Faith Lehane is crude but effective (faithinthedark) wrote in parabolical, @ 2009-01-25 21:05:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | buffy summers, faith lehane, selene |
WHO: Faith Lehane
WHAT: She's tired, she's pissed and she's about to snap
WHEN: late at night after the long day from hell
WHERE: demon bars
RATING: R for violence and mentions of drug use
STATUS: Complete as a log unless someone wants to tag in.
"Oh I'm sorry, am I being elitist?" Faith feigned a cheerful tone as she slammed the head of a Polgara demon onto the table. "Apparently that's some kinda offense now, I do apologize."
Slam went its head onto the table again. Others rose to fight her; a Bohg'dar, a Gar-wawk, a Froctor and some vamps as a Voynok growled in the corner. Faith turned her head, just slightly, keeping them in her sights as the rest of the bar fell silent.
"You know I heard," the Froctor started, his nasel tone sounding sneering to her ears. "That your days as a Slayer are numbered. That soon all of you lot will be nothing more than weak little girls, ripe for the picking."
"You think we're going to forget your face bitch?" The Bohg'dar snarled. "You think after everything you've done, we're just going to let you go when you become..... helpless." There were blood stains on its teeth as it smiled.
Faith looked away, looked down at the now smirking Polgara in her hands.
"I'll die a Slayer thanks," she murmured, before she picked the demon up and threw it at the others. They went crashing down in a pile of limbs, snarls and swears as she turned to face them. The door was just behind her, with no demons between her and it. She didn't leave. Her weapons remained strapped to her belt as she looked at the demons with a cold smile.
The fight erupted. She just kept reacting, a punch, a kick, each delivered with a deadly accuracy as her adrenaline raced. Got to keep fighting, always got to keep fighting, block out the pain, it makes you weak.
Never stopping, not for a second. If you stop then you're dead. For as long as you're fighting then you know what it means to feel alive.
It was the Slayer's way.
Working through Faith she could feel the strength and instincts of every Slayer that had been before her.
Into every generation a Slayer is born. One girl in all the world. She alone will have the strength and skill to hunt the vampires.
One girl.
Alone.
There were many Slayers now, but ultimately for each of them it came down to this. Every fight, every demon. Facing it alone and never knowing if he was going to have a really good day.
It was how the Slayer lived. How she died.
All too soon there were none left. Faith's hands were covered in blood, some hers, some theirs. The bar tender had long since gone, run as soon as he had the chance. She shrugged casually and wandered behind the bar, helping herself to a shot of whiskey. She held it up in a mocking toast.
"To the Slayer."
She knocked it back, feeling the burn of the alcohol running down her throat before she poured herself another. And another. Before finally taking the whole bottle with a muttered "screw it."
As she took the bottle, her hand knocked against a drawer, hidden under the bar, making it spring open. Curious she peered inside before her blood ran cold. Her hand shook slightly as she picked up the vials of blueish liquid, the silver needles glinting in the low light.
It had been months since she'd last taken a hit of Orpheus, but the cravings were still there, still lingering. The last time she'd truly felt at peace was when she'd been flying on that stuff. When she could have stopped caring about fighting.
She was exhausted. Lilith, Glory, this vamp gang, and now this situation with Tenel Ka. She slipped the vial into her pocket as she wandered out of the bar, still swigging from the bottle of whiskey.
"Fuck this."
It was one thing when sneering villains came to this city and dismissed Slayers, but it was something else when everything they'd been through was made to feel like it wasn't worth it. No one else could know what it felt like to be a Slayer. No one except Buffy and Kennedy.
She should have thrown the Orpheus out. She should have stopped drinking. But the vial sat heavily in her pocket as she took another long drink of the alcohol.
She perched on the back of a park bench, toying with the bottle as she tried to figure out just where the hell this had all gone so wrong. When a vampire approached she simply held up a cross and made him flinch away before taking another bitter drink.