OPEN ♔ I HAD BEEN DRESSED IN A COAT OF ARMOR.

[slays]

♬ Horse and I ; Bats for Lashes

WHO || Buffy Summers and YOU. (open)
WHAT || Insomnia strikes.
WHERE || Knight's HQ, the Kitchen
WHEN || Saturday night, around 1 am.
HOW || Actionspam or prose, multiple threads

Buffy stirred as she slept, her tiny body stretching to encompass the entirety of her bed as she steadily shifted about, propelled into unconscious action by the vividness of her dreams. They gripped her in a way reality had yet to since she ... well, since she couldn't remember when. She gave a quiet grumble of protest at the sudden aching pain that flooded her senses as she relived a four hundred-year-old memory.

White Doe you are, white doe you shall become!

The burn of fresh, present pain creaked through her bones as they snapped and altered. Her teeth gritted, but she did not scream. The Slayer did not scream, did not submit to the wills of men, did not allow them to be satisfied by controlling her. But, the agony was unbearable. She fell to the ground, fingers digging into the dirt, grabbing fistfuls of earth.

Her vision blurred, her mind edged dark, and for a moment that seemed to stretch on forever, the world around her was only blurred swatches of whites, blacks and greys. They slowly gained shape, but the colors had bled out and didn't return.

Flailing, she tried to scramble to her feet, but the attempt caused her to collapse, because her legs were not those of a human. They weren't intended to hold her upright on two. No, below her were the knobby, furred legs of a doe, unsteady and collapsing beneath her.

She tried to run. Across water, which cooled her hooves (hooves? Really?), but it warred against her. Rushing up from the waves, blue figures surrounded her, assaulted her, crushed her beneath the weight of them. It was all she could do not to drown as it filled her tiny doe lungs and she was forced back ashore on the beach of the island.

The monsters weren't going to allow her to leave. She was trapped. Trapped on this rock.

She wasn't sure how much time passed. Weeks. Months. It was all a blur of long runs through wooded areas. They were peaceful, but confining. The trees felt more like prison bars after so long. She was alone, locked away on a part of the earth that no man would visit. Until he did.

Seal of the Ocean. She saw him from where she hesitated on a rock, and her eyes widened, her body growing still and unmoving. He drew his bow, but he was too far off for her to see. She couldn't budge, too shocked that it was really him.

Too shocked to realize that her body was changing again, and when she could finally move, when she finally outstretched her arms to greet him, smiling wide and bright, she felt pain blossoming in her breast. Looking down, she saw the arrow planted deep in her rib cage. Blood flooded her heart, her lungs, and she gasped for a breath that wouldn't come, falling once more to the rocks below.

Seal of the Ocean made his way to her side, holding her, calling for help, though she could scarcely say she understood what came out of his mouth.

"Too late," she informed him. "I must speak ..." He held her in his arms, and she told him. "I was the Slayer. I let anger and hurt and pride betray me, and now I pay the price. Do not mourn. I die loved." Her vision blacked as her breaths grew more shallow, more gasped, more impossible.

And the inability to catch her breath, even as she gasped for it, jerked Buffy from her slumber. She shot straight up in bed, panting, wheezing, gulping down oxygen like it was a fire sale.

Different dream. Same end. Death. They always died. She didn't know who White Doe was, who Seal of the Ocean was, or what it had to do with her, but she could safely say that it could be added to the tiny collection of memories she'd managed to regain, none of which were hers, all of which were different gruesome deaths wrought on by demons and magic that she didn't understand.

She was sweating. She pushed the covers back, finally catching her breath, and reached up to wipe the moisture from her brow, pulling herself out of the bed. Hell. It felt like every time she shut her eyes, she was trapped in some ... some perpetual Hell. Somebody else's Hell, even. She took a moment to re-orient herself to the unfamiliar room, then shuffled her feet into slippers and ducked out of it entirely, leaving the door cracked behind her to remember which one was hers.

Making her way down the hall, she hung a left and found her way back to the kitchen. It was harder to find in the darkness, but at least she could say she'd been there before. Made it easier to find than Jack's office had been. She grabbed a piece of fruit off the counter and a paring knife, leaning over it and slowly cutting into the pulp of the fruit, biting her lip as every squish of its flesh reminded her of the sickening noise of the arrow in White Doe's chest.

One decent night's sleep. That's all she wanted. Why was it so much to ask? If her life was going to haunt her, couldn't it haunt her with the rest of her memories and not these ... Slayers?

Comments

[slay]

But, you could? You know. In theory.

[wildmind]

It's possible. I have a sort of ... upper hand against most sentient creatures.

[slays]

What kind of upper hand is that, exactly?

[wildmind]

[matter of factly] I'm a telepath.

[slay]

... Oh. [ A beat. ] Oh. [ Don't think about anything embarrassing or private don't think about -- Well, I guess the not remembering anything embarrassing or private probably helps, but -- still. ]

[wildmind]

[Her eyes spark a bit as she sets the glass down] Don't worry. I usually have to make an effort to read thoughts. And I try to be respectful.

[slay]

Oh. R-Right. I mean, obviously. [ A beat. The awkwardness dispels into curiosity. ] How? I mean, how'd you learn to -- or become ... I don't really know the right word.

[wildmind]

Psionic? [She traces a finger around the rim of her glass] It's a genetically inherited ability, usually. Probably a mutation of the brain.

[slay]

So, you didn't ask for it. [ Huh. ] I mean, I guess as long as it comes in handy ...

[wildmind]

It certainly as its uses. Psionics are rather rare, but we do have two telepaths in the Knighthood.

[slay]

Any ... relation between you and this other telepath? [ A beat. ] Sorry, I just -- You said genetic.

[wildmind]

Me and Tia? [She laughs sharply] Hardly. Nothing against her, but I would hardly want the pressure that comes with being part of that lineage.

[She glances over] Two Dragon's Claws in her family history. Father and grandfather.

[slay]

Scary. But, I mean, I'm sure they're not expecting her to -- O-Or if they are, they'll understand if she doesn't become one. They're all ... rare and unicorn-y, right?

[wildmind]

As rare as they come, not to mention we'd have to lose one of our current Claws for her to even be able to take up the position.

But it doesn't stop people from expecting things of her.

[slay]

That's gotta suck. Kinda makes a gal feel lucky for being all amnesiac. Hard to expect things out of the girl who can barely remember her last name, right?

[wildmind]

I suppose that's an upside.

[She moves to rinse out her glass] I suppose I should let you get back to what you were doing.

[slay]

Oh! Right. Sorry, I didn't mean to keep -- [ She waves her off, then hesitates. ] I don't think I got your name ...

[wildmind]

You weren't keeping anything.

Nessa Harvey. It's nice to have you with us.

[slays]

I'm nice to be with. [ Wait. No. That didn't come out right. Awkward. ] I-I mean I'm ... it's nice to be with you. Uh, here. I-I'm Buffy. And did I mention sleep-deprived? 'Cause ... hah.

[wildmind]

[She moves to the door, smiling over her shoulder] Do try to get some sleep. I promise it gets easier.

[slays]

Will do. Have a good night. [ She gives a smile, which falls as soon as Nessa leaves the room, and then turns back to brooding over her fruit. ]