divided | ( open post! ) voicetest → faith lehane

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.

Spike threw himself up, like a cartoon, blanket pooling around his midsection as he sat up to greet her. And luckily for her, he was indeed wearing pants. He drew a cigarette out of seemingly nowhere and lit it, before trading her for the book.

"Looks like a load of rubbish to me."

It should have felt strange, or even, invasive for her to greet him in this way, but it had been years since he'd had concern for privacy and he had one Buffy Anne Summers to thank for that. There was also just something about Faith, the strong sense of a kindred spirit, perhaps.

Faith got comfortable, or as comfortable as she could at the present moment. "It makes me wish I was evil," she said, not glancing at Spike. She said it in jest — going evil wasn't an option, not after all the soul-searching and work she'd done — but she hadn't realised that Buffy's idea of being good was as intense as this. Research, training, and probably writing essays in between, this place was no fun at all. It'd make any person crazy — and maybe that's what Spike was. There's no way in hell Buffy's Summer School for Slayers wouldn't drive Angel into Angelus.

"You didn't have to read shit back then," she said, sighing, shifting on the bed until she found herself comfortable leaning against the wall. She pushed herself forward and grabbed a pillow, shoving it hard against the wall before leaning back against it. "You just did it, you know? B's wasting her time. Those kids need to be out there doing, not reading."

"Back when?" He quirked his broken eyebrow, amused as he took a drag SINCE APPARENTLY SHE'S NOT SMOKING so rude Faith. "Think I read way more when I was evil. Who knew this good stuff would be so time-consuming."

He felt awkwardly like he needed reading glasses even knowing he definitely didn't, but this text was so dense and incomprehensible he wondered how far Buffy's head must be up her beautiful yet pasty ass to think Faith Lehane was the candidate for deciphering it.

Not that Faith was stupid, far from it, but her strengths didn't lie in research and recon. She put the hurt on, and Spike had to admire her style, even from afar. Or his lame and worn basement mattress, as it were.

Faith glanced at him. "You're kind of evil isn't my kind of evil," she said, shaking her head. Reading? Faith didn't have time to read when she was too busy applying thick mascara around her eyes and listening to the Mayor poison her mind. She didn't particularly think the Mayor was poisoning her, but she was definitely a pawn on his chessboard.

She just didn't have time for reading. There was an apocalypse on the horizon, and the big saviour of the world was too busy trying to find the right books for these kids to immerse themselves in. Who cared about the big bads or the old legends? That stuff wasn't important. Defense was.

It was clear to her that Spike wasn't going to follow her rant. Perhaps his head had been lodged way too far up Buffy's pasty ass to really take note of a comrade bitching. She then nudged him, pointedly looking at the cigarette between his fingers.

He set the book aside and easily relinquished his cigarette, giving her a commiserating once-over. "She'll be off it soon enough, you and I know that. We've just gotta wait her out." Down here where it's safe was heavily implied

See, Faith? Spike listened. Selectively, but he still did it.

Faith took a drag, quite relieved to find the one thing that helped get her through her time alone behind bars once again in her grasp. "Yeah," she said, blowing out smoke. Her eyebrow was cocked as she glanced at Spike from the corner of her eye. "And how long is that? Don't really have time to wait for B to get a hint." She, reluctantly, passed it back to Spike. With a shrug, she said, tone lacking in anything but dead realisation that this, in fact, could be the truth of their future, "Could take ages."

"Let's set a time limit. If she's not done speechifying in say... a couple hours? We'll both give her the old what-for." Spike had no idea what that meant, but it was just something you said when you were English and you were trying to make a point. He was at least one of those things, and he wasted no time in taking a quick puff then getting the smoke back in Faith's hands. She could keep it for all he cared since he'd lit it for her benefit in the first place.

Edited (+h) 2013-10-06 06:52 (UTC)

She didn't understand what he was saying, either, but she appreciated the effort on his behalf. Taking the cigarette from him, she didn't press it to her lips; instead, she nudged him with her elbow, "Bad cop and even worse cop?"

He made a face at her and rubbed idly at his ribcage. STOP ELBOWING HIM only don't stop. Don't ever stop. "That all depends on who you think is which."

"B definitely likes you more than me," she said with a smirk, not quite glancing up at his eyes, but around the basement that was now his home.

"So, what is this? Your little love den?" She smirked outright, then. As disgusting as it was picturing Buffy and Spike being groiny with each other, she certainly did like to see how far she'd have to go to get this vamp to squirm.

To her definite upperhand, he visibly balked, turning away for just a second before shaking his head in her direction. "It isn't like that, Faith. Buffy and me..."

It was painful to talk about, even if he knew she was just trying to get a rise out of him. It sucked, but he had been the one to make it suck, so he would just have to deal.

"It's not like that."

"It's like what? You buy her roses or somethin' for Valentine's? Write Mr Spike Summers all over your notebooks?" She smirked. She found this rather funny. She didn't understand the whole Spike and Buffy romance at all — she was a Slayer, he was a vampire; she was uptight, he was fun — but that didn't mean she was going to be sensitive about it. Ragging on Buffy was something of a talent for Faith. Sometimes, she just didn't know when to stop. (Considering Buffy kept on her ass, she always thought it was fair game.)

She took a drag from the cigarette, slowly exhaling the smoke. "It's cool, man. Two heroes blowin' off some steam while preparing for the apocalypse."

Edited 2013-10-06 07:43 (UTC)

He swallowed; she could have no idea how close she was to the truth, but honestly his face probably said it all. He never had had a great pokerface, but in light of recent events it had gotten much, much worse.

"It's not-- Nevermind." Spike wasn't upset with her, only himself. He leaned against the cement wall and grabbed up the pillow she had stolen now that she had his cigarette.

Faith looked at Spike, the smile dropping from her face. Before she could even utter a word, he stole the pillow she was resting on. She gave him a mighty shove. "Hey, don't get your panties in a twist and take it out on me! Just 'cause I hit the truth and the truth hurts."

What did one say to a comrade in emotional crisis? Faith didn't know. She barely had any comrades, and when they were in a crisis, it was usually due to her. She sat in silence, taking drags of her cigarette. "And if it is the truth, then B needs to know."

Spike shook his head, the last thing Buffy needed right now was his bullshit.

"She already knows, Faith. Trust me. It's better left alone." He hugged the pillow to his chest and sighed like a heartsick teenager. Accurate tbh.

The first thing Buffy needed was a wake-up call. Maybe Faith would be the one to give it to her.

"Jeez," she said, holding up her hands in surrender. "Try to make that sensitive spot less obvious. You and Buffy's business isn't mine. Got it loud and clear."

She sighed, offering him the cigarette in an attempt of an olive branch and a good topic change. "So. All these girls in a house with you and Xander. That's gotta be the high life, huh?" She nudged him again with her elbow.

He brushed her off, trying not to physically react to that, though the comment made him ill. Spike knew she didn't mean anything by it but somehow that made it all the worse.

"It's bloody loud more like. A bloke can't get a decent day's rest, not even down here." Glancing over, he loosened his hold on the pillow and gave her a look that he hoped conveyed he didn't mind this sort of loudness; in close proximity. There was something about Faith that made him able to relax; to drop all the stiff-shirtedness he had needed to get by in this house until now.

It wasn't just something, but rather several somethings that he shared in common with the slayer. It was merely difficult to say exactly where each trait sat on their own personal venn diagram. But the effects were hard to argue with, and he appreciated her company when everyone else saw him as furniture.

"Listen, I didn't mean... It's just not my place. I doubt Buffy would want the story told." And why wouldn't she be ashamed of him? Her last in a long chain of mistakes even he couldn't deny.

In case Spike hadn't gotten the memo, everything Faith touched turned to shit. Perhaps that's why they found solace in one another; they couldn't get any worse than they already were.

While Faith was about to work herself up a retort about the sorority forming upstairs, she didn't quite want to make fun of this weird army of girls just yet. Something about it felt off, like the timing, or like maybe this wasn't something Spike wanted to really focus on.

"But what about you?" she cocked her eyebrow. She didn't understand why Spike was being such a … wimp. He was so whipped it made Faith's head spin. She understood he was trying to do the whole knight in shining soul armour, but that wasn't right, not saying his side of things. That was like Faith keeping her mouth shut every time Buffy brought up the past or did something shitty. "It's your story, too, isn't it?

He listened to the rain outside, drumming on the rooftop, and trickling down the house; tapping at the windows. It was distracting being a vampire sometimes, but he also was avoiding the question. Spike really didn't want to answer it. But he would, because Faith asked it and she didn't deserve to be ignored.

"I... hurt her. We had a thing, last year, but I..." He couldn't actually bring himself to say the words, one hand buried in his own hair. It didn't have anywhere near the amount of gross hair product it usually did. "I had to make a change, yeah? You get that."

She had to.

From good to bad. Yeah, she got it. She got it loud and clear. "You don't have to give me the juicy details," she said, bumping her shoulder into his. These soft, soapy moments weren't her strong point, but this was her way of trying to convey as much. "You changed. Not many people can look in the mirror and say they did."

Faith had changed for herself, not for another human being. In order to be able to look at herself in the mirror, she needed to be able to change the shape of who she saw. And she did, with time. While she wanted to know the gory details of what made Spike change from good to bad, she knew it wasn't her business. And Buffy would try and kill her if she knew. But it must've been big. Maybe as big as torturing Wesley.

She glanced at him. "No offense. Guess you're not really the reflecting type, huh?"

"Not so much," he agreed, smiling softly over at her. He was grateful for her in this house, even if he would never ever tell Buffy that. There were certain things, gritty specifics the blonde would never understand about her darker counterpart. Spike only wished they'd work through this before killing one another.

"It got quiet up there." Too quiet. "Your money's on Buffy or the girls?"

Faith rolled her eyes. "Slayer probably twisted her panties up real tight," she said. Hands pushing herself up from where she lounged beside him, she brushed them against her back side, stretching as she came to her full height. "Those girls would eat her alive if they really wanted to."

Cocking her head to the staircase, she arched her brow, "Wanna take a peek?"

Hopping up after her in a much less languid way, he nodded, worry clearly splayed out over his expression. "Slayers first."

She eyed him, lifting her head ever so slightly. "Figures," she said, pushing past him as lightly as one aggressive Slayer could do so and made her way up the stairs, "vamps have more feathers than chickens."

She had to make a big deal out of something so small: Spike being a good guy? Not something she could ever quite get used to. Over her shoulder, the grinned, "Wanna open the door for me, too?"

He pulled his shirt on before skipping a few steps so he could do just that. It was more of a challenge than a gentlemanly gesture, but still. The door was a symbol for something, he just didn't know what. "Like I said, after you."

( open post! ) voicetest → faith lehane

i'm determined to incorporate the last two pics

we got this

holds your hand

ew cooties

licks your face

screams in horra

cackles menacingly

sideeyes

waggles eyebrows how you doin'

faints u r 2 sauve

oh yeah i still got it

swoons

catches then drops

fractures skull WHAT NOW WHAT NOW

pets you lovingly???

purrs

woofs

scritches ears

you win the cute awards

those are my favorite awards u////////u

i will take them from you if you are bad

8( rude but i'll be good ok i promise

icr what you're promising so feel free to break your promise

i probably never had a real promise

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