taxonomites | [ visual ] | [ location: casa lehane ] if wellness is this what in hell's name is sickness

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[ visual ] | [ location: casa lehane ] if wellness is this what in hell's name is sickness

Faith has been in Taxon for nearly a year, now. As the date creeps up, she's been withdrawing little by little; Connor's staying in her place, sure, but he can read the vibes and let her keep her space. Even the trips to see Godric and Eric have dropped off, because there's the upswing in maturity she's working with and talking about her shit. One is a work in progress, the other isn't her thing and never will be.

So when her tablet helpfully clicks over to visual, it films Faith's lower back for a moment, the sheets tangled around her legs. She hasn't been sleeping well lately, her dreams restless and weird. So when she rolls over and sees the ghost sitting on the side of her bed, she assumes it's more dreaming.

"Don't have time for this shit." Her mutter is audible but slurred, and she rolls over, exposing the edge of her underwear. "Sleeping."

It only takes a moment for her to wake up fully, though, Slayer instincts rocketing her into consciousness. "...Boss?" She almost sounds hopeful. No response, and her expression goes shattered, nakedly heartbroken before hardening again. "What, the First wasn't enough? Back the hell off me and take off his face."

When the ghost doesn't respond she scrambles out of bed, her movements uncharacteristically jerky and awkward. "I said get the hell out of my apartment." The beer bottle that crashes against the wall has no effect, the Mayor's placid expression doesn't change, his hand still reaches out to her. "Get the fuck out, now."

Another beer bottle, and her tablet shows her face growing panicked as the Mayor crawls closer, Faith scooting back as fast as she can to stay out of reach. "You're not him." It's quiet, desperate, to herself, and the feed closes on her slamming a fist into the ground hard enough her dresser rattles and repeating it, even more quiet and desperate. "You're not him."

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Wesley focuses on Godric's face which at least is not out of bounds and he nods, grateful for Connor's (if he recalls correctly) introduction. It surprises him that the youth knows his relationship - or more accurately former relationship - with Faith.

"She looked in a bad way when I spoke to her on the tablet. I thought it best I check to see if she was going to be alright."

He glances down at her now bandaged feet. She's a slayer and will heal quickly, but he ponders whether to hatch some antibiotics to be on the safe side. Then he sees the Tequila which he eyes with faint disapproval.

It's probably not what he would have suggested to calm the nerves, but the likelihood of Faith letting him fetch her a cup of tea is as high as Faith telling him he's a wicked cool Watcher.

"Ex-Watcher," Faith mutters, because there is not one single moment in all of time she'll let anyone forget Wesley left her to rot alone in the dark. Wilkins is a product of Wesley, if you ignore the rest of her problems (which is always nice, having someone else to blame) and having them in the same space fucks with her head. "He bailed. And she can hear you talking, Wes. Probably because she's right freaking here."

Her tone is less barbed than she would like, and the nails she digs into her palm cut the skin open. "Godric, my feet are fine, quit screwing with them."

Edited 2010-06-22 03:14 (UTC)

Godric nods at Connor in acknowledgment and then levels a look at Faith when she speaks.

"They will be fine when I'm done, which I almost am. Have some more tequila and bear with it." He's not going anywhere until he's finished. Glancing back at Wes, Godric takes a moment to really look at this man who has apparently left Faith with some bitter feelings. He doesn't know what a Watcher is, but it's clear that despite whatever history these two have between them, Wes is genuinely concerned.

"She'll be fine."

Wesley stiffens slightly at Faith's qualification of his status. It would seem that she's still feeling somewhat acrimonious with him.

"Thank you, Faith, it's always such a pleasure to be reminded of how I was sacked from the Council over mishandling the whole affair."

It's on the tip of his tongue to bring up her subsequent lengthy torture of him, but something in her whole demeanor causes him to bite back the words and attempt to let the matter rest for the meantime.

He meets Godric's gaze and nods again.

"I'm glad to hear it. Despite the fact that she is no longer my charge, I still feel some responsibility for her welfare.

I believe that we exchanged messages over the tablet recently. You were asking if I spoke Sumerian. It's good to finally meet you in person, Godric."

"Wasn't talking about you getting your ass fired, Wes." She's talking about turning her over to the Council, about never giving a fuck, about things that he hasn't even done yet from his perspective. Unfair, sure, but that's just how the bitter cookie crumbles. "And can you two quit talking about me like I'm not here? Jesus, it was just the Bo-- just Wilkins. I'm fine."

The long, long swallow she takes of tequila (and the way she's letting Godric keep touching her, even with Wes there to watch) belies that, though. She's not fine, and it's obvious.

Godric nods at Wes. "Yes, I remember. The feeling is mutual."

Despite Wes's obviously strained relationship with Faith, it really is good to meet him. It isn't every day Godric runs into someone with even an academic interest in some of the things Godric saw and experienced first-hand, much less one who knows the old languages that slip off Godric's tongue more easily than English.

"It's impossible to pretend like you're not here, Faith, I promise," he responds to her complaint with a teasing smile. Finishing with her bandages, he sits on the couch next to her.

"If you're going to attempt to drink that whole bottle, you should have something to eat." He's not going to stop her from getting drunk, but he will stop her from throwing up if he can.

Wesley's not about to take a seat. He's well aware of how unwelcome he is as far as Faith is concerned. Godric seems attentive and to have the matter well in hand. Wesley can't help but feel a pang of envy at how the man seems to be so at ease around her. It's clear that on some level she respects him at least. Will listen to him.

It's not all that different to how she is around Angel, actually.

"You saw Mayor Wilkins?"

And everything falls into place, he's aware of how that might have severely shaken the normally fearless slayer.

"You had a significant relationship with him. That had to have been a shock to see him again, and I presume he appeared to you as a grotesque corpse-like version of himself? Others have been experiencing this phenomenon, myself included."

It was his attempt to reassure her that her reaction was perfectly normal and that she was not alone in being unnerved by the visitations.

"You're a real riot, you know that? And whatever, I'm not hungry." Faith has experimented carefully with how to get a Slayer so drunk it makes a dent in anything. Eating's not the way to do it. "I'm a big girl, I can handle it."

Corpse-like. Dead. Never gonna get to say goodbye, to close up the open wounds he left inside. Her hand closes tight enough around the bottle there's an audible crack, and she hisses as it shatters, glass in her hand now, red coating the broken pieces. "Really not helping me out here, Wes. I know what I saw, the blow by blow's just icing."

Godric is about to tell Faith that fine, she can drink all she wants, but if she throws up, he's leaving her to fall in it, when Wes opens his big mouth and the situation goes from manageable to rapidly deteriorating. He can feel Faith tensing as Wes speaks, and the next thing he knows, the neck of the bottle is gone, the remainder of it falling toward Faith's injured feet. Godric lunges forward in the blink of an eye, speed so clearly inhuman it can't be missed, catching what's left of the bottle and setting it on the table.

The look he shoots Wes is cold and clearly disapproving.

"Why don't you go find a broom?" It's not really a request. It's more like a very serious suggestion as to what Wes should do before he really puts his foot in it. Or before Godric does it for him. Not winning brownie points here, Wes.

Picking up the cloth and bandages, Godric takes Faith's hand and begins patching her up for the second time that hour.

Clearly, the most appropriate time for Faith to receive yet another concerned male visitor is now. Particularly when there's recently spilled blood around, and the visitor in question happens to be a vampire.

There's a knocking at the door. "Faith? It's Eric."

"I told you I didn't need a freaking babysitter, Fang." Faith's tension is rapidly becoming more obvious, her arm stiffening in Godric's hands. There are too many freaking people in her space, and one of them is Wesley. "Slayer on tap's run out, come back later."

Godric feels her tension, and can guess the source.

"Eric, wait a moment," he calls out calmly. Turning back to Faith, he leans in and whispers so that only she can hear.

"Invite him in. He won't fuss over you if I'm already fussing," and he is, "and we can have him escort your ex-watcher out the door if he says anything else abysmally stupid." Or if he fails to go get that broom.

In the end, it's the image of Eric kicking Wesley's ass out the door that makes up Faith's mind. (It's been a rough day, and she wants to see shit like that go down on good days.)

"Fine, whatever. Come on in, Fang." She doesn't bother raising her voice much, because Eric can hear her just fine and there's a part of her that wants to shove this in Wes' face as hard as she can.

Eric opens the door as soon as he gets the invite, only mildly irritated that it took a little while coming. Taking in the scene, he casts a curious/appraising look in Wesley's direction, before focusing on Godric and Faith - naturally the blood attracts his attention, and his fangs are slightly visible. He'll put them away in a second.

"Had a little accident?"

Wesley's eyes widen with shock when Faith snaps the bottle neck with her fingers. His attempt to reassure her has had the opposite effect. Before he can rush to her aid or apologise, though, Godric's cold reproachful gaze stops him in his tracks, and causes his unuttered words to lodge in his throat.

Nothing he does when it comes to Faith ever seems to work. How is it that no matter his intentions, the end result is always the same.

He nods, turning away, at a loss for where to look for a broom but apparently that's all he's good for.

Then the arrival of another visitor serves to make the situation even more untenable.

Wesley looks from Faith, to Godric, to Eric and back again. He sees the disgorged fangs. Slayer on tap?! Surely she wouldn't...Godric's pale features. His commanding presence despite his youthful appearance. The trace of an undefinable accent. How had he not seen it before?

He takes an uneasy step backwards, aware that he's not only terribly outnumbered but that the two men are actually Faith's guests. He can't help but reflexively reach his hand slowly into his pocket to check that he still has his stake handy.

"You're consorting with vampires now? Letting them feed upon you?!"

There it is. Faith, how could you. Disgrace to the Slayer line, stupid whore, the whole nine yards. There's probably something fucked up about looking for that reaction just to prove it's still there, but whatever.

"Nah, mostly we're just screwing." Her smile is wide, toothy and entirely fake. Go there some more, Wes. See what happens. "And it's not like I'm playing bloodbag, chill."

This is easier than thinking about The Mayor, easier than the sadness and horror. Being pissed off at Wesley's comfortable, easy. And making him pissed at her is even easier.

Godric snarls, far less offended at the slight against his species than he's offended on behalf of Faith. Some of the reactions they had dealt with concerning their threesome had been telling, but this one is being flung at Faith at a vulnerable moment, digging the knife into the wound. She doesn't need to be made to feel guilty for consorting with the people most interested in helping her, by someone who has apparently betrayed her.

"Eric, toss him out. If he's going to make this worse, he's no longer welcome here." The command is directed at Eric, but the comment is clearly directed at Wes. Sumerian be damned.

Yes, Wesley isn't particularly popular with Eric at the moment either. The judgemental routine combined with the insult to Faith irks him - it turns out his fangs won't be going away after all. Now that he has an order from his maker too, he's only too happy to oblige.

He turns to face Wesley, baring his fangs in a grin - though he doesn't commence manhandling right away. "Do I have to actually toss you?" The way that he says it conveys the fact that he thinks such a thing would be incredibly easy. But then, given his enormous bulk, he could probably toss most people, even without the ridiculous vampire strength.

Connor had been standing just inside Faith's room, listening and decides that this is probably a good moment for him to make a return appearance. Whatever issues Connor himself has with Wesley, they aren't worth watching him get knocked around by Faith's vampire boy toys. Besides, this is Wesley from before he misinterpreted a prophecy and kidnapped his infant self and from before he smashed the Orlon Window and restored a portion of his original memories. Vengeance might be in Connor's blood, but he knows better than to take it - he's better than taking it.

He steps back out into the living room, robe he pulled out of Faith's closet in hand. "Hey, this is all I could find." The teenager hands it to Godric and without even bothering to turn off his game, goes over to Wesley and grabs the Watcher by the arm as he looks over at Faith. "We'll be at my dad's if you need me."

For those of you unaware (hi, Wesley), Connor is Angel's son. And Wes, best not to argue. Connor is trying to save your ass here.

The usually verbose ex-watcher allows himself to be lead out of the apartment without another word. But not before a final parting look in Faith's direction. It's not one of disapproval or disdain, rather that of a man who knows that some walls are unbreachable and that his very best may never be good enough for her.

If removing himself will improve Faith's current state of mind then who is he to object? That two vampires are acting as if he is the one who has the potential to harm her is bitterly ironic to him.

It's not as if he's had any positive experiences with vampires apart from Angel and Spike. Both of whom are souled. A rare occurrence.

Wesley's jaw hardens as he walks away. Connor's intervention is appreciated, but still, all he can think about is the Slayer he's once again 'bailing' out on. If Faith wishes to condemn him and damn herself, then so be it. She's a grown woman now. It's none of his concern, right?

If only it were that easy.

"Thank you, Connor." Godric nods at the boy and takes the robe, glad to see him take the initiative to pull Wes out of the house. Even Godric's patience has its limits, and they're sorely tested in situations like this. He can easily imagine that Faith is nearly ready to throw the remains of the bottle at Wes's retreating head.

Prying the last sliver of glass from Faith's hand as gently as possible, Godric quickly wraps it in a bandage before throwing Faith's robe over her shoulders and tucking it around her.

"Yeah, fuck you too, Wes." She waits until he's out the door to spit that out, at least, her voice sharp and angry. It doesn't matter what happens, this is where they always end up. She's a rabid dog and he's the one who slipped her loose the choke chain. "Always a freaking pleasure."

Slumping back into the couch and closing her eyes, Faith swallows a few times, convulsively. "Okay, whatever." Her feet sting when she stands up, but it's good, distracting. "I need more booze."

True to Godric's word, Eric isn't doing any fussing or crowding in the vicinity of Faith. He watches Wesley and Connor leave, a mildly derisive expression on his face. It's almost a shame, he would have enjoyed a little violence.

"I could visit a hatch if you're out," he offers, addressing practical booze-related matters, as opposed to the evident underlying emotional issues going on here.

Godric lets Faith go, knowing better than to tell her to stay off her feet. She wouldn't listen. Instead, he goes in search of that broom himself, which happens to be, more than likely, also in the kitchen. At least he can keep her from doing further damage to herself by stepping on broken shards.

"I'll clean up the glass," he announces. He shoots a look at Eric that implies he should keep an eye on Faith while he does so.

Eric gets the message loud and clear, remaining standing himself in case Faith suddenly topples over, which actually doesn't seem too remote a possibility at the moment.

"Quite the social butterfly, aren't you?" He asks, which refers (in a roundabout sort of way) to Wesley. There's a veiled question of 'what's his deal?' in there somewhere.