036: [ location: castle summers ] / [ visual ] unwelcome visitors

[likeajoan.livejournal.com]

Buffy is washing the dishes. It's a very mundane task of course, and the broadcast isn't terribly exciting. Soap, running water, annoyed mumbling about Dawn and fossilized lasagne, a little humming to the radio - which is playing some happy-sounding salsa music, the Summers kitchen staple.

At a certain point, she pulls the rubber gloves off her hands, pausing to lean against the sink, take a deep breath and stare into the plughole for a minute or two. There's a lot on her mind, evidently. When she finally comes back to herself, she turns to leave the sink, and then there's a gasp as she stops in her tracks, paralyzed with shock.

Her mother is standing beside her. Her mother, standing there silent and pale and unmistakeably dead. She doesn't know whether to scream or to throw her arms around the apparition. "Mom...?" She asks, in barely more than a whisper. "Mom, are you really here?" Still rooted to the spot, her vision already beginning to swim with hopeful tears, she lifts her hand, about to reach out and touch the ghost. She stops, however, when she notices that her mother isn't even looking at her. No, she's looking right past her. Through her. Behind her.

With a feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach, she turns, painfully slowly, feeling every single hair on the back of her neck prickle with the presence of death. She turns to meet the empty gaze of... herself. Only not quite herself, exactly. A version. A version of herself in decay. In the process of decomposition - an informative insight into how she must have looked in the coffin, before her friends brought her back. Her eyes widen with horror as she just stares for a heart-stopping second, and then turns back to look at her mother, only to find her gone. Her head whips around again, back to her cadaverous double, to see that she too has vanished.

There's a moment where she teeters on the edge of sinking to the floor to just cry. Pushing down that urge and steeling herself, she instead fumbles with the tablet, her hands trembling. When she speaks, her voice is mostly level. Mostly. It's also filled with anger.

"Whoever's doing this, the ghosts? Whatever you are, whatever you want, you have no right to use her face. You want to play with me? Fine. But don't you dare use her, because I swear to god I will find you."

Comments

[ voice ]

[undoing.livejournal.com]

Her face? Whose face?

[ visual ]

[likeajoan.livejournal.com]

Now that her burst of anger has been exhausted, the shock of what just happened is finally settling in. She feels weak, nauseous. Her reply to Angel is in a different tone to the one she was using in defiance just a moment ago.

"It was mom. I saw mom."

[ visual | locked ]

[undoing.livejournal.com]

Angel takes a moment to switch his feed from voice to visual like hers, actually managing to hit the right button while also locking it, simultaneously. He will deny, of course, committing to memory the exact location of the lock button after Spike mocked him for it. Annoying motivation is still motivation of some kind, one just doesn't always have to own up to it.

"Your mom." He remembers just how much her mother's death affected her, how tired and worn she'd seemed, so lost and confused. He'd gone to Sunnydale as soon as he'd heard and stayed with her the night of the funeral. Angel had never really been on good terms with Joyce, but he didn't dislike the woman or hold anything against her for her distrust of him, given her rather valid reasoning for it. "Are you alright?"

[ visual | locked ]

[likeajoan.livejournal.com]

If Buffy were in any state of mind approaching normal, she'd probably poke fun at the fact that Angel's finally learning how to use technology. As it is, the change of format barely registers.

"Not really." She answers honestly, closing her eyes for a moment. As frightening as that experience was, her overriding feeling is one of loss. She misses her mother so much, though it's not something she ever talks about. Opening her eyes again, she tries to paste on some semblance of composure. "But I will be. I'll be fine. It was just... a shock. Big shock."

[ voice ]

[aregulargirl.livejournal.com]

Buffy?

[ visual ]

[likeajoan.livejournal.com]

Buffy's still trying to force herself into a more calm frame of mind, with limited success. Her greeting is incredibly distracted.

"Hi Max."

[ voice ]

[aregulargirl.livejournal.com]

Hi.

[ softly. she's not sure how to handle things like this, the ghosts and visions, but she wants to do what she can. ]

Who did you see?

[ visual ]

[likeajoan.livejournal.com]

There's only the most fleeting of hesitations, and this is because she almost doesn't want to say it out loud.

"My mom. I saw my mom," she answers, in a hollow sort of way, though she's trying to snap herself out of it. "And myself. Well, sort of. I wasn't exactly... a hundred percent healthy looking."

[ visual ]

[bigbad]

"Buffy?" Spike asks, giving her a worried look. "Whose face did they use? Are you all right?"

The image moves behind him. He's walking to find her as he talks.

[ visual ]

[likeajoan.livejournal.com]

Buffy's still trying to control the wild thudding inside her chest from all the adrenaline that came from both fear and anger.

"I'm fine, Spike." She answers, sounding strained to say the least. She's profoundly glad that he's coming to her, though. "It was... it was my mom." She's quick to correct that statement. "I mean it looked like my mom. Whatever it was."

[ visual ]

[bigbad]

"Same thing I saw, I'd wager." He really hopes that whatever's doing this to them is solid enough for him to hit repeatedly. "Something's trying to throw us off. We've just got to remember it's not real and not--"

He turns the corner, sees his own mother floating there, and drops the tablet. It lands face down.

"Mother?" he says quietly.

[ visual ]

[likeajoan.livejournal.com]

She's about to reply, when the screen suddenly goes black and whatever she was about to say gets swallowed in alarm.

"Spike?" She asks, smacking the tablet (as if that will help) "Spike, what happened? Are you okay?" Concern spurs her to start walking out of the kitchen in search of him, even as she's talking.

[Visual]

[a-pretty-fire.livejournal.com]

Drusilla remembered Joyce's death. Buffy's mother had been inexplicably kind to her. At first, the vampire had wanted to kill her simply to silence the tumult of accompanying emotions. Eventually, she had started to content herself with watching. A lovely little family. A Slayer and a sister and a mother. A different sort of trinity. She didn't know if she should destroy it or preserve it.

She'd warned them about the growth in her head, but they hadn't understood her. Not until it was too late.

She'd joined them on the couch to watch the telly, feeling like an intruder but unable to walk away.

She'd worn black for a funeral that she hadn't been able to attend and found the coins for the boatman.

"It isn't her," she said, swiftly. Soft and sharp at the same time. "She isn't here. She's at peace."

[Visual]

[likeajoan.livejournal.com]

It wasn't surprising to Buffy that Drusilla knew who she was talking about, though what was surprising was the sense of comfort that Drusilla's words brought her. She nodded, using the opportunity to blink back some tears - whatever that thing was, it wasn't her mother. This place couldn't hurt her mother. She just had to keep telling herself that.

"Thank you," she said, a little raggedly.

[Visual]

[a-pretty-fire.livejournal.com]

The words were all that Drusilla could offer. Thin scraps of comfort and a meagre - but powerful, so very powerful - truth. The vampire couldn't have chased the ghost away, even if she had been able to get out of her cell and race to the castle.

The hamsters couldn't reach Joyce. They'd taken her to a place that a part of Buffy would always remember and a part of Drusilla had once been destined to reach.

"Don't let them steal your memories," she wanted, "They'll spoil them."

[Visual]

[likeajoan.livejournal.com]

"I'll do my best," she answered, wearily. The whole experience had been draining. Buffy knew she should probably question Drusilla more on the subject of the ghosts and where they were coming from, but she found that she didn't have the energy.

"You knew my mother?" She asked, the word 'memories' reminding her that Drusilla's were so different from her own. The question wasn't so much a question as a request for elaboration - she knew Drusilla must have known her mother, but she wanted to hear about it. She just wanted to hear about her mom, as if she could recapture her memories, and dispel the horror of what she just saw.

[location: Castle Summers] (if you don't mind epic backtagging - sorry)

[aworldenchanted]

Tara comes running in, white as a sheet, but not a ghost. This Tara, at least. Buffy's not the only one to see a less-than-living version of herself today.

"B-buffy. Who did you see?"

Tara's been quieter than normal, since her unglitching, and has mainly kept to herself. But this qualifies as an emergency.

[location: Castle Summers] (not at all! <33)

[likeajoan.livejournal.com]

Buffy's probably looking fairly pale herself, and her hands are still shaking perceptibly. She's profoundly relieved to see Tara, however.

"My mom," she answers, sitting down at the counter. Her knees are feeling a little on the weak side. "And me. But not me me. Dead me. Have you been seeing things too?"

[location: Castle Summers]

[aworldenchanted]

"I... I s-saw myself too. And Willow. B-but Willow isn't dead." She says this last like it needs confirmation. Tara knew she was going to die, and Buffy had been dead. Her mother was dead still. But Willow... Willow wouldn't die anytime soon, surely.

[Voice]

[notabuymoron.livejournal.com]

Summers. You okay? What the hell is going on? What's all this talk about ghosts?

[Visual]

[likeajoan.livejournal.com]

Buffy's still in the early recovery stages after her awful shock, and there's no trace of the usual smile or playfulness.

"Yeah, I'm-- I'm fine, Casey. I just... I saw something. A ghost. Two ghosts actually, and I freaked. But I'm not hurt." She says that almost as if she's confirming it to herself. "You haven't seen anything?"

[voice]

[notabuymoron.livejournal.com]

Okay then. Uh, was just checking you'd be able to make your shift, because I don't wanna have to fill in for you if you're freaking out over Caspers running loose.

[Yeah, right, like that's convincing.]

No, I haven't seen anything myself. Seems like a few have, though. Who'd you see?

[visual]

[greenballadeer.livejournal.com]

Lorne's been there. He was just there the other day, seeing the man he murdered stand on the stage of Caritas and sing the end of the world.

"Anything I can do for you, golden gal?" His green face is soft with concern. "You want the night off? A song? One of my extra-special hankies?" He draws a handkerchief from his pocket patterned in psychedelic paisley.

[visual]

[likeajoan.livejournal.com]

There are very few things in the world that could get Buffy to crack a smile after the experience she just had, but it turns out that Lorne's response is one of them. She laughs, shakily, brushing some stray tears from her eyelashes.

"Are they extra-special because they cause blindness?" She asks, the gratitude for the kind gesture pretty obvious in her voice.

[visual]

[greenballadeer.livejournal.com]

"Can't see ghosts if you're blind, right?" says Lorne, cracking a smile.

He peers at the kitchen behind Buffy. "You know what I should do? Come over there and cook. Not saying I'm Julia Child or anything, but I've been cooking for many more years than you, and you could use a bit of taking care of."