Entry tags:
cause i'm fashionably socialized
The last time Faith stumbled onto the ship, it was in cuffs, at a fancy party. This time, it's in formalwear, on the deck. A hot pink bodycon dress, heels -- even dangling earrings. She's also covered in blood.
She looks about as comfortable as a pig in a bath.
This is probably indicated by the way she pulls her hair out of its updo, and then begins to pull off the heels. Over the side they go to glop! into the ocean beyond.
The part of her that does look recognizable is the sword in her hand, coated with the same blood that stains her dress and is drying and cracking on her skin.
"Where the hell are those freaking beach towels...?" She grumbles, and begins rooting around the deck doors for the linen closet so that she can clean off her favorite weapon. And she'll probably have to clean up all the drops of blood she leaves behind along the way.
Messy, messy slayer social worker...
She looks about as comfortable as a pig in a bath.
This is probably indicated by the way she pulls her hair out of its updo, and then begins to pull off the heels. Over the side they go to glop! into the ocean beyond.
The part of her that does look recognizable is the sword in her hand, coated with the same blood that stains her dress and is drying and cracking on her skin.
"Where the hell are those freaking beach towels...?" She grumbles, and begins rooting around the deck doors for the linen closet so that she can clean off her favorite weapon. And she'll probably have to clean up all the drops of blood she leaves behind along the way.
Messy, messy slayer social worker...
no subject
It's both frustrating and not at the same time, a curious mix of wanting to know where she'd end up post the destruction of Chicago (or if this is the post, where she'd be off to next), and serious cabin fever, but she's adjusting, slowly but surely. At least they can't say that there's nothing to do. Each room on this boat does hold something new.
She's wandering around a corner, looking to indulge in a fruity drink with a little umbrella when she spots Faith. You would think it would surprise her but given that Buffy has been in the same position herself, she's actually not that surprised.
"One of these days we'll be able to buy a new dress and not get blood and guts all over it in the first twelve hours," she begins as she makes her way forward. "But I'm guessing that day isn't today."
no subject
Besides, the way she's paying more attention to cleaning the sword is probably indicative of how much she does not care about the dress. Nope, not at all. Who cares about pretty things? Not Faith Lehane, no way. "Eh, not like this thing's designer or anything, anyway."
Actually, she's not totally sure of that. She had been dressed like a doll, and when it comes to the sisters there's usually no room for argument. Faith sighs, passing over the blade once more time before letting her arms fall to her sides. She might actually be a little bit bummed about losing this layer cake that made her boobs look awesome.
"It's definitely a curse, right? In the mix with all that magic and demony garbage, those assholes layered in a 'can never step it up' curse?"
no subject
"Totally a curse," she says with a sure nod. "One that must be broken ASAP as far as I'm concerned."