Who: Ambrose and Buffy Where: Ambrose's House When: Week 5, Monday, Afternoon Why: They needed to have a fight about something eventually. Warning: TBD, likely nothing aside from language
The weekend had been eventful to say the least. When she was alone, Buffy struggled so often with feeling guilty for being so happy sometimes. It was a problem, and the trouble was that she didn't know how it was a problem. Was it such a struggle for her because she had genuine trouble allowing herself moments to just be happy, or did it have more to do with the fact that she felt like she was neglecting what was, literally, her job? She hadn't saved anyone. She hadn't even helped a single person. In fact, more people had suffered since she'd come to Crescent Hills than had been saved.
Daniel had been a constant source of guilt in and of himself. Though the party had been ripe with numerous, pleasant experiences, the conversation with Evie had stuck in her brain as well, repeating over and over again until it was driving her to the point of losing said brain. She wasn't sure if she couldn't accept that her friend was gone or if she just didn't want to deal with it if he was. She'd avoided thinking that way because it wasn't what a friend would do. A friend would try to reach out and help another friend, and they wouldn't give up until they did.
But the truth was that Buffy was afraid, and she didn't like to admit that she was ever afraid. If he was really gone... But than she refused to think that way. She'd failed him once, and she refused to do it again. So, she had resolved to speak to him, to try and reach him in some way. That, of course, would be a tricky meeting to arrange. She was reasonably sure Lucius would speak to her, but the one who would need convincing would be Ambrose. He hated the man, and she couldn't blame him. He hadn't known Daniel. He'd only seen Lucius, and he'd gotten the worst of impressions when the witch had struck her. Ambrose loved her, and he was protective. Talking to him about this was going to be all kinds of difficult, but she refused to be dishonest with him anymore. That was what trust was about, right?
It was just after noon, and she'd finished lunch a few minutes ago, assuming he'd be up soon enough, and was just finishing up with the dishes. She was dressed casually in a pair of jean shorts and a t-shirt, not wanting to wear the battle skirt to this occasion. She had play fair and hope that he trusted her too.