From memory, Jasmine, not Cordelia, had had complete control of the vehicle a year earlier. Cordelia had been silent; like a ghost of a memory that one couldn't quite recall very clearly, she hadn't taken on the form as an annoying itch. Mirror!Cordelia remembered exactly what it was like to be trapped within that body; while the Real didn't particularly find it very fun, she had. The power. The respect. She didn't need the Powers That Be to define her value. She had it all within the palm of her hand.
But it was different now, and she wasn't certain if it was for the best. When that root had grabbed Cordelia's ankle like a nicely tied knot, Jasmine had taken control of the reigns almost instantly. Like the symptoms of an impending migraine, Cordelia was yelling and screaming and threatening and claiming how bored she was with this channel that Jasmine had currently turned on. But that didn't cause her to relent. She kept pushing her down, as if underwater, and while Cordelia thrashed beneath the surface, Jasmine had found herself in the driver's seat for longer periods of time. There were short, pitiful bursts where Cordelia had resurfaced, but Jasmine had possessed power and great perseverance, something that Cordelia didn't quite hold. If she did, perhaps she wouldn't be six feet in a grave.
She tried tuning her out. Calling herself Jasmine, just to irritate her other half, only seemed to make the sounds and the knocking against her skull get louder and sharper. Cordelia fought as if she were in another apocalypse. Jasmine only reiterated the name that not many people knew nor bothered to mutter. She did it quietly, though. Just in case.
Jasmine wasn't stupid, either. While she knew it was easy for her to pretend to be the real Cordelia (it wasn't that hard and hadn't been that difficult in the first place to mimic all her actions and words), she knew that one particular person would, quite possibly, know something was amiss if he had ever crossed paths with her. She made a point to stay clear from Angel, despite wanting to manipulate him around her finger and unpick the stitches that he and Cordelia had been tentatively and very carefully threading together.
But fate wasn't having any of that. There was a loud commotion coming outside of the room she'd housed herself in. And while she recognised that voice, the tone and singing were something that went along with his handsome face, but a very different animal. She wasn't in Cordelia's room; her closet was full of too many shoes, of clothes that were just a little too young for a woman of her age and her lively status, and Jasmine had an inkling that Angel or Buffy would look for her there. And she didn't particularly think her closet would spit out the things she needed in order to curse her Real.
When he kicked in the door of one nondescript room in, he'd find her there, leaning casually against a table within the room. She frowned, feigning uncertainty, "This is the part where I squeak, right?"
november 1
From memory, Jasmine, not Cordelia, had had complete control of the vehicle a year earlier. Cordelia had been silent; like a ghost of a memory that one couldn't quite recall very clearly, she hadn't taken on the form as an annoying itch. Mirror!Cordelia remembered exactly what it was like to be trapped within that body; while the Real didn't particularly find it very fun, she had. The power. The respect. She didn't need the Powers That Be to define her value. She had it all within the palm of her hand.
But it was different now, and she wasn't certain if it was for the best. When that root had grabbed Cordelia's ankle like a nicely tied knot, Jasmine had taken control of the reigns almost instantly. Like the symptoms of an impending migraine, Cordelia was yelling and screaming and threatening and claiming how bored she was with this channel that Jasmine had currently turned on. But that didn't cause her to relent. She kept pushing her down, as if underwater, and while Cordelia thrashed beneath the surface, Jasmine had found herself in the driver's seat for longer periods of time. There were short, pitiful bursts where Cordelia had resurfaced, but Jasmine had possessed power and great perseverance, something that Cordelia didn't quite hold. If she did, perhaps she wouldn't be six feet in a grave.
She tried tuning her out. Calling herself Jasmine, just to irritate her other half, only seemed to make the sounds and the knocking against her skull get louder and sharper. Cordelia fought as if she were in another apocalypse. Jasmine only reiterated the name that not many people knew nor bothered to mutter. She did it quietly, though. Just in case.
Jasmine wasn't stupid, either. While she knew it was easy for her to pretend to be the real Cordelia (it wasn't that hard and hadn't been that difficult in the first place to mimic all her actions and words), she knew that one particular person would, quite possibly, know something was amiss if he had ever crossed paths with her. She made a point to stay clear from Angel, despite wanting to manipulate him around her finger and unpick the stitches that he and Cordelia had been tentatively and very carefully threading together.
But fate wasn't having any of that. There was a loud commotion coming outside of the room she'd housed herself in. And while she recognised that voice, the tone and singing were something that went along with his handsome face, but a very different animal. She wasn't in Cordelia's room; her closet was full of too many shoes, of clothes that were just a little too young for a woman of her age and her lively status, and Jasmine had an inkling that Angel or Buffy would look for her there. And she didn't particularly think her closet would spit out the things she needed in order to curse her Real.
When he kicked in the door of one nondescript room in, he'd find her there, leaning casually against a table within the room. She frowned, feigning uncertainty, "This is the part where I squeak, right?"