[OPEN] Sometimes your friends bring out the best in you.

[vampdetective]

Who: Angel & you!
Where: Angel Investigations & the kitchen.
When: 4/19 (for Faith) & 4/26
Rating: R? Blood, severed hands and potential for violence.
Summary: Faith offers Angel a Slayer-flavored protein shake with potentially disastrous results.
The Story:

4/19, CLOSED to Faith

He's lost track of how many hours it's been since he asked Faith to lock him in, leaning heavily against the bars of the cage he'd made sure Wonderland's replica of the Angel Investigations office held for situations just like this. It had started to prick at him the night before, the hunger he knew would come when all his supplies were exhausted-- the Infected posed as much a threat to him as anyone else, but he was just as fast as they were, maybe faster, and it made getting bitten easy enough to avoidable. The spores weren't a concern for someone who didn't breed, but the lack of supplies and the fact that the closets were giving out less and less?

That was a problem. He'd thought that it might be, when the additional stock he'd grabbed for himself after the announcement had disappeared. There had been enough blood stored in the fridge in his office to last him through most events, provided Wonderland didn't take it away, but this one seemed to be longer than most, and he wasn't willing to risk what could happen if he decided to let himself roam free and just hope it ended sooner rather than later-- not when he was this hungry.

The request for Faith to lock him in and make sure he stayed there had come paired with a gas mask. Physically, she could handle more than her share of assailants just like he could, but he wasn't going to risk her getting infected by inhaling something she shouldn't on his account. He'd been grateful when she'd agreed, but that had been hours ago-- it felt like days, the way hunger was beginning to gnaw at him, and he irately pushes himself away from the bars of the cage so that he can pace along its length, hands clasped behind his back.

He'd planned for alternatives in the event that Wonderland came up with an event that kept him from being able to eat, but the current method was equal parts exhausting and maddening. He sighs, rubbing at the back of his neck as he paces.

"We should, I don't know, play charades or something. Poker?" No need to be dying of both hunger and boredom. "Maybe Uno."

4/26, OPEN

A full week after the event, and Angel was still feeling the effects of the favor Faith had done him. A part of him had hoped that they would have burned themselves out of his system by now, that they would have vanished without a trace and he would be able to go back to his usual routine, but that had been wishful thinking, almost painfully optimistic.

He knew better. He had been through this enough times to know that it wouldn't work that way-- it never did, whether because of a slip he'd made all of his own accord or because someone else had intended to sabotage him. However human blood got into his system, it didn't matter. The results were always the same, except he worried that this time might actually be worse. A Slayer's blood was a different story entirely, more potent.

It had been a difficult habit to kick the first time he'd tasted it, too.

He spends most of the morning in his office on the fourth floor, thumbing through research without really reading what's on the page in front of him, reorganizing the weapons cabinet twice before he decides it's all wrong and leaves it unfinished, unsatisfied with anything he puts his hands on, restless. For a short stretch, he only paces back and forth near the front desk, unable to focus himself on anything at all-- until he gives up and decides he needs a change of scene. There are only so many places he can go, at least during the day, but the insistent hunger that's been nagging at him for days now makes the decision easy enough. The replenished stock in his office hasn't been doing him any good, cold and unappealing, but he privately hopes that the kitchen will treat him a little bit better, that maybe something fresher will help to quell his appetite.

He's both uneasy and impatient as he waits for the microwave to finish, leaning against the counter with both hands, tapping his fingers unevenly against the surface. He only gets halfway through his first mug before he feels his own body reject it-- as if it's tired of him trying to force down pig's blood instead of human, and the reaction is almost entirely involuntary as he spits out what he hasn't managed to swallow and inadvertently throws the mug against the nearest wall, causing it to break and splatter blood across the tiling.

He grimaces. Well, crap.

Comments

[vampdetective]

A costume. He sees it for what it is, the way he always has, and that alone is enough to make him want to change his mind, to have her release him so they can fight side-by-side.

"Faith." If she wants help, she won't say so, but she has to know that the offer stands. She has to know that he's not abandoning her to do this on her own. "You don't have to."

Fight, yes, but not alone. There wasn't much that would get past the two of them, and afterwards, it would be simple enough to lock him back in-- or would it? Was it the need for solidarity, the need to fulfill his promise that made him want to push his way free, or was it the ever-increasing need for blood clouding his judgement? A combination of both was probably closest to the truth; just like anything else, it couldn't be black and white, even when he wanted things to be.

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There's that tone-- the one that makes her feel comfortable and annoyed all in one go. She levels a look at him for it: oh please, big bro.

The senses she ignores in Angel's presence come alive, pulling at her fingers from her gut. She's a sharp implement, forged in centuries of death and as she stands, the slayer emerges. She's fast, moving to the receptionist counter to grab the favored weapon and hoisting it onto her shoulder.

Another swift movement and Faith's armed with a belt of daggers, and hoists an axe to her back. It's been a long time since she's been this version of herself. Even back in London, she was Faith the Slayer Social Worker before she was an instrument of destruction. It's where the line is blurriest, where she feels the weight of her redemption heaviest.

"Be quick, out and in. Draw 'em off the main door, cull what I can and see if anyone needs respite." It's a half-assed plan, but there's advantage to imperfection.

[vampdetective]

His jaw tightens, and he nods as he sees her standing there armed for battle, a one-woman army if he'd ever seen one, prepared to take on the horde and take no prisoners. If anyone could do this, she could-- but he would still worry for her, still clutch at the bars until his knuckles went white as he waited for her to come back through that door in one piece.

"Alright," he concedes, as neutral as he can manage. "Be fast. Be safe."

Come back.

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Her voice is muffled through the gas mask. "No sweat."

No promises.

Nothing else, Faith's just gone, empty space left behind her. The minutes pass as she carves and bulldozes. It's a blur, ten minutes. Fifteen. Bodies on bodies and it's almost too easy for her to let the slayer take over. It'd never felt like a separate entity; not to Faith, who'd traded on the power with ease and joy. If anything, this is the truest part of Faith even before she'd been picked as a recipient for power that truly barely scraped the middle class of hard-hitters.

Fortunately it's enough to get her through twenty minutes of scraping. She loses everything but a single dagger -- there's a hallway crackling on fire at her back, and an even larger herd of bloated clicking zombies on her heel. She bursts back into the lobby, throwing herself in and then back against the door.

Wordless, panting, scared out of her mind. Faith reaches into her pocket, back pressed against the door. She bowls a large set of iron keys into Angel's cell.

[vampdetective]

He catches them the moment they pass through the bars, the mingled scents of blood and rot almost overwhelming as she throws herself against the door, and he knows that she can't hold it for long, even as strong as she is. He deftly manages to unlock the cage from the inside, letting the door swing free, moving towards the weapons cabinet with purpose.

Whatever followed her back, he's not meeting them unarmed.

"What happened," he asks sharply, broadsword in hand as he moves towards her, prepared to greet whatever was on the other side. "How many?"

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"Hundreds. Was too late for--" Whoever she'd watched get overrun, torn apart. Faith's seen a lot of ugly death, even seen people get eaten, but--

She shakes her head. This is not the time. The doors bend inward against her strength, a reminder that brawn doesn't solve every problem. Hell, it solves a fraction of them on a good day.

"Shit, I thought I ditched most of them, but I think the floor's evacuated. Just us."

[vampdetective]

"Just us."

He echoes her, his expression hardening, jaw set as he watches the doors threaten to buckle beneath the force from the other side. Shaking his head, he waves for her to move away, to let them pass. If they're going to come out of this intact, then he'll need her at his side, not mowed over by the infected.

"Let them come. We'll do this together."

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Even as Angel's still gesturing, Faith rolls forward toward him, using her momentum to get back to her feet at his side. Her dagger flashes in her left hand.

"Door's a funnel." It'll at least give them a shot of using the bodies against the coming horde in the form of a grotesque natural barrier. The door groans over and over, ready to give against the unstoppable force.

[vampdetective]

"Something to be said for a good bottleneck," he agrees, shifting his stance with his sword at the ready-- just as the door itself splinters and breaks down, leaving the infected free to pour in, as many as can fit through the door at once. The door slows them some, but he knows that in the long run, it may not be enough.

They'll just have to make due.

He lunges forward, leaning into a wide, easy swing that manages to slice the head clean off the nearest Runner, blood and thicker things splattering across his face in the process. He'll cut down as many of them as he can before they're overwhelmed.

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She follows suit, using her knives to slice and disable rather than go for the slower, deeper killing blows every chance she gets. The bottleneck is their best hope, and no matter how these things are still up and moving, cut tendons and severed ligaments is still gonna severely debilitate them.

Despite having fought zompires back home, they never arrived in hordes of this size. Though Faith isn't an architect, she can see the writing on the wall. Cracks around the door start to spider outward and snap loudly, and Faith hollers:

"Not strong enough! Bottleneck's a bust!"

[vampdetective]

He should have known it wouldn't hold, at least not for long. These were no ordinary zombies-- those were bad enough, lacking the sort of mental inhibitors that kept humans from using the full strength their bodies would allow, but these were different. The infection made them stronger, faster, and they had the numbers to outlast even a vampire and a seasoned Slayer.

"Plan B?" he calls out, even as he stays in motion, cutting another Runner neatly in half as it rushes towards him. "We can't let them corner us in here!" They could head out and up, but that might be too risky-- Faith had seen them fill the hallway, and he could smell the tight press of them beyond the door.

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"Yeah. I'm sorry, Angel."

The scent of slayer blood floods the air. Faith's forearm is a flash of scarlet gushing down to her fingertips to drip at the floor. The knife in her right hand flicks clean.

"We're way past plan B, Big Guy." Her face is still and grave with the knowledge of what she's asking, but she refuses to look away from him. She's doing the asking, and they're in this together. Her life is in his hands right now, but his is in hers, too. Maybe this is what being The Slayer is. Making the wrong decisions for the right reasons.

Her arm extends out toward him.

[vampdetective]

He finds himself coming to a standstill, arrested by the sharp tang of blood in the air as well as the wordless offer, something catching in his throat in place of his breath as there's a momentary lull in the oncoming tide of infected.

For a moment, he stares, feeling his stomach lurch at the sight of blood, feeling his instincts threaten to kick in and take him over, to cast aside all rational thought.

"Faith. I can't--"

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"We don't have time." It's horrible, and Faith is going to want to crawl into a hole after all of this is over so that she can hide for the rest of forever.

The blade slices the palm of her hand, and she shoves it toward his face.

[vampdetective]

The extremity of the action takes him by surprise even more than the offer itself had, but the will to resist is dwindling, the ability to hold himself back and refrain from snatching her hand and sinking his teeth into her flesh is rapidly fading away, and he feels his knees weaken beneath him.

She's right, they don't have time. There's no time to argue, and if he doesn't do what she's suggesting, they'll both be throwing away their lives. Even if it's only temporary, it still means something. It still means they lose, that Wonderland takes another piece of them.

"Faith."

He wants to protest again, but his voice breaks, and he's not sure that he can. His weapon falls from his hand, clattering to the floor as he seizes her wrist with inhuman speed.

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She'd already cut herself, already committed to this course of action, but it takes strength to keep from fighting against the feel of fangs in her flesh. The gut instinct to pull Angel in against the sharp of something wooden echoes against Faith's bones, but she stays put.

It's not all that hard to let her self-hatred take over in this particular moment. It keeps her feet in place, even when she can feel her heart start to slow against the panic and the rush of impending death. It makes her wonder what it would've been like had she convinced Angel to end her in that alley all those years ago. What if she hadn't taken Orpheus when Angelus had bit her in that factory? What if Twilight had done more than smack her into the ground?

Faith shakes out the Dead Girl voice, because this isn't about her -- she's the one hurting Angel right now. It's not fair for her to get lost in her own sad death wish.

"Angel." She's not sure how much is enough, but if her heart keeps slowing, it's not gonna matter...

[vampdetective]

He stops before her pulse can slow any further, hearing the beat of her heart steadily drop even as he feels it pulse against his tongue. He focuses himself long enough to stop drinking, to wrench himself away from her, but the evidence remains, blood smeared across his lips, his face, and he feels stronger for it. Further from human than he had been before, caught somewhere between demon and animal.

They'll both regret this, but right now, it's what they need.

"We'll talk later."

Because now, with the horde of infected bearing down on them, is not the time to have words-- nor can he articulate what needs to be said, his head clouded with both hunger and the high of having tasted human blood.