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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Just a bit. I'm only on my third bottle.

"Only?" Buffy is currently facepalming for all she's worth, and she has no idea how to deal with this.

"Do you need me to... call you a cab? If you barf I'm not holding your hair back. Not that you have a whole lot of hair, and can vampires even barf?"

He's drunker than me. I've got more stanim- sta-- I can drink more.

[Hi, Buffy, have another drunk vampire interrupting.]

I'll bet vampire barf would stain. Blood and all.

It did stain. Remember? The Immortal?

[ ANGEL WE DO NOT TALK ABOUT THAT. ]

"Spike? Both of you? Okay, be kind, rewind. At what point exactly did you turn into frat boys and why didn't I get a memo?"

She really can't decide whether this is horrifying or hilarious, and she's marvelling at the fact that yes, she has actually slept with both of these buffoons. At this moment the fact is a little embarrassing.

"Okay, one: eeeew. And two: the Immortal? What now?"

Edited 2010-06-24 16:01 (UTC)

We're not frat boys. We're older than fraternities. Anyway, it was Angel's idea. [This is actually true, believe it or not. But Spike did provide the booze.

He kicks Angel for that. Except he'll keep talking about it anyway.] Completely ruined Darla's dress, didn't it? How long was she mad? A bloody long time, I know.

[ angel grabs spike's foot and pulls him off the table. he does not deny or confirm drinking being his idea, even if it was. ]

She had to toss it. I think she was more cross at us for how she found us before we ruined her finest silks.

By this point, Buffy has exhausted her supplies of exasperation, and she's just soaking up the entertainment.

"...'how she found you'?"

"You wanker! We don't talk about that!" Spike rolls over, accidentally hitting the button for visual on the tablet with his elbow as he does, and swings his fist drunkenly at Angel's face.

Angel ducks and swings at Spike himself...missing as well. Protip: Drunk vampires do not make good fighters. Invest in sober vampires for important battles only.

"You're the one who brought it up, Willy." No, Angel, that was you.

Buffy is just over here trying desperately not to laugh at the most inept fighting she's ever seen. It's not working very well - in fact she's almost in full-on giggle mode, before her brain starts to click and put two and two together. Spike and Angel were drunk back in the evil days, Darla was mad because she walked in and 'found' them, and now Spike clearly doesn't want her to know what happened, to the extent that he'd punch Angel over it - now what could possibly be embarrassing enough to provoke such a reaction?

"Oh my GOD, did you two have sex?!"

Spike has been attempting to bite Angel, though he forgot to go into gameface, which doesn't help anything at all. When Buffy says that he looks up in horror and immediately rolls off from on top of Angel and stumbles away from him.

"No! We didn't!" He glares at Angel. "Now look what you've done. First you told Cordelia, now her? Why not just scream it out where everyone can hear it?" Because apparently he's not even going to pretend his denial was convincing.

Angel snarls rather inhumanly at Spike and doesn't address Cordelia tricking him into blabbing, but points out: "You just did you muc mall Béarla intinn!"

"Holy freaking crap!" Buffy claps a hand over her mouth, laughing. Yes, Spike and Angel together has featured heavily in her more colorful daydreams (http://www.thecomichour.com/Portals/ComicHour/Images/Staff/buffy01.jpg) but this is more priceless than she could've imagined. Now is clearly the time for some trolling.

"I knew you two had sexual tension. All the glaring, the macho posturing, the cute little petname insults."

It's very difficult to defend himself to Buffy and growl at Angel at the same time, but Spike is going to try his hardest.

"It's not sexual tension!" he tells Buffy. "It's... normal tension! Hatred! I don't like him." Except that, okay, they're friends now, but one shocking revelation at a time.

He turns to Angel and slips into gameface, growling back. "And I can't understand you calling me names when it's in Irish, you git."

"Níl mé ag labhairt Gaeilge, is féidir leat dúr--" Wait. Yes, he is speaking Irish. That's not English at all.

He tries again, slipping into game face as well. "The feeling is mutual, William."

Edited 2010-06-24 19:57 (UTC)

"See, this? What you're doing now, with the growling? This is like third base for you guys. Suddenly it all makes sense." Buffy isn't even bothering to conceal how hilarious she finds this anymore. Never before has she had such a prime trolling opportunity - not to mention the fact that she's genuinely curious about a few things. Such as...

"Sooooo, which of you was on top?"

She does not apologize. And seriously, when are they ever going to be drunk enough again to answer that question?

No, Spike will never, ever be drunk enough to answer that question. Probably. Not with Angel in the room, anyway. Instead he turns towards Buffy and fixes her with a plaintive look. Someone should tell him those work a lot better when your forehead isn't lumpy and you don't have fangs.

"I thought you liked me, Buffy."

Edited 2010-06-24 22:50 (UTC)

Angel settles on looking thoroughly amused (which someone needs to tell him to stop, for looking amused in game face is a bit too Angelus-like for his usual standards), though he'll be far from that once he's sober and clues into the horrors that he helped unleash from the category of never to be spoken of. This, however, will be filed into that corner of reasons why he usually doesn't drink.

"Mmm, well, she used to like me too, once upon a time. Guess things change."

Buffy makes a vague effort at a straight face here. "Don't be stupid Angel, I still like you." Just not in the way where they make out in graveyards constantly, which is a phrase she's tactful enough to leave out. "And Spike, you know I like you."

Pause.

"I just like making fun of you more."

Spike grins at her. She does like him. A lot. More than Angel. "I love you, Buffy," he declares.

And then he stumbles back towards Angel and aims another wobbly punch at his face.

Spike actually manages to land that punch this time and Angel stumbles back, but manages to get in one of his own in retaliation. "What was that for? I don't love her anymore!"

Well, that wasn't true. Angel did love her, but not necessarily in the romantic sense. Not anymore. But, he's not exactly articulate enough to elaborate at the moment.

It's actually a pleasant surprise to find that Angel saying he doesn't love her doesn't feel like a knife in the heart, like it would have done a while ago. Granted, it doesn't make her feel spectacular either, but she knows that he's impressively drunk, and he doesn't mean that he doesn't care about her - she knows he does, the same way she cares about him.

Meanwhile, Spike's declaration of love is both hilarious and sweet at the same time. It brings warmth to her cheeks and makes her smile in spite of herself. She rolls her eyes, however, when the fists start flying again - and she's suddenly reminded of the whole reason she got into this ridiculous conversation anyway.

"Oh crap, I was supposed to be checking on Faith. Would you boys just... quit it already? And try not to have sex. Again."

Spike topples back onto the table after Angel's punch. It wasn't that it was that hard a punch, he's just very, very unstable right now. He raises his fist, planning vaguely to retaliate, but then Buffy speaks, and he turns to her instead.

"We're not having sex again! Ever! Even if you and Cordelia sleep together!"

Angel falls back into his human face and looks rather pleased by the mental imagry that Spike's provoked with that last bit. He's male and very much not a saint and his alcohol-numbed mind can't stop him from withholding that smirk that he'd otherwise not allow to show.

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

[ visual ] damn right, it's better than yours.

[ visual ] i could teach you, but i'd have to charge. xD

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