begun as an annoying itch, an irritating niggle at the back of her mind. Now the sensation of 'wrongness' had spread into a cool fear that gripped her bones, her entire body humming with static protest. Beads of sweat collected at the back of her neck; her blood sang. (-Something, something ... not right ... where the fuck is that coming from?!-)
"Horns, cloven hooves, the whole deal," Gunn interrupted, apparently unaware of her panic. "Nasty bastard. Did the whole risin'-outta-the-earth- thing, had a little post-rising-outta-the-earth slaughter, started all the fire, kicked the crap out a' Connor an' Cordy. Not the only weird crap that's been goin' down lately. Don't even get me started on the resurrected Irish guy. All he does is faint and tell us we're all gonna die."
Angel immediately detected the hitch in Faith's breathing, the rapid leap of her heartbeat. Adrenaline was coursing through her veins, system subconsciously revving up for 'fight-or-flight'. She knew, felt the proximity of something decidedly supernatural just like he had. 'The perks of Champions,' Angel thought dryly. Almost two hundred years had honed his senses sharper than Faith's, but the vampire couldn't shake the feeling of being utterly surrounded by this dark presence. There was no location to pinpoint, no distinguishing scent or movement. Just ... a blackness at the edge of his senses, some demonic force hovering near his intuition. (- Almost intangible.-) The creature (what Angel assumed to be The Beast), could be on the other side of South L.A or right next door and they wouldn't know the difference.
By this time, Faith, shaken by the onslaught of ethereal danger, had bolted out of her chair and paced nervously, mimicking Gunn's earlier gesture. "Resurrected Irish guy, huh?" she echoed, shooting a look at Angel. "Don't we already have one of those kickin' around?"
Gunn ignored her dead panned joke, gaze flying between one disturbed- looking vampire and an anxious Slayer, was growing more and more confused. His sense of unease had increased ten-fold, fueled by Angel and Faith's mounting tensions. The young demon hunter might of lacked mystic gifts or heritage, but a life on the streets had taught him one valuable lesson: trust your instincts. (-An' right now, my instincts are tellin' me to grab the girl and run like hell.-)
Gunn wanted to run, bust Faith out anyway they could and hightail it. He was already drawing up a mental plan of escape, calculating the number of guards, nearby exits. At that moment, it wouldn't of mattered if they were busting her out of Alcatraz; Gunn would have fought nail and tooth out of that jail, to get away from that 'un-right' feeling. Was just about to inform the others of his intentions ...
But then the screaming started.