taxonomites | [ 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."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Faith, do you need me to eject someone from your apartment?

[ yes, Eric likes Faith, okay. He'd help her out. Sssh. ]

Trying for a grin (and falling miserably short; Eric, another version of you nearly snapped Faith in half, but even he didn't get to see her scared) Faith shrugs, pointedly staring down at her knees and not at the bed. "Why, you feel like playing the hero, Fang?"

[ he's very unconvinced, but he'll humor her. ]

Well, it's not my usual routine, but I've heard that variety is the spice of life.

Edited 2010-06-22 17:22 (UTC)

"Should stick with the classics." It's not a no, but Faith isn't the asking for help type. Or even the easily accepting it. If you want to help her it generally involves doing it no matter what she says about not needing or wanting it, and cramming the assistance down her throat with her kicking and screaming all the while.

Edited 2010-06-22 17:30 (UTC)

Not strictly an answer, Faith. [ he's about two noncommital replies away from gifting Faith with one of his patented surprise visits that Sookie loves so much - but maybe there's a less drastic option. ]

Maybe you'd like to compromise. Come outside and we can go somewhere.

Edited 2010-06-23 22:59 (UTC)

"Deal with it, Eric." Oh, look; real names. She's just making sure there's not even any plausible deniability when it comes to how badly Wilkins' ghost has shaken her, now. "Wicked sweet of you, but I'm fine."

And there's that wobble in her legs that makes Faith think getting up on her own while the tablet is broadcasting is an awful idea. She's not far down enough to crawl and not give a damn who sees.

Edited 2010-06-23 23:09 (UTC)

[ he's rolling his eyes at her, ftr. ]

Slayer, you're a mess. I'm coming over.

[ at least she got a warning? ]

The eyeroll is almost audible in that special, Eric way. "Screw you. Don't need you to babysit me, okay? Jesus." Yes, actually. Yes she does.

Bullshit.

[ click goes the tablet! No more comebacks from you, missy. ]

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

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