The whole saving the world from a Southern priest guy? Yeah, it was gonna take a while. Faith knew that when she signed up for this gig. She'd broken her skin on the glass she tumbled through, but she knew it wouldn't heal within seconds. It took time — just like everything else — and Faith, while she didn't have it, made it.
She made time for Buffy. She made time for this cause. It was all she could give, wasn't it? Time. She'd served it, she'd longed for it, she'd had it in her hands as she passed it around like cards to the girls upstairs. But because she could deal it out didn't mean she could simply sit around and be patient with said time. Buffy had been eying her like a teacher eyed an annoying student; she could only take so much of the stink-eye. She needed some air, or better company, than to sit under the watchful and judgy eye of someone who knew she was better than Faith. "I'm out," she'd said, and she'd slipped from her stool and went straight for the basement.
Walking down said stairs, her feet thump loudly against the wooden planks, not caring if the monster in the basement knew she was approaching. He'd be in bed, wrapped up in the sheets, hopefully with pants, avoiding the research lesson up in the kitchen. In her hands was a book, but Faith paid it no mind. Her face morphed into a large smile as she hit the last step.
"Yo, Spike," she tossed herself onto his bed, shuffling until her head hit the wall and she was comfortable. "All this research is putting me to sleep, man." In her hands was a big tome of pages and words. Pages and words Faith Lehane had no intention of reading. Reading was for the stuffy guys upstairs, the ones who didn't need to spend every waking hour trying to throw a punch at different angles with different speeds. The Potential Slayers were wasting their time with their computer skills when they should've been outside in the sun — enjoying it.
i'm determined to incorporate the last two pics
She made time for Buffy. She made time for this cause. It was all she could give, wasn't it? Time. She'd served it, she'd longed for it, she'd had it in her hands as she passed it around like cards to the girls upstairs. But because she could deal it out didn't mean she could simply sit around and be patient with said time. Buffy had been eying her like a teacher eyed an annoying student; she could only take so much of the stink-eye. She needed some air, or better company, than to sit under the watchful and judgy eye of someone who knew she was better than Faith. "I'm out," she'd said, and she'd slipped from her stool and went straight for the basement.
Walking down said stairs, her feet thump loudly against the wooden planks, not caring if the monster in the basement knew she was approaching. He'd be in bed, wrapped up in the sheets, hopefully with pants, avoiding the research lesson up in the kitchen. In her hands was a book, but Faith paid it no mind. Her face morphed into a large smile as she hit the last step.
"Yo, Spike," she tossed herself onto his bed, shuffling until her head hit the wall and she was comfortable. "All this research is putting me to sleep, man." In her hands was a big tome of pages and words. Pages and words Faith Lehane had no intention of reading. Reading was for the stuffy guys upstairs, the ones who didn't need to spend every waking hour trying to throw a punch at different angles with different speeds. The Potential Slayers were wasting their time with their computer skills when they should've been outside in the sun — enjoying it.