vor | Luceti Appointments

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It wasn't wearing off. Days ticked by and it still wasn't wearing off. Horror stories of uncorrected Shifts haunted her from when the Kin'corans had been in town; was she going to be stuck like this? A Slayer in Spike's body?

It wasn't fair.

But it also wasn't fair to simply cut everyone off. Not if it didn't look like it was going to be a simple two-day affair. And she'd already missed the birthday party...

So here Buffy stood -- in the wrong skin -- and knocked lightly on Gregor's door. She hugged a wrapped box against her (decidedly now more masculine) chest and dangled a second gift bag from her fingertips. She hoped he was home...o-or maybe she didn't. Maybe she could just leave them outside the door and make a break for it. Maybe she could still do that.

Hesitantly, she leaned down to prop the box up against the doorframe.

The door opens, and the box thumps to the floor unceremoniously. Gregor squints.

"Sp...wait. Buffy?"

Surprise writ large on a pale face. She glanced up but didn't yet reach for the box.

"...How'd you know?" Spike hadn't done her the courtesy of explaining who he'd already run into around town. "W-well. I just. I wanted to apologi--"

Now she tried to reach for the box. But now her nuckled smashed against an invisible barrier. Oh, crud. She tried again.

Gregor picks the box up, frowning, and hands it out to her. "I ran into not-you the other day. It was...surreal."

Buffy straightened. And -- awkwardly -- took the box back. Although she ought to be giving it to him in the first place.

A gravelled clearing of the throat, then: "Times that surreality by about fifty and that's where I'm sitting. I'd kinda like to be me again."

"Well, it's good to see you, at least. I'm sorry about your inconvenience. Why don't you come in?"

Edited Date: 2012-09-27 12:40 am (UTC)

"...You have no idea how relieved I am to hear you say that. Th-though, in the interest of full disclosure? I should tell you what you just did."

She snuck a foot tentatively over the threshhold and -- yes! No barrier.

"Very well. What did I do?"

"Invited a vampire into your home."

She passed inside with no problems. Wonderful. "Normally? They can't even step inside without your say-so. It's the same for all private dwellings."

"Good to know." For all Gregor knows, a vampire has to be invited each individual time they show up. He shuts the door behind her. "I guess I know what not to do next time if you turn out to be your..." he makes a motion at his side "...other friend after all."

"Not a problem."

She bee-lined for a position deeper into the apartment's front room and gently left the presents on the nearest table. They could come later; for now, she wanted to get all this weirdness out of the way. "I can have my people do an uninvitation spell. Uhm, person. There's just the one of her. But it'll be no trouble."

"...Wait, this thing's not attached to him corporally, is it?"

"...It's attached to the demon. I think. And right now the demon's in--"

She hesitated, pointing first at her head. And then her heart. And then regretting that she'd said anything at all.

"I don't know how it works. I've never seen a vamp in a body switch before. I've been body-swapped in the past but that was with--" Faith. "A co-worker. Ish."

Good thing Gregor doesn't know Faith is as strong as Buffy, or he'd be a lot more displeased about Faith and Ivan. Although he trusts that's going to be a one-night thing.

"If you think there's a need, she can do whatever she needs to this flat."

"There might not be. Spike's...not a terrible person. Just a little on the socially unacceptable side. But he's not like every other vampire. Hell -- he's not like any other vampire..."

But that's a weird conversation. So. "How was the party I missed?"

"Admittedly, pretty fun." Gregor's black eye might be an indication of how much fun.

She smiled. It didn't quite look like one of her own Buffy-smiles but it was close. Kinda. It was in the general region.

"Are you sure? 'Cause it kinda looks like you might've gone to a bar brawl instead of a...what was it? Plebe party."

Still -- she was sad she missed his first one. "Of course, some of us enjoy bar brawls."

"No one believes me when I say this, but I was drunk and tripped over my own feet."

It's the truth, just not how he got the black eye.

"Truthfully?" Buffy's ready to trust him. Any ribbing she subsequently dished out was more for humour's sake than for suspicion: "Because I bet no one believes it on account of it being everyone's excuse for everything. I know I used to use it so mom didn't question my bruises every morning...

Except for the drunk part. Telling her that wouldn't have helped all that much."

Screech to a halt.

"Wait. What? Bruises?"

His mind doesn't automatically go to because vampire slaying.

"Not always. Not every night, I guess. Just when it got...bad." Manly, pale hands do a little freaking-out gesture in front of her. "I was chosen when I was fifteen. But it was kind of a secret. I couldn't exactly tell mom and dad that I was out fighting the forces of evil."

Because when she did try and tell them? Hank had put her in the hospital. "So I think they thought I was in a girl gang."

He relaxes a little. "That would probably sound crazy, yeah." He gestures for her to sit, then drops into a large, cushy chair himself and hooks a leg over the arm.

And so she sat. And sat so primly! Knees pressed together and ankles gracefully crossed and hands perched on her lap.

"Trust me. The other guys mostly always looked worse."

...This reminds him of one of the Vorrutyer clan. Byerly? Yes. Like a blond, older Byerly Vorrutyer.

"I believe you." Too many judo lessons not to. "Did they ever find out the truth?"

"Mom did. Dawn did -- that's my sister. But..."

Not Hank. But remembering that fathers were potentially an awkward subject for the pair of them, Buffy reached instead for the rectangular gift wrapped in pale blue. Tiffany Blue, if you must know. But the box didn't hold jewellery. It held something better. And so she held it out to him.

It was the ultimate plebe party activity. "It's a few days too late," she explained. "But it's the thought that counts."

There still remained the second present: the gift bag.

Edited (so many errors.) Date: 2012-09-29 04:43 pm (UTC)