three [ visual ✝ location: planetarium ]

[herotypical]

So -- how better to drown the trauma of a zombie infestation than by seeking gainful employment in the heady world of gift shop retail? Buffy Summers had been intending to hit the job search hard before the undead began to make nuisances of themselves (as they so often tend to do) and prompted her to go out and hit other things harder instead; however, now that life is slowly slotting itself back into place, the Slayer could not put the chore off any longer.

And that is how she sees it. A chore -- a necessary chore, but a chore all the same. Not only did it bring in some extra moolah but wage-slave shift work gave her something to do in the days beyond repainting her nails a new colour for the fifth time during a random chick-flick she didn't even really care about watching. It was just there. After a few weeks of this, it became clear that stagnation was not flattering on Buffy.

But as she stands and rearranges a display of dinky, kiddie telescopes at the planetarium's gift shop, she begins to realize that she has only traded one kind of stagnation for another. At first she tries to spice the job up by balancing the telescopes as precariously as possible. This only ends in destruction and messy mayhem.

Eventually, she seeks solace in her tablet. Buffy clicks the thing on and addresses it (complete with telescope pyramid disaster in the background) with a hushed, conspiratorial tone: "Mayday, mayday. Extreme case of boredom coming in from the...where's here again? Oh. Never mind. Just, someone -- anyone who isn't more boring than putting price stickers on Don't Exclude Pluto mugs -- come save me? Don't make me key-tone SOS at you into oblivion."

020: The Party Always Ends [Visual]

[a-pretty-fire.livejournal.com]

The party was over. The only dead people walking the streets now were the ones who had been invited to the city by the hamsters.

Drusilla had enjoyed the last week. It had been bloody and chaotic, yes, but her heart - her dead and silent heart - had stirred with the thrill of it. She was bloody and chaotic, after all. She'd been able to kill and kill and, for once, the tin soldiers hadn't stopped her. She had been disappointed to find the streets empty of bodies this morning. It was too silent for screams.

A few more days would have been nice.

She meandered to the playground in the end, kicking her bare feet - splattered with blood, just like the sodden crimson hem of her pretty white dress - against the grass to push the swing into motion. It was as silent as the rest of the city, yes, but it was hers. Hers.

"They took my pet away," Drusilla remarked, pouting at the camera. "That was wicked of them."

Her bright blue eyes glittered with mischief and mock disappointment. She didn't look overly upset.

"I want a bird next time," she added, for the benefit of the hamsters, "They sing to me when I give them seed. Little Fitz just moaned. He wouldn't even play fetch."

THREE; LOCATION: STAVE CHURCH/VISUAL [things in your chest you need to confess]

[deniedthesight.livejournal.com]

Nearly ten at night isn't the time that most people would typically be going to church, unless they were attending a holiday mass, but Angela has never exactly been typical. It took her a while to find a church in the city, and then it took some more time to locate where it was (a few months in the city and she's still not entirely used to it). She's missed attending the services and the routine comfort attending mass every Sunday morning gave her, but that's not the reason she's here tonight.

She's here at night because she didn't want to run the risk of attending a service surrounded by Extras (how creepy would that have been) and she was hoping that no one would be around. No one around probably means that the confessional booths are empty, and while them being empty means no words of comfort from the priest, it also means she can get her conflicted feelings over the recent zombie epidemic off her chest. It's not the same as visiting the theological society, as she would have if she were home or it were here, but it would suffice.

Her tablet's visual feed clicks on as she's heading up the steps, and it shows her standing in front of the doors for a few moments, lips pressed together as she places a hand on the door. She hesitates for only a moment, then pushes through.