Damsel in Distress, My Ass

You're off to an important engagement, dressed to the nines, wouldn't you know it, something just had to go wrong. What was it? Flat-tire, broken wheel, horse threw a shoe, auto accident? How do you cope, what do you do, it's all up to you.

stillacrime used and abused with prior permission

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She hummed as she walked, listening to the sounds of the city and the click of her heels on the sidewalk. She was wearing a pale green skirt that swirled around her knees and a white three quarter sleeve top with a deep vee in the back. She had a jade cross on a crystal beaded chain that she’d turned around backwards so that it skimmed the bare skin of her back to the middle of her back. She could have taken the subway and it would have been much faster but she was early the cute jade green heels she was wearing were actually comfortable and the subway was underground. Cue claustrophobia.

“Slayer…”

Buffy stopped still and cast a glare in the direction of the voice. There was a vampire hovering just in the deep shadows of the alley. She could see the gold of his eyes shining. She sighed and her shoulders dipped. “No. Absolutely not. I’ve got a date, my clothes are new and if I to kill you I’m going to be late.”

“Come on, Slayer. I heard you were here. Came all the way up from Canada. I’ll take you out on a date. Heard you go for the monsters anyway. Whole demon world is taking bets how long your human lasts.”

“Oh no you did not,” Buffy spat the words. She lifted one foot and unbuckled the relatively delicate heel there. She did the same with the other and set her shoes and her handbag off to the side. She got a stake out of her handbag and curled her fingers around the smooth wood. “You know there are certain things you don’t mention. A girl’s relationship history and her current boyfriend are two of them. You just did both in one breathe. Also, did I mention date? It’s rude.”

Apparently someone had told him she liked to exposition because he didn’t give her anymore chances. He wasn’t stupid though, he attacked, lunging at her and dancing back. He was old enough to know better and good enough to get some strikes in. He had a fast jab and she could taste the metallic ring of blood behind her teeth. She hoped he’d busted the inside of her lip but that bubble burst when she felt it collecting at the corner of her mouth. Her tongue snaked out to lick at it and at the same time she swung her leg up in a roundhouse kick, her bare heel catching him under the chin. It had enough force to push him back several feet but he was agile and stayed on his feet. He faked to the left, grabbing a handful of her hair with the right hand and pulling her up on the tip of her toes, his face close enough to her that the smell of death, dirt and blood made her stomach roil. Her scalp burned as he held her up by her hair.

“I came all the way for a little girl with a mediocre left hook and a mouth she can’t keep shut.” Spittle spattered her face and she swallowed bile back. Throwing up on the vampires was never a good thing. It got a slayer the sort of reputation she didn’t want to have.

“I swear to God if I have a bald spot I am going to have Will resurrect you and stake your ass again,” Buffy growled. “And by the way…” One big right hook up into his jaw. The shock made him let go and Buffy just barely caught herself at the sudden release. “I’m not left handed.”

He recovered quicker than she would have given her credit for and she would have gotten out of his way but the pretty netting under her swirly skirt caught on the dumpster and she heard a rip that made her heart hurt. It was all over after that because seriously, he’d ruined her night and her clothes. There was a side kick, kidney punch and a solid foot in his chest that sent him to the ground before the vamp was done. She shoved the stake in his heart, pulled it out before it dusted and tucked it in her bag. She put her shoes back on, grabbed her bag and found the nearest subway entrance.

Buffy finally showed up at the restaurant fifteen minutes late. Danny was outside smoking a cigarette and pacing but the cigarette fell from his fingers and his eyes widened at the sight of her. That was when she realized it must look worse than she thought it did. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the glass and groaned. Her hair was all askew, there was still blood on her lip and dirt across her cheek. The ivory blouse was streaked with dirt and her skirt was ripped, the torn fabric hanging listlessly to one side.

“What happened? You okay?” Danny asked as his thumb grazed over the blood at the corner of her mouth.

The pout that settled on her face was genuine as were the big ‘my life sucks hardcore’ eyes that she gave him. “There was a fight…with the subway door and my skirt. It wanted to hang on. I wanted it to let go and then it started moving and it sorta dragged me down with it before my skirt made the ultimate sacrifice and ripped. I think I scraped my knee. Can I have a band aid?”

Danny chuckled and kissed her forehead. “Come on. Let’s get you home and cleaned up. I’ll get you a band aid, we’ll order in and watch movies on the couch.”

“Stupid subway. Ruining the whole night,” she was still pouting mostly because it made lying easier.

Danny’s arm went around her shoulders and he kissed the top of her head. “Nothin’ ruined, Babe. Just got different plans now.”

[Locked from Danny and Anna]

Deceit

It’s kind of driving her crazy and at the same time she is terrified of ‘coming clean’. Deceit is necessary and exhausting. She goes out every night for Chinese or pizza, insisting she’d rather pick it up herself than have it delivered. She goes out for coffee, hot chocolate and to get some air and she never, ever, ever wants company. Stakes are tucked into her bag along with makeup, alcohol swabs and a little mirror. She tries to avoid getting hit in the face because slayers do bruise; they break and they bleed. She can hide almost everything else under long sleeves and jeans but bruises to her jaw and her lips require a stop by the gas station bathroom. She was a makeup artist long before she started deceiving him.

She continues without fail but every day there are little moments, voices that whisper to tell him and screams that hold her back. She’s not sure when the right moment will be and some part of her is afraid it will never come. He says the sweetest things and promises her she can stay in his life but she can’t help but think he wouldn’t say those things, if he knew. He’s falling in like with a person that doesn’t exist and that worries her because she’s falling into like with one that does.

He’s an investigator and she knows one of these days he’ll investigate because that’s what he does. He’ll find out and she won’t be able to apologize for the lie because she’s not sorry. If she got to redo the entire relationship over again, she would without any regrets. They’ve never really looked good on her, regret. It just makes her broody and she knows a couple people that do broody so much better than she does. So for now she’ll lie, she’ll go get hot chocolate, coffee, Chinese, pizza and air. She’ll insist that she needs the time alone and she’ll come home with her alibi, set it on the table and try to cover her guilt with affection. She’s soaking him up while she can because she knows one of these days he’ll know and no matter what he decides, he’ll never look at her the same way again.

Grace under fire.

The expression was born in her when she accepted the prophecy and walked through a sewer to her death wearing a white prom dress. It resides in her every breath and in the set of her spine. Defense makes it impossibly straight, steel and silk with her shoulders back and her chin tilted up just so, neck exposed, jaw squared and every inch of her offers a challenge that she knows the enemy can’t refuse anymore than they can win. Hurt inspires the same posture but with her chin down, her arms wrapped around her body in order to hold herself together. She is unbreakable in so many ways and fragile in all the others. She’s a weapon but also a girl. Steel runs in her blood and is forged in her soul. It infuses her bones, her words and her skin. There are others but she is alone, vulnerable and apart from all that were and all that are to come. She is the one and the always for reasons she can’t explain and reasons she had nothing to do with. Sometimes she falls and sometimes she stumbles. You can see through her cracks and watch as she crumbles but she always remains. The strongest steel goes through the hottest fire.

stillacrime used with permission and referring to the New York Storyline started/found here. Thanks to his mun for help with the Danny parts.

*Your muse is out running errands, or traveling, and finds themselves caught in a downpour with no raincoat or umbrella. How do they cope? Do they love it or hate it? Be as descriptive as possible, and by all means share how miserable they are if that's the case.*

Buffy doesn’t patrol with music and an ipod the way lots of the slayers do. Eva explained to her that someone named Abby on some movie called Sword or Blade or something she hasn’t seen yet made it cool. Instead she listens to the night, cats in the alley, sirens down the street and she hears the city breathe. New York is alive in a way that LA never seemed to be. It’s also undead in a way that she knows LA never has been. As in over run.

She’s already staked four vampires and is right in the middle of battling with a third when the sky opens up and unleashes its wrath. Rain is pouring down like a waterfall sluicing from a gutter. Her hair is plastered to her head, her baby blue sweater clings to her body and her high heeled boots are squeaking. This is possibly the most miserable Buffy has been in a long time. She was slightly cold before and now that she’s drenched to the skin she’s shivering.

Buffy hates the rain. It reminds her of things she’ll never have, heartbreak and death. It reminds her of cool hands on overheated skin and love so sharp it bleeds. She shoves the stake through the heart of her fifth vampire of the night then uncurls her fingers, letting it drop to the ground. With one hand she pushes wet hair out of her eyes and tilts her face up to the sky. That wound is open and it’s bleeding again. She wishes it would just heal already. Her breath shudders in her chest and she doesn’t want to be alone.

Running is faster; faster than a cab and faster than the subway. It makes her heart pound and that gaping wound doesn’t seem quite so deep when she’s running. Then she’s dripping at his door, breath come in little pants, heart hammering in her chest. She’s certain it is louder than her knock but either way it gets him to open up.

He looks confused at first then concerned, brow furrowing as he takes his glasses off and opens the door wider. She’s looking up at him with big eyes and trembling all over.

You’re shaking

C-cold

She steps into his apartment and already it’s warmer. “I hate the rain. I don’t want dry clothes and I don’t want to get underneath blankets. I just didn’t want to be alone.”

“Alright…” She thinks perhaps he’s more confused than he was when he let her in but he closes the door. She’s just standing in the middle of the floor dripping everywhere and then he’s behind her with a hand on her shoulder, thumb brushing against her shoulder blade exposed by the deep vee back of her sweater. She nearly melts back into him with a sigh, shivering abating for the moment.

“You’re warm,” she whispers, eyes closing as his hand slides over the curve of her neck, rubbing against the scar there and making her whimper. She can almost feel his grin as his arm slides around her shoulders and pulls her back against him. “I’m getting you all wet,” she warns him.

“Don’t care,” he assures her as he wraps himself around her and she thinks that maybe one day, she won’t always hate the rain.