After Sunnydale was destroyed, the hellmouth closed, and The First defeated there was a looming question over everyone’s head; what now? The potential turned full blown slayers would need more training and others would need to be found. But essentially they could do whatever they wanted and Faith chose to go it alone for a bit.
She’d spent the better part of three years in prison only to break out to save her best friend before going to help save the world. Part of her was more than glad to be back in the loop and helping, but she wanted to take some time to herself, figure things out. So after making sure that Buffy and the others had everything in control and a way for them to get into contact with her, she took off on her own. She went to Oregon for a bit before she made her way along the coast going up to into Washington. Not staying there long, she continued to travel, coming across a few slayers here and there, sending them to Buffy of course. But it was nice not seeing any familiar faces for the most part.
Though it wasn’t a face, it was a head of bleach blonde hair that caught her attention a few months after leaving the gang. It couldn’t have been Spike because he died in the hellmouth saving them all, was burned up according to Buffy. Maybe it was just someone else who had the signature look but it wasn’t. It was the vampire and she was more confused than ever.
“Well shit…” she whispered making her way over to him. When she got closer she was sure as shit that it was PEROXIDE. “Either I need to stop drinking, start drinking more, or you’re actually here.”
@iwasatwoodstock // closer starter
[ ☠ ] —— There was a Slayer nearby. He could feel it in his bones; that old familiar tingle that used to get him all primed and ready for a damn good F I G H T. It had all been fun and games at first, and the notoriety that came with killing a Slayer was always fun, but then all it took was a run in with H E R and all bets were off.
He saw Slayers in a new light, and a part of him hated her for it.
This one wasn’t her though. Not his Buffy. She was strong, a seasoned Slayer by her own right, but her signature was different from the golden warmth of Buffy’s aura. No. This was Faith. She had a familiar and welcomed signature of her own.
Her words, however, irritated him to his very core. Buffy hadn’t told her that he was alive again. Of course she hadn’t, why would she? He was still just a spec of dirt under her shoe, not worth mentioning even in passing. He turned to face her, a smirk playing on his lips.
“I’d never be an advocate for sobriety,” he told her, then reached into his deep duster pockets to fish out a nearly empty pack of smokes. He pulled one out and brought it to his lips, lighting it with his trusty Zippo lighter. The cap folded closed with a metallic C L I N K as he inhaled the first drag. “Guess Buffy didn’t feel the need t’fill you in on the fact that I survived the bloody Sunnyhell apocalypse as well. Not surprised, really. How’ve you been?”
gummygunk
origamiaround
