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Charcoal, ash, and bone.
Sometimes I just want to let it all out
And become everything that I was before.
I could recreate my old self
Out of marrow and blood and soot,
And let myself become clean, pure,
An earlier vision
Of whatever I am now.
Something with
Pure mind; with
No one else's thoughts inside my head.
Maybe I could exist as
A scarecrow.
Charcoal, ash, and bone.
~Charcoal, Ash, and Bone~
She knows how they all look at her. Their twisted perception of her as spoiled, self-involved, and...lots of other s-words. Which is actually dead-on, when she really thinks about it. And she does really think about it, a lot. But self-aware is an s-word that she's sure would be missing from their list, if they ever got pissed enough to make one. And with Willow being officially her most fucked-over friend ever, and thus leader of the group, they just might.
But the thing is, she has to make the world about her if she is going to survive in it. She's the Chosen One--yeah, okay. But what if that's not enough? Back in LA she was the prettiest and the most popular and the damned May Queen, all rolled into one. She had a thousand friends, and she didn't even know the names of all the people who were in love with her. And she was only fifteen then. So fucking young, not that she would have admitted it back then. But she knows now that it was young, now that she's almost twenty and completely fucking lost, because nobody loves her.
Well, Riley. Riley worships her in a way that she is not completely comfortable with, but another part of her exalts in it, at having this big army man completely under her control. He would get down on his knees and beg for her love if she wanted him to. In fact, he has. Especially lately, now that everything around her is disintegrating, everything going faster and faster until she's trapped in this giant whirlpool... He's gotten down on his knees, head reaching up to almost her breasts, because he is so very tall compared to her, even on his knees. But she is much, much stronger.
And she needs it, needs his adoration of her like a junkie. If she knew anything about heroin she would probably compare the two, but as it is all she can describe it as is an ache in her veins. Fill me up with something, please. Love, come, blood...anything, just so that I'm not empty.
Blood. Angel, back in LA--he has her blood in him. She could say that he loves her, but she doesn't think that is completely true anymore.
There was a time when he was as much under her control as Ri now is, maybe even more so. Completely obsessed with this brand new shiny virgin thing that just fell into his lap. Vampire and Slayer, how Romeo and Juliet. How romantic. Now it makes Buffy almost sick to think of it. Faith was right, they didn't belong together. Slayer, vampire, dead vampire: that was how it worked.
Maybe it was just a rationalization to help her not feel so completely abandoned because he had left her, but it was a rationalization that she needed. Slayer, vampire, dead vampire.
And that brought her along to Faith. God, that girl had been wrapped around Buffy's finger, so completely in love, so completely obsessed with the girl that she couldn't have. They could have been sisters.
It was funny. Buffy had asked Faith once, in the beginning when they barely knew each other, if she believed in love, and Faith had laughed and said no. Then, months later, Buffy had asked her again, this time with more knowledge and more awareness than she'd ever thought she'd have. Noticing the silence, but noticing more the look Faith gave her. Pained. Wracked with self-doubt. And yes, in love.
Buffy can remember Faith's hands on her as they dressed each other's wounds. Usually so rough, the other girl's hands had been as soft as feathers against her skin. Faith touched Buffy as though she was something precious.
And...and...and... Buffy could name a thousand other people who have loved her, or worshiped her, at least , and it still wouldn't matter. Xander, Jonathon, even Willow in some big-eyed, 'you're-my-hero' way (or something more, a part of her conciousness whispers. Is it any wonder that Willow's dating a blond?)...but its not enough. She needs more. She needs more. She needs something that will make her feel big and special and not like she's drowning in blood. Dirty salt taste in her mouth.
Giles. Anya. Tara. She would be the big bad Slayer to them all, maybe even more, if she thought that it would do anything. Scare them. Spike. Dawn. Mom. They all really see her, who she really is, without the Slayer part. Riley. Riley. They all know that she's just a little girl inside, that she's scared...they love the real Buffy.
But that's not what Buffy needs.
She needs their worship, their complete and other worship of the divinity of Slayerhood, if she is ever to believe in herself. If she's not the best, how is she going to win?
She asked Spike about it, and all he could give her was lust. Death. Destruction. Everything she already knew. She needs more.
And so, she dreams. Goes into the dark world and meets the other Slayer, the First. She has no name, no speech, but it doesn't matter. They wouldn't speak even if they did speak the same tongue. When Buffy is dreaming about Her, she tastes blood on her tongue and it makes her smile. She is just The Slayer here; the bloodcall and the kill.
The kill is infinite. Eternal. It will exist as long as people do, as long as demons do, as long as a single heart beats on the earth. And Buffy doesn't worry about it; just mixes the ash of the fire with water and smoothes it over her face, darkening her skin to the flush of the bark of the trees.
Everything disappears but Buffy and Her. And the demons. The bloodcall. The deathcry.
