lucetilogs | >> this is my endgame

>> this is my endgame

Who: [Bad username or site: gotmebones title= @ livejournal.com] & [Bad username or site: a_slayer_slays title= @ livejournal.com]
What: Now that the snark has subsided, these two need some quality time.
When: Mid-afternoon, Friday.
Where: House Seven
Summary: Damnit, Bones! I'm a Slayer, not a chess nerd.
Rating: PG-13ish

In the haze of the improving season, Buffy had begun to contemplate where she had once heard that there was nothing really good, or nothing really bad--except in how you thought about it. A significant portion of her guessed that it was probably some stale English class back at Sunnydale High. The day had probably been quite similar to this one, with green tinges of growth outside the window. Back then, she had probably been aching to get out and into the green. Today? Well, today there were far too many interesting things going on inside the four walls of the house. Electricity had sprouted, as if from no where, and it had not taken her long to make what use she could from what they had been given. All morning, House Seven was treated to the incessant dinging and whirring of a microwave being rather over-used. As Buffy plunged her fork into the soft belly of a pizza pocket (new food had arrived in the shops, after all), she did not care that it was her fifth today. The point was that it was a good day to be a twenty-first century kinda girl.

She was sitting by a window in the house's lounge, her knees drawn close to her chest and the plate balanced precariously on the tops of her feet. Her chin, set in the crevice between her knees, tilted and shifted for each delivered bite. By all accounts, she looked peaceful enough. But how long would that last, with a certain medical doctor on the prowl?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Reaching a stalemate; having those two personalities accept they are two sides of the same coin instead of constantly fighting for control."

He was barking up the wrong tree in this idea, but he was working off what he had learnt in medical school.

"Yeah, the angry one? Doesn't seem too keen on acceptance. He's more stuck around the step that makes him a pain in the ass."

But she did feel bad for Emil. In fact, Ratatosk's existence made her behave even more sympathetically towards the boy. It must be rough--to blank out, to become someone else. The only thing Buffy could compare that to was when Faith had purposefully stolen her body. "What makes him change?"

"Textbook situation: an unwillingness to face some situations that are too difficult and that he can't cope with; he said that he emerges to fight for him." Which did not sit well with McCoy. Children weren't supposed to be fighting, they were meant to be studying and enjoying their youths while they lasted.

He rubbed his upper lip, eyeing the blonde carefully, offering a warning. "Don't rile him up, Summers." Which was basically akin to him asking the sun not to set.

Buffy lifted her hands, holding them open and wide. "Hey. No riling from me. Hyde Junior's always finding me out--getting all lippy on the journals."

But she did catch on to Bones' apprehension. Emil was too young for this. Buffy agreed, wholeheartedly. "So...would there be any use in helping Emil boost his coping mechanisms that don't involve tweaking out into a brat?"

It was uncomfortable comparing Emil to the Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde because of the way that story ended up. Even if Ratatosk was doing a good job of living up to the latter's reputation, he could not be inherently evil and he met her suggestion with cynicism.

"Encouraging him could help. Introducing him to a safe environment would work, but as you can see... Luceti is anything but safe. People come and go every day; people are being sent out to war now, there are kidnappings, random attacks from the resident bastards..." McCoy trailed off into a murmur, as his own irritation spiked as he thought of these possible scenarios, drumming his fingers on his arm. The list could go on.

"The kind of treatment I'm looking at is reconnecting the identities into one functioning one. They need to accept one another, but it's a lengthy process..."

"Is that even going to be possible? I mean, Emil's all sweet and shy and that other's guy is bad news." Slowly, Buffy stood. Too many cookies and not enough milk. She continued to talk even as she walked back towards the kitchen.

"I get it. Tough times makes him go a little nuts--it happens to the best of us. But is turning them into a melting pot really the answer?" Pouring the milk now, entirely oblivious to how loudly she should not be talking.

McCoy turned in his chair to face her and pressed a finger to his lips in a somewhat condescending gesture as she poured the milk. He did not know whether the boy was sulking in his room or outside with Sial, but it was a conversation that he didn't want overheard.

"Think about it for a second here, Summers. Each time this happens, it'll get worse in the long run. Maybe one day he'll take full control." And annoy everyone in Luceti until the scientists became bored and killed them all permanently or they were sent back home. Wistful thinking. "And I want to avoid having that brat out twenty-four seven... don't you?"

"Point taken." Her voice dropped to a whisper and she tip-toed back into the living room with her milk in hand. "That's really not anything remotely like what I want. Though, honestly? The exorcism might not be such a bad idea. There is a certain demony quality to the whole possession thing. The bad Emil told me all about how he'd made a deal to protect a girl."

The line rang so very close to her own experiences with something. So much so that Buffy buried her attention in the glass of milk. Milk was for strong bones, right? Ever since being depowered, she had tried to bulk up on all those vitamins and nutrients that she never had to think about, before.

"Something about being a knight, wasn't it?" He wondered out loud and shifted in his seat again, stretching his legs out and inclining slightly in his chair as he attempted to get comfortable. It did not work and he simply got to his feet. "Have to admire that chivalric trait of his, even if he is a bastard to everyone else."

He paced around the living room as he made those comments, watching her fixation with the glass of milk she had poured for herself. Milk just hammered in that childlike trait she seemed to have when she teased him, munched on cookies or scoffed about something he said.

"I wonder--if that girl showed up, would it calm the other personality? Or rile him up even more?"

Buffy mused over her milk, eyeing the bubbles that collected on the side of the glass. She was tempted to return to the kitchen, get a straw, and start blowing bubbles. She can't help but be a kid. It's the mechanism that kicks in after she has become comfortable enough with someone to drop the snark. There's safety, under Bones' watch.

"Who knows?" McCoy shook his head. "It's not exactly something you would want wish upon a person, even if you do miss them in this place. If it was, I probably would have gone through five Joanna's by now."

"But it'd all go back to havoc if she came and left, I guess." She was speaking more specifically about Emil's girl in question. But the same could be applied to Joanna.

"... Yeah." The same could be applied to Joanna, but that was not something he wanted voiced. Losing the Captain in the place was tough enough, since Jim had been brought here before him, a title that now belonged to him after a spree of pensive brooding.

He shrugged that off and resumed his pacing. "Gonna have to hope they decide not to bring her along."

"Jeez, way to make a girl feel selfish." She commented, lightly. "I was relieved, in a way. To see Willow." And Spike, but she doesn't voice that sentiment in particular. She could see that Bones did not like her connection with Spike and so she now tried to downplay it in his presence.

"But--I guess that's different, for Will. Wacky things don't phase us Sunnydale Alumni that much."

McCoy didn't like Spike and is glad that she doesn't sing his praises about being dragged here along with her best friend. The undead bastard infuriated him more than Spock and he would take measures into making sure the Slayer did not run out and... reconcile. He just needed to find a hammer and everything would be fine in this household.

"You come from a world full of demons, Summers." He countered with an upward quirk of his lips. "A little world hop every once in a while doesn't sound too bad in comparison."

"What's a little inter-dimensional travel between friends, right?" She quirked right back. "Not that I've done much of it, personally. I kinda understood that it was more Angel's thing. The only other dimension I've been to was H--" Heaven. But she stopped herself short, on that one. It came out too easily. Too casually. Perhaps a sign of just how much she had come to trust the good doctor. Sure, she had already told him--but for it to come up so unbidden? It scared her.

"Except this one time, Anya told us about a world with no shrimp." She continued on, as normal.

"... Are all your friends always that eccentric?"

While the subject was a degree of normalcy for Buffy, he still found it overwhelming to listen to at times. Gambling with kittens, sucking blood, other dimensions... the only thing he was expecting during the five-year mission was new diseases that he had to synthesize a treatment for and mothering the crew when he was on rotation.

"Anya was another of those baddie-turned-goodie cases. She was a vengeance demon, lost her powers, fell in love with Xander. Nearly got married, turned back to the dark side, but eventually found her way into the fight to save the world. I mean--perspective? This was over about four years. The point is? Friend's a bit of a weird word for her."

Never mind the strange, stabbing jealousy of finding out that Spike had slept with her. Although that sense of possession had long since been dealt with, the usurpation was hard to ignore. Oh, and the fact that Buffy had run a sword through Anya's gut. That was a tough one to forgive on the opposite side of things. But all of this, including Anya's death (not by Buffy's hands, thankfully) are moments that she leaves out of her speech. Their impact, however, remains on her face.

McCoy observes that expression on her face as she experiences the inward flare of jealously as she reminisces about this vengeance demon. He decides to stop pacing around the living room before noticing the amount of cleaning appliances strewn around on the couch and huffs, moving them to one side before sitting down in the recently cleared space, scratching Brown behind the ear as the dog wanders over.

"Acquaintance then." He offered sarcastically. "I'm expecting you to turn around one day and tell me that Willow is... oh I don't know, three ducks in a body suit."

"N-nope, no ducks. At least, not since I last checked. She's just your everyday Rosenberg with some magic added into the mix."

Half that milk is gone. It's pretty good stuff. "I was one of her bridesmaids. Anya, I mean. So maybe it's more like acquaintance blending into friend."

Oh, he left his Mint Julep is back on the table. Alas.

"A demon inviting a Slayer to a wedding? Now I've heard everything."

"Ex-demon, at that point. And she was marrying my best friend! It's not like I could just refuse the really ugly sea-monster like bridesmaid dress."

McCoy is a man and cannot understand just how special that day is for girls. "They nearly got married, right? Sounds like he had a lucky escape."

"He left her. At the altar. Guess who had to play Miss Damage Control for both the crowd and the crazy ex-demon bride?"

He pulled a face at that and rubbed the back of his neck. "Ouch.>/i>"

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject