Who: Faith and Clark Where: club in downtown L.A. What: blowing off some steam
You know that itch you get in the summer? That center of the back, impossible to scratch itch? Where you can feel the single drop of sweat roll slowly down between your shoulder blades. You roll your shoulders, roll your neck, rub at the back of your neck and feel the heat radiating off your own skin. You try and reach the small itch, your shoulder blades twitch. You even find yourself leaning back against door frames, trying to relieve it. You might, even for a moment, find relief. It's always short lived. Summers in Cali sucked.
Of course, if it was just an itch, she'd have grabbed something and scratched it. Which was sort of what she was doing. This itch went deeper then a bead of sweat, a simple twitch of shoulder blades. Faith hadn't had a good fight in days. Slaying made her horny, made her need to get out and move. Sadly, not slaying made it worse. There were times she felt like a drug addict. Jonesing for the next hit. She'd spent enough time around Giles to hear the speeches. It was biological, how she was built, made. However you wanted to look at it. Slayers were meant to slay. Not slaying made her itchy. Made her uncomfortable. Things had been quiet this week and it was driving her nuts. Not so much because it was probably building into something more complicated, more dangerous. Hell at this point she'd take an apocalypse! Her body craved that fight. The struggle between pleasure and pain, the line she happily walked and crossed whenever she could.
Sitting back and waiting, going for the whole 'play normal' thing was just not her. She was a girl of action. So she dressed for it. Boots that she could fight and dance in were the only thing practical about her outfit. Low riding leather pants, a red shirt that only tied around the neck and back. Draped in the front, it showed off her back and more, honestly it barely covered anything showing off a swath of smooth stomach. Hey, she wasn't going for subtlety. Hair left in a mass of dark curls and smoky eye, she didnt' bother with lipstick. She was really hoping she'd have a reason for that soon enough. Tossing on a leather jacket she headed out to a club. One where there was music, and not the techno emo kid kind, and some drinks.
She sidled up to the bar, and tossed her jacket over the back of the stool seats and ordered a beer. She'd get to dancing in a few minutes, first a drink so she'd be a bit calmer. No need to frighten off the guys. She'd be stuck holding back all night anyway.