taxonomites | seven [ VISUAL ✝ LOCATION: THE NORTHERN ISLAND ]

There is a saying: I'll sleep when I'm dead. Or maybe that's a Bon Jovi song. Either way -- Buffy is not currently dead but she is currently asleep; however, she has tended to do a bit more of the former than the later in her so far brutal but miraculously long (for a Slayer) life. And while asleep, the Slayer dreams. Terrible, horrible dreams that aren't so much dreams as memories. Recollections of girls from other times. Most often, Buffy sees how they died. Perhaps she should alter that saying to they'll die while I sleep.

Dreary thoughts.

But the morning breaks and Buffy shuts her eyes even tighter against the prospect of facing yet another day in this prison city. Maybe she can talk Dawn into going shopping although things had been turbulent with the younger sister since...well, she doesn't want to think about sleeping with Angel right now. That is the bad kind of thought-path that leads to smiles and relapses. And she wants neither of those things right now.

Except...except the memory of being with her ex is so fresh that she could almost imagine feeling his glitched human warmth under the covers next to her. Haunting, that. Buffy recoils from the phantom sensation only to find a sort of dead weight dragged with her. Huh. Peculiar...

"Holy sh--" Her eyes open and yes, dear Lord, there is a someone in bed with her. A someone who she recognizes but that recognition is second to the horror of someone being in bed with her.

Buffy yanks rather magnificently away from Glitch; the silver chain between them only managed to bring them closer as she found the co-inhabitor of the bed was now incriminatingly tangled up with her. And her tablet -- once perched precariously on the pillow next to her -- was now blinking a steady gleam of activation. Broadcasting her humiliation to the whole damn city only she couldn't quite reach it at the moment...

"What the Hell are you doing in my bed?" Oh, honey. It's not your bed.

The yanking and the yelling was enough to rouse Glitch, who gave an annoyed grumble which transformed into a yelp as he got tangled up with sheets, chain, and Slayer. He blinked, horrified, and tried flailing in a (for the moment futile) attempt to extricate himself. “Oh gods, I’m sorry! This is…I don’t…”

Ozma, he was in bed with a woman half his age. The inappropriateness was horrifying.

(ooc; reply to either or both! expect threadjacks! have fun! remain indoors!

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"Yeah, right there with you." Glitch sighed and shook his head. "Well! Welcome to...here, please excuse the mess, I'm in the middle of organizing. Um. Let's work on going elsewhere."

"...An elsewhere would be nice."

She tried to stand -- gingerly, so as not to tug the man around with her yet again. Thank God for cutesy, full flannel pajamas.

And thank Glinda for dark green silk jammies. Glitch followed along, equally gingerly. "The kitchen, I think, probably as good a place to go as--"

Oh hello blinky tablet.

"Oh cripes!" And he makes to lunge at the device.

"Great," she grumbles as she's yanked right along with that lunge. She would have hauled right back except...except she doesn't want to hurt the guy. "We'll be all over the six o'clock news."

"Well, if it's a thing that's happening to other folks maybe no one'll...cast aspersions."

Glitch snatched up the tablet and, assuming his own was where he'd left it safely locked up, handed it to Buffy.

She is quick to turn it off. A look of relief on her face closely followed by guilt.

"So...is it bad that I'm hoping it's happening to other folks?"

Glitch shook his head. "Not at all. If there's more people affected then the sly comments tend to go down. People'll be too worried about who they get stuck with to care about you."

...seriously, this had better not be a weird matchmaker thing.

"Come on. I'll make coffee and we'll put our heads to--" Do not give them ideas. "We'll figure out how to deal with this."

"Do you have cream? Sugar?"

They would have to use teamwork to move without crashing into each other; Buffy tried to remain patient.

Glitch nodded. "And little breakfasty things."

Adjusting his stride so as not to pull away from her, Glitch led the way out the ornate double doors, down the elegant pastel hallway, across the gallery and down the wide, sweeping stairs to the main hall and its forest of columns. The palace was like something out of a fairy tale, but not the happily-ever-after bit, more like the all-hope-is-lost part. It was in dire need of a princess.

At least the kitchen was cozy, if eccentric. It looked a bit like someone had taken appliances from the 1930s, slapped some steampunk elements on them, and then placed them in a room from imperial France.

"Okay, um...coffee. How strong do you like it? Or there's tea or juice or whatever you like, really." That's right, go into host mode, act like all is normal.

Edited 2011-08-10 18:48 (UTC)

"This place..." she murmurs as they walk. Eyes wide -- sometimes pausing to glance up along the columns and losing pace with Glitch. This means that she gets hauled along now and then. Tripping. She's not normally so much of a tripper. But -- wow.

But the kitchen manages to offer her a plateau of awe and she stands awkwardly close to her co-chained new friend. "...Lots of cream. Lots of sugar. Possibly more of both than actual coffee."

seven [ VISUAL ✝ LOCATION: THE NORTHERN ISLAND ]

Everyone's a voyeur;

Everyone's a voyeur;

Everyone's a voyeur;

Everyone's a voyeur;

Everyone's a voyeur;

Everyone's a voyeur;

Everyone's a voyeur;

Everyone's a voyeur;

Everyone's a voyeur;

Everyone's a voyeur;