Valley
Before the holidays- on the darkest eve of shopping- the fog took back the city. Not for long, the people wanted endless knots of lights to show them the way to the rings. Where plastic squares were their weapons, and joy to the world was in the *kachunk* of the cash register.
Divorced from the larger scene of avarice were the birds. Tiny groups of needy faces- a skinny that caught on with the very beautiful or uncertain. They called themselves 'Pigeons' because so few other names made sense. Unseen by shifting crowds- commented on only when there was a mess, and just the tourists gave them bread to eat.
All kinds of depression assigned wherever it earned the most, and she watched it play out.
Melody from some trance song- French lyrics playing in her head. As if anything else fit- didn't have time to worry about a mental soundtrack being synchronized with life.
The Slayer was made to be used. A tool that had been shaped with an eye for deceptive curves. Death by the hands of one who might have bred heroes.
The Chosen One in a cage- Watchers did that for millennia- but did they ever realize how powerful the core of the one girl in all the world truly was? Or how much she might hold if given what every child wanted?
Faith just wanted someone to take notice. A little attention.
The first time she saw the smile, it was as though all the warm nights had come together without the mornings after. The fierceness of her eyes and voice when her friends were in peril. B didn't even know how sweet she was, ducked head, a shrug, or a blush that made Faith think that the sun was underrated.
Possibilities hopeful on clean fingers, nails that were trimmed.
After being called 'bad' for so long, 'good' was a seductive word.
Released on behavior that would have made her Watcher give a nod that meant more than plaques. Sent to stop Angelus- held up by personal feelings, and it turned out that Wes and the vampire had to work out the situation on their own. She could see how badly they needed to talk and slipped out. Angelus didn't care so long as she stayed away.
Buffy wouldn't hit someone for the right reasons. Or if she did, there was denial to work through and that grew tiresome when it came as a sequel.
With the underground upheaval, many creatures were drawn to the Hellmouth. Its power seeped into the ground, black contamination that was a beacon to all to those who had shadow ties.
As the Scoobies' parents were poor in their roles or constantly absent, Buffy's mother became the default maternal refuge. Joyce had taken Faith in as well. Christmas, the open arms as she left a window unlocked when the girls patrolled.
She didn't want the finger clasping of fillers-in, but endured it. Never soft-spoken, she found that for the first time she was carefully outraged. Didn't anything count? How dare she, love/friend, decide what had to be their relationship. A fight should be learned from, not scrubbed out of the mind.
Had called Sunnydale- best to make sure that nobody wasacknowledgment gates with weapons drawn, and got a very..blank acknowledgement. Good that she was changed. B wasn't disbelieving so much as she was distracted. Focus elsewhere, like always.
Now there stood a partition between her and love. She could probably shatter the glass, but wasn't sure that it would be a good idea, or if she would find what she wanted on the opposite side. Was afraid that it would be.
Cold like a wind imported from far north. But she remembered.
Pillow fuzz and strawberry taffy.
Not once had she been visited. Sleeping with the boy that replaced her was the thing that broke them, when they hadn't been fixed since she killed a human who wasn't worth the separation he caused. Some counselor claimed it was all about love, the times, and painful lessons, when it was all about self. Me, me, and not 'you.' Rather, B was who the stage had been built for.
Mourning her life in clothes that could have served as reminders of what she didn't have- but she made it a truth to be in control. Faith wished that determination overflowed into palms cupped around ashes in the graveyard.
Blowing away their kills, clothes dusted off, and with gray on her mouth B was what she saw in the mirror after a good slay. Different packaging, but honesty was harsh enough not to speak of.
After a fight there was a vibrating wave that held Faith in thrall. Want. Take. Have. Could lose herself in the backwash if she didn't ride it just so. That's what B wouldn't deal with- the trip up and back.
Anyone that spent their time being over-the-top-formal- had to have a point where they lost their composure.
Hand on her belly like a root- keeping her with the world.
Sat at the sidelines and watched a love die. Hellmouth like the Summers' door, wide when it counted and clanging shut to seal fates. Relationships fell to the floor, a vase tipped and its fragility forgotten until it shattered.
The arch of spine and nuzzled skin stick to leather cracked by the sun and neglect.
See the building standing alone like a widow amongst happy newlyweds: progress and art deco. Watch as it's ignored, built around, and finally acknowledged as 'something from way back'- just before the wrecking ball swings through its heart.