Cyclone
Robotech Nerd
- Location
- Earth, Sol System
Getting hit with enough paradox could send a mage down that route... but then again, just about anything can happen in Mage even when things go right.
[Buffy/WoD] What is Normal?
- Thread starter Ellf
- Start date
Getting hit with enough paradox could send a mage down that route... but then again, just about anything can happen in Mage even when things go right.
Finagle007
[Verified Great Old One]
- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
Buffy could be a Thin Blood. They have an occasional heartbeat, can endure the sun, eat normal food, and suffer the various clan weaknesses to a much lesser extent than non-Thin Bloods. Some can even have kids. Example: Rosa from V:TM-B can glimpse the future despite being Thin Blood, and can actually be somewhat coherent.
Third snippet
Ellf
Apprentice Wizard
- Location
- Virginia
And here comes another scene, the last of the initial introductory scenes.
The car ride was quiet as her father drove through the city. For some reason, he'd left the radio of his Matrix off, but that was fine with Buffy as she wanted to drink in the sights. Political signs for some upcoming election or another were on various corners, both for the Senatorial race and Gubernatorial. She didn't care about either, so she dismissed the signs and looked at the people. Normal people, walking back and forth, doing whatever they needed to do for the day, caught her eye. These people never needed to worry about the world ending. They never had to stay up late researching a demon that might want to sacrifice someone. They never had to fight for their lives against the undead menace. And now? Neither did she.
It took about a half hour to get outside the city to Westwood, Hemery High's school district, and where her parents presumably still lived. The town wasn't the most affluent in Los Angeles, though it did border Beverly Hills, nor was it the poorest. UCLA campus banners hung on a number of the houses in the neighborhood, and students milled about in their front lawns. Her father pulled down a side street, moving away from the college-focused housing near UCLA and into the neighborhood of her memories.
There it was, just as she remembered it. Well, for the most part, Buffy's childhood home was as she remembered. The red mid-life crisis in the driveway certainly wasn't there when she left and looked identical to Giles's car he got not long after he opened the Magic Box. The paint on the house looked fresh, as if it had been repainted not long before she managed to get there, probably no sooner than a week ago though. The front lawn was kept neat and tidy, almost ritually so, and standing on it was a young woman.
Buffy swore she recognized the girl, with her brown wavy hair, and stylish yet conservative jeans and blouse combo. She couldn't see the girl's eyes at the moment, but she was certain that she would when her father finally pulled in the driveway. As he did so, the girl turned to wave to the car, and a look of what had to be both surprise and joy came to her face. Buffy could almost feel it, and she certainly felt inadequate in the clothing she had on next to Samantha. Yes, that was her name, Samantha.
The girl had been a part of her clique in Hemery High, and she'd been the only one not to jump ship when Buffy had become the Slayer... Or rather when her troubles started. Samantha had been the one true friend outside of Pike who tried to help her through that mess, even if she didn't know about Lothos. Perhaps it was for the best that the girl had been hospitalized due to a cheerleading injury prior to the gym problems. It hadn't made her a target, nor did it mean she died. Why Samantha hadn't appeared in her delusion was beyond her, but most of her LA life had been ignored in favor of Sunnydale. She'd had new friends and shunned old ones.
Samantha opened Buffy's door when her father finished the parking and immediately leaned in for a hug. "Buffy! I'm so glad to see you!" The girl cares for more than reputation. And turtles.
Of course, her mother stopped her before Samantha could grab on. "Perhaps it might be best to let Buffy get out of the car first, Sam."
Buffy smiled gratefully. "No big, just need to shimmy out of this seatbelt."
Unbuckling herself, she managed to slide out of the car to stand next to what might have been her only real friend.... who stood more than a head taller than her. To quote a delusion, bloody hell, that was annoying. Of course, as soon as she managed to make it out, she was wrapped up in the taller girl's arms, smelling her perfume. This was nice. That is, the contact with real people was nice. She had always been a bit of a physical person, and physical affection certainly calmed her down. Even the voice inside her head had nothing to say here, and that was a definite comfort.
After about a minute, Samantha released her and looked her up and down. "Buffy, I'm sorry I couldn't come see you more often, but you weren't really lucid enough to have visitors most of the time."
Buffy waved it off. "No big... I wouldn't have been able to know you were there... It's nice to know tha someone cared. "
Joyce smiled. "Samantha's been a great help around the house and she wanted to be able to help with you if she could."
While Hank popped the hatchback to grab a bag out of the back, Samantha grinned at Buffy. "Well, I just wanted to be able to help my friend out in her time of need. Speaking of, it looks like there actually is something we can do."
At Samantha's gesture toward her clothing, Buffy mirrored her grin. "Shopping? I'd love to. Dad's choice in clothes could be a lot better."
"Hey, I grabbed what I thought would fit... Anyway, Buffy, we should get inside. Sam, feel free to come by later, once Buffy's settled in. I know you have classes to get to." Hank nodded to the girl.
"Absolutely, Mr. Summers. Buffy, I'll see you later, and we're definitely going to get you some better clothes. Also, a party. You're healthy again, so we're going to party like it's 1999," at what must have been some look from her mother, Samantha added, "once your parents say it's okay, of course."
Buffy nodded. "Looking forward to it, Sam, and it's definitely of the good, seeing you, I mean."
Samantha waved as she jogged off, and Buffy was led inside by her parents. The interior of the house was mostly as Buffy remembered it. The living room had a larger TV in it than she remembered, albeit a CRT. A computer sat on a desk in the corner, with its modem plugged into the wall. The kitchen was next to the dining area, opening up into it with a breakfast bar, kept neat and clean the way her mother liked it. The master bedroom sat on one side of the living room, and the other had the hall that led to the guest bedroom and her own. If Dawn had been real, the guest bedroom would belong to the little brat, but without the Key there, it sat as empty as her own room had for the past six years. She didn't think her parents had all that many guests.
"... just the way you left it, sweetie." Oh, she must have zoned out and missed when her mother started talking. That wasn't exactly a good thing. She must have been talking about her bedroom, which Buffy opened the door to. It was clean, almost pristine, and almost exactly how she'd left it. There wasn't a speck of dust anywhere to be seen. Her dresser was neat, still with the various pictures she'd taken along with the cheer trophies she'd earned during her middle school and Freshman year at Hemery,. Her vanity looked to have the same make up she left there, and the mirror was clean, reflecting everything in the room. Her bed was made, and sitting smug on top of the pillow was a very familiar stuffed animal.
Buffy most definitely did not squeal. She did not run over to her bed. She calmly stalked over and picked up her stuffed pig and gave him a hug. Mr. Gordo smiled at her, like he always did, reassuring her that things would be alright.
Hank wrapped an arm around his wife in the doorway and she leaned onto his shoulder. "Our baby's home, Joyce. She's finally home."
The car ride was quiet as her father drove through the city. For some reason, he'd left the radio of his Matrix off, but that was fine with Buffy as she wanted to drink in the sights. Political signs for some upcoming election or another were on various corners, both for the Senatorial race and Gubernatorial. She didn't care about either, so she dismissed the signs and looked at the people. Normal people, walking back and forth, doing whatever they needed to do for the day, caught her eye. These people never needed to worry about the world ending. They never had to stay up late researching a demon that might want to sacrifice someone. They never had to fight for their lives against the undead menace. And now? Neither did she.
It took about a half hour to get outside the city to Westwood, Hemery High's school district, and where her parents presumably still lived. The town wasn't the most affluent in Los Angeles, though it did border Beverly Hills, nor was it the poorest. UCLA campus banners hung on a number of the houses in the neighborhood, and students milled about in their front lawns. Her father pulled down a side street, moving away from the college-focused housing near UCLA and into the neighborhood of her memories.
There it was, just as she remembered it. Well, for the most part, Buffy's childhood home was as she remembered. The red mid-life crisis in the driveway certainly wasn't there when she left and looked identical to Giles's car he got not long after he opened the Magic Box. The paint on the house looked fresh, as if it had been repainted not long before she managed to get there, probably no sooner than a week ago though. The front lawn was kept neat and tidy, almost ritually so, and standing on it was a young woman.
Buffy swore she recognized the girl, with her brown wavy hair, and stylish yet conservative jeans and blouse combo. She couldn't see the girl's eyes at the moment, but she was certain that she would when her father finally pulled in the driveway. As he did so, the girl turned to wave to the car, and a look of what had to be both surprise and joy came to her face. Buffy could almost feel it, and she certainly felt inadequate in the clothing she had on next to Samantha. Yes, that was her name, Samantha.
The girl had been a part of her clique in Hemery High, and she'd been the only one not to jump ship when Buffy had become the Slayer... Or rather when her troubles started. Samantha had been the one true friend outside of Pike who tried to help her through that mess, even if she didn't know about Lothos. Perhaps it was for the best that the girl had been hospitalized due to a cheerleading injury prior to the gym problems. It hadn't made her a target, nor did it mean she died. Why Samantha hadn't appeared in her delusion was beyond her, but most of her LA life had been ignored in favor of Sunnydale. She'd had new friends and shunned old ones.
Samantha opened Buffy's door when her father finished the parking and immediately leaned in for a hug. "Buffy! I'm so glad to see you!" The girl cares for more than reputation. And turtles.
Of course, her mother stopped her before Samantha could grab on. "Perhaps it might be best to let Buffy get out of the car first, Sam."
Buffy smiled gratefully. "No big, just need to shimmy out of this seatbelt."
Unbuckling herself, she managed to slide out of the car to stand next to what might have been her only real friend.... who stood more than a head taller than her. To quote a delusion, bloody hell, that was annoying. Of course, as soon as she managed to make it out, she was wrapped up in the taller girl's arms, smelling her perfume. This was nice. That is, the contact with real people was nice. She had always been a bit of a physical person, and physical affection certainly calmed her down. Even the voice inside her head had nothing to say here, and that was a definite comfort.
After about a minute, Samantha released her and looked her up and down. "Buffy, I'm sorry I couldn't come see you more often, but you weren't really lucid enough to have visitors most of the time."
Buffy waved it off. "No big... I wouldn't have been able to know you were there... It's nice to know tha someone cared. "
Joyce smiled. "Samantha's been a great help around the house and she wanted to be able to help with you if she could."
While Hank popped the hatchback to grab a bag out of the back, Samantha grinned at Buffy. "Well, I just wanted to be able to help my friend out in her time of need. Speaking of, it looks like there actually is something we can do."
At Samantha's gesture toward her clothing, Buffy mirrored her grin. "Shopping? I'd love to. Dad's choice in clothes could be a lot better."
"Hey, I grabbed what I thought would fit... Anyway, Buffy, we should get inside. Sam, feel free to come by later, once Buffy's settled in. I know you have classes to get to." Hank nodded to the girl.
"Absolutely, Mr. Summers. Buffy, I'll see you later, and we're definitely going to get you some better clothes. Also, a party. You're healthy again, so we're going to party like it's 1999," at what must have been some look from her mother, Samantha added, "once your parents say it's okay, of course."
Buffy nodded. "Looking forward to it, Sam, and it's definitely of the good, seeing you, I mean."
Samantha waved as she jogged off, and Buffy was led inside by her parents. The interior of the house was mostly as Buffy remembered it. The living room had a larger TV in it than she remembered, albeit a CRT. A computer sat on a desk in the corner, with its modem plugged into the wall. The kitchen was next to the dining area, opening up into it with a breakfast bar, kept neat and clean the way her mother liked it. The master bedroom sat on one side of the living room, and the other had the hall that led to the guest bedroom and her own. If Dawn had been real, the guest bedroom would belong to the little brat, but without the Key there, it sat as empty as her own room had for the past six years. She didn't think her parents had all that many guests.
"... just the way you left it, sweetie." Oh, she must have zoned out and missed when her mother started talking. That wasn't exactly a good thing. She must have been talking about her bedroom, which Buffy opened the door to. It was clean, almost pristine, and almost exactly how she'd left it. There wasn't a speck of dust anywhere to be seen. Her dresser was neat, still with the various pictures she'd taken along with the cheer trophies she'd earned during her middle school and Freshman year at Hemery,. Her vanity looked to have the same make up she left there, and the mirror was clean, reflecting everything in the room. Her bed was made, and sitting smug on top of the pillow was a very familiar stuffed animal.
Buffy most definitely did not squeal. She did not run over to her bed. She calmly stalked over and picked up her stuffed pig and gave him a hug. Mr. Gordo smiled at her, like he always did, reassuring her that things would be alright.
Hank wrapped an arm around his wife in the doorway and she leaned onto his shoulder. "Our baby's home, Joyce. She's finally home."
Ridiculously Average Guy
I'm you, but stronger
- Location
-
Aww, to back there's magic fuckery about.
Just who was that man?
Ellf
Apprentice Wizard
- Location
- Virginia
Next part:
The first two hours after she returned home, Buffy had holed herself up in her room. She'd claimed to her parents that she needed to find something better to wear if she was to go anywhere with Samantha today, assuming they'd let her. The fact was, she did need to go shopping, and if she was going somewhere at all, she couldn't be caught dead looking as she did. She spent some time going through her old clothes to find something that she could deem appropriate. Unfortunately, most of her clothing was too big on her now. Apparently she didn't eat much while in the mental hospital, and her body had atrophied a bit as a result.
After she finally managed to find something she could wear, a simple skirt and blouse combo that wasn't too loose on her, she decided to do something to get her hair in order. As she sat down at her vanity she'd started to think. If Sunnydale wasn't real, it certainly had felt ridiculously close to being so. She wasn't there now, but that didn't mean she couldn't return there. Did she want to? Being the Slayer had some nice perks, but it meant fighting for her life every night. It meant being burdened with the fact that she'd probably die before she turned thirty. Burdened with the knowledge that her parents had split up... that her mother was dead. No, Sunnydale wasn't better than here, not by a long shot.
Sure, compared to there, here she felt... actually, she didn't. She didn't really notice at the hospital, but as she was going through her drawers to find her outfit and as she brushed her hair, she noticed here. This wasn't like the Cruciamentum had been in Sunnydale. She wasn't noticeably weaker than she should be. She didn't feel like her senses were muted or her strength was less. She felt, for lack of a better term, normal. Sure, she couldn't hear her parents in the next room discussing whatever there was to do about her, nor could she probably bend or break her desk again.... at least she didn't think she could, but she wasn't going to try.
If she tried, and she was normal, she'd end up back in the hospital. If she tried and she wasn't normal... Buffy didn't want to think about that. No, instead, she'd be as normal as possible, and not wonder why the computer downstairs had Windows 3.1 on it rather than Windows 98 or XP. (She'd paid way too much attention to Willow in her delusion.) She'd need to enjoy her time here. She had a sinking feeling that it was limited.
The doorbell rang a little after noon, when Buffy was sitting out in the living room with her mother, just enjoying being near her. Hank had brought home some lunch, Philly Cheesesteak subs, if it had mattered much, but given how long it had been since Buffy had eaten anything that wasn't prepackaged hospital food, she wasn't inclined to care about its greasiness. The doorbell rang again, a little longer this time, and Buffy had looked up from the television toward the door. The TV had some news on it about Santa Monica and the nightlife. Who named a club "The Asylum?" The owner seemed to be reclusive, never really taking in the spotlight when reporters went to interview her, being told they should come back in the evening. As the news shifted to TMZ, the doorbell rang again, insistent this time, and Hank got up, grumbling about interruptions.
Buffy followed Hank's movement toward the front of the house with her eyes, fairly certain she knew who was at the door. Of course, given the time she'd been away, she could easily have been wrong. If Samantha wasn't the one at the door at this time, and it was some sort of Jehovah's Witness or something, she'd be annoyed. The Dark Father has witnessed Jehovah, and shall again.
Creeptastic. Her ears perked up when she heard the female voice at the door and she got up to join her father in greeting her friend. As she walked up, her father and Samantha were mid-conversation.
"... sure it's a good idea." Hank said with a frown on his face.
"I know she just got home, but you said she's been lucid a week and you guys didn't let me see her." Samantha sounded irritated. "All I want to do is take her for a shopping trip. Nothing more."
Her father sighed as she managed to make it into the hallway behind him. Buffy waved to Samantha, but didn't interrupt Hank as he spoke. "I guess it would probably be okay. Her doctors seemed to think that if she hasn't reverted yet, she probably won't revert. Which is strange to me because her last period of lucidity only lasted about two months, and we couldn't take her home then. "
"The difference between then and now, Dad, is I don't really have anything to go back to this time. I know what's real and what isn't. Trust me." Buffy hugged her father, sounding far more confident in what she was saying than she felt about it. Still, real or not... Sunnydale was nothing but a burden for her. If they got Faith out of.... No, it wasn't real. She wouldn't bother worrying about it. "But if I'm going shopping, I need some money. Being in a mental hospital all crazy is hell on the income."
Hank returned his daughter's hug, sounding less confident, "I'm trusting you into Sam's hands, princess. I don't want to see you hurt because of something that was preventable."
"Mr. Summers, you know how well you can trust me. Just let me spend some time with my friend, okay?" Samantha asked.
"Fine." Hank pulled out his wallet and then his debit card. "The PIN is 0116, Buffy, and I don't want you spending more than four hundred dollars. Understand?"
"Thank you, Daddy." Buffy grabbed the card and danced out the door. PIN to his other card is 1029. Unimaginative boob.
Once they both were outside, Samantha smiled at her friend. "Looking much better. Guess some of your old stuff still fits, but nowhere near as well as it should."
"Well, must be a combination of that hospital living and its food." Buffy tried to sound upbeat, she really did, but any real reminder of that killed her mood faster than a vampire dusted. Which they weren't real. Goddess, that was going to be a bitch to continually reinforce. Six years of delusionary habits didn't go away in a week. Luckily Samantha didn't seem to comment on it. "So, how're we getting to the mall?"
Samantha gestured to the blue four-door sedan in the driveway. "Get in, your chariot awaits."
Buffy laughed and climbed in the passenger side. "Good thing you have your license... Don't think I'll be getting mine for a while."
Samantha nodded. "Well, being a responsible adult, I can help you through that if you want someone else to drive with other than your parents."
Buffy shook her head. "Not too sure I want to be driving. With the meds and well..." She waved her hand in front of her head. "Plus, I couldn't even drive well in the delusion. What kind of superhero is a terrible driver?"
"A Buffy one." Samantha said seriously as they pulled onto the road. The rest of their conversation on the road shifted away from Buffy's time in the hospital and more toward where they were going to go, what shops Buffy felt comfortable going into, and whether Samantha was going to get anything herself. The voice inside Buffy's head would speak up every so often, mostly saying inane things which Buffy ignored. She wasn't going to let herself be put back in that hospital if she could help it which meant no dwelling on things she could hear but nobody else seemed to.
The ride to the mall wasn't a long one. Being the middle of the day, there was little in the way of traffic save for the occasional tourist or student with a later class. The pair managed to get a parking space that wasn't too far out of the way, and they headed into the mall, wallets burning for its goods.
After about two hours of hard shopping, the pair grabbed some food from the food court and found a seat.
"I still say that you shouldn't have said that to the clerk." Samantha chided Buffy. "How did you know that he was cheating on his wife anyway?"
"Please, he was looking at your boobs the entire time he was talking to you, and his ring finger had an indent where a wedding band should have been. He'd taken it off." Buffy couldn't very well say that the voice in her head called him a naughty man who wanted to do naughty things with... well, the voice had been thorough. She hadn't expected it to be right. After all, it was just evidence of her being crazy, right? "Still, it was pretty funny. Too bad someone that cute had to be wasted on a cheating-y personality like his."
Samantha made a noncommittal grunt in response, and Buffy continued. "So, any special boy in your life, Sammy?"
"Not... exactly. Buffy, you might not remember this, but I did come to visit you sometimes in the hospital. I told you this about a year and a half ago... I..." Samantha looked down at the table and blushed.
Buffy pondered. A year and a half ago, Samantha supposedly told her deluded-y trapped self about something relating to her and bo- oh! Oh. Oooh. Yeah, that would make some sense. Samantha had been reminding her of Willow for a bunch of the trip, only she was a lot more confident. Maybe Willow was somewhat based off of her friend... and when Willow started dating Tara, Samantha started... "You like girls, not guys. That's okay, Sammy, you're still my friend. Any special girl in your life?"
Samantha laughed nervously. "You could say that, but if you mean 'are you dating someone?' No, not right now. My last girlfriend and I... agreed to see other people. We needed different things from the relationship."
"Ah." What do you say to that? Honestly, there was only one real response to that answer and it was to eat her food and try to change the subject without making it more awkward. "I'm going to go get a smoothie... do you want one?"
Samantha shook her head. "I'm good. When you get back, I'll get you caught up on what some of the others from High School are doing. Some of it's pretty funny."
Buffy nodded and headed toward the kiosk in the food court. In Sunnydale, Buffy had amazing situational awareness. She could block a knife thrown at her head without even seeing that it had been thrown at her, but this wasn't Sunnydale, and Buffy's mind was distracted by a smoothie decision when she bumped into a man walking toward his table, sending his food off of the tray.
Buffy sheepishly turned to look at the man, who wasn't all that much older than her. The clean-shaven brown-haired man was dressed in a suit jacket and slacks, though he wore a black polo shirt underneath it. His shoes weren't half-bad either, Italian leather, and... Goddess, she just spilled this man's food court food on his shoes. "I'm so sorry Mister... I really should have watched where I was going..." And on his farm, he had a sea of lint... E I E I O...
The man, (Lint Sea?), shook his shoes off, causing the rice to fall off. "It's no big deal; I can have these shoes cleaned pretty easily. I should have paid more attention myself."
He smiled, and she swore the man had dimples the size of a planet. This Lint Sea person... "Let me buy you another lunch."
"It's okay, I got it. I was just trying to eat something so I didn't overeat at the firm. How about I get you what you were focused on instead? Looked like a smoothie to me from the direction you were going."
Buffy nodded. "Yeah. I mean yes, please." Something about him felt odd, but given how good a judge she was or wasn't, rather, she'd let it be. Also, if he wanted to buy her a smoothie, she'd let him. It had been a while since she'd had a good smoothie for real.
The man, the farmer of the lint sea, led the way over to the smoothie counter and placed an order for the both of them. He hadn't even asked Buffy what she wanted, but somehow he managed to guess exactly what kind of smoothie she liked down to the individual ingredients. Well, maybe she'd spoken up some, but she wasn't sure. She was pretty sure she'd stayed quiet throughout the affair. Maybe this farmer guy who didn't dress anything like a farmer just was a good guesser. Simple coincidence. Of course, there were two things Buffy never really let herself believe in: coincidences and leprechauns, but this was the real world. Surely coincidence happened sometimes.
When the smoothies were up and ready, farmer handed Buffy her smoothie and she noticed something on his left wrist. The skin color didn't quite match with the hand there. It wasn't a difference in tan, but a subtle difference in coloration.
"Must have been some accident on the farm to cause that kind of scarring..." Buffy commented.
"Farm?" The man shook his head. "Haven't been on a farm since I was a kid, miss. Why'd you think that?"
"Oh... it's nothing... Thank you for the smoothie." Buffy didn't want the guy to think she was crazy.
"Ah, you saw the name on the credit card. Used to get a lot of jokes like that when I was little. Not so much of them happen now. Let me get you back to your table, miss..."
"Summers, Buffy Summers." Buffy quickly said as farmer man's cheeks just became dimple factories again.
"Well, Miss Summers, it was very nice to meet you." The pair managed to reach Samantha, still sitting at the table, waiting. The man placed his hand on the table as he pulled out the chair for Buffy.
"Oh look, Buffy, you managed to find a real gentleman." Samantha grinned at her friend.
"Sorry that I can't stay and chat, ladies, but I have an important meeting in half an hour with a client. I'm sure we'll run into each other again." He smiled that damn smile again, and turned to walk off.
Samantha spotted something on the table near Buffy, and she snatched it up before her friend could even take a look. "Looks like he left you his business card, Buffy... with a personal number on back."
"Mmm..." Buffy tried to take a look. "He was interesting."
"Lindsey McDonald, Defense Attorney. Wonder what "Special Projects" is... and why it doesn't list the firm." Oh. That made so much more sense than a sea of lint.
"Let me see it." Buffy held out her hand, and Samantha daintily placed it there. "Looks like there's an embossed logo on there... but I can't really make it out. Lindsey McDonald though..."
The name sounded vaguely familiar, like she'd heard it once and forgotten about it. She wasn't sure who this Lint Sea Old McDonald was, and that didn't stop her from wondering about him. A ghoulish man with an evil hand.
***************************
The first two hours after she returned home, Buffy had holed herself up in her room. She'd claimed to her parents that she needed to find something better to wear if she was to go anywhere with Samantha today, assuming they'd let her. The fact was, she did need to go shopping, and if she was going somewhere at all, she couldn't be caught dead looking as she did. She spent some time going through her old clothes to find something that she could deem appropriate. Unfortunately, most of her clothing was too big on her now. Apparently she didn't eat much while in the mental hospital, and her body had atrophied a bit as a result.
After she finally managed to find something she could wear, a simple skirt and blouse combo that wasn't too loose on her, she decided to do something to get her hair in order. As she sat down at her vanity she'd started to think. If Sunnydale wasn't real, it certainly had felt ridiculously close to being so. She wasn't there now, but that didn't mean she couldn't return there. Did she want to? Being the Slayer had some nice perks, but it meant fighting for her life every night. It meant being burdened with the fact that she'd probably die before she turned thirty. Burdened with the knowledge that her parents had split up... that her mother was dead. No, Sunnydale wasn't better than here, not by a long shot.
Sure, compared to there, here she felt... actually, she didn't. She didn't really notice at the hospital, but as she was going through her drawers to find her outfit and as she brushed her hair, she noticed here. This wasn't like the Cruciamentum had been in Sunnydale. She wasn't noticeably weaker than she should be. She didn't feel like her senses were muted or her strength was less. She felt, for lack of a better term, normal. Sure, she couldn't hear her parents in the next room discussing whatever there was to do about her, nor could she probably bend or break her desk again.... at least she didn't think she could, but she wasn't going to try.
If she tried, and she was normal, she'd end up back in the hospital. If she tried and she wasn't normal... Buffy didn't want to think about that. No, instead, she'd be as normal as possible, and not wonder why the computer downstairs had Windows 3.1 on it rather than Windows 98 or XP. (She'd paid way too much attention to Willow in her delusion.) She'd need to enjoy her time here. She had a sinking feeling that it was limited.
The doorbell rang a little after noon, when Buffy was sitting out in the living room with her mother, just enjoying being near her. Hank had brought home some lunch, Philly Cheesesteak subs, if it had mattered much, but given how long it had been since Buffy had eaten anything that wasn't prepackaged hospital food, she wasn't inclined to care about its greasiness. The doorbell rang again, a little longer this time, and Buffy had looked up from the television toward the door. The TV had some news on it about Santa Monica and the nightlife. Who named a club "The Asylum?" The owner seemed to be reclusive, never really taking in the spotlight when reporters went to interview her, being told they should come back in the evening. As the news shifted to TMZ, the doorbell rang again, insistent this time, and Hank got up, grumbling about interruptions.
Buffy followed Hank's movement toward the front of the house with her eyes, fairly certain she knew who was at the door. Of course, given the time she'd been away, she could easily have been wrong. If Samantha wasn't the one at the door at this time, and it was some sort of Jehovah's Witness or something, she'd be annoyed. The Dark Father has witnessed Jehovah, and shall again.
Creeptastic. Her ears perked up when she heard the female voice at the door and she got up to join her father in greeting her friend. As she walked up, her father and Samantha were mid-conversation.
"... sure it's a good idea." Hank said with a frown on his face.
"I know she just got home, but you said she's been lucid a week and you guys didn't let me see her." Samantha sounded irritated. "All I want to do is take her for a shopping trip. Nothing more."
Her father sighed as she managed to make it into the hallway behind him. Buffy waved to Samantha, but didn't interrupt Hank as he spoke. "I guess it would probably be okay. Her doctors seemed to think that if she hasn't reverted yet, she probably won't revert. Which is strange to me because her last period of lucidity only lasted about two months, and we couldn't take her home then. "
"The difference between then and now, Dad, is I don't really have anything to go back to this time. I know what's real and what isn't. Trust me." Buffy hugged her father, sounding far more confident in what she was saying than she felt about it. Still, real or not... Sunnydale was nothing but a burden for her. If they got Faith out of.... No, it wasn't real. She wouldn't bother worrying about it. "But if I'm going shopping, I need some money. Being in a mental hospital all crazy is hell on the income."
Hank returned his daughter's hug, sounding less confident, "I'm trusting you into Sam's hands, princess. I don't want to see you hurt because of something that was preventable."
"Mr. Summers, you know how well you can trust me. Just let me spend some time with my friend, okay?" Samantha asked.
"Fine." Hank pulled out his wallet and then his debit card. "The PIN is 0116, Buffy, and I don't want you spending more than four hundred dollars. Understand?"
"Thank you, Daddy." Buffy grabbed the card and danced out the door. PIN to his other card is 1029. Unimaginative boob.
Once they both were outside, Samantha smiled at her friend. "Looking much better. Guess some of your old stuff still fits, but nowhere near as well as it should."
"Well, must be a combination of that hospital living and its food." Buffy tried to sound upbeat, she really did, but any real reminder of that killed her mood faster than a vampire dusted. Which they weren't real. Goddess, that was going to be a bitch to continually reinforce. Six years of delusionary habits didn't go away in a week. Luckily Samantha didn't seem to comment on it. "So, how're we getting to the mall?"
Samantha gestured to the blue four-door sedan in the driveway. "Get in, your chariot awaits."
Buffy laughed and climbed in the passenger side. "Good thing you have your license... Don't think I'll be getting mine for a while."
Samantha nodded. "Well, being a responsible adult, I can help you through that if you want someone else to drive with other than your parents."
Buffy shook her head. "Not too sure I want to be driving. With the meds and well..." She waved her hand in front of her head. "Plus, I couldn't even drive well in the delusion. What kind of superhero is a terrible driver?"
"A Buffy one." Samantha said seriously as they pulled onto the road. The rest of their conversation on the road shifted away from Buffy's time in the hospital and more toward where they were going to go, what shops Buffy felt comfortable going into, and whether Samantha was going to get anything herself. The voice inside Buffy's head would speak up every so often, mostly saying inane things which Buffy ignored. She wasn't going to let herself be put back in that hospital if she could help it which meant no dwelling on things she could hear but nobody else seemed to.
The ride to the mall wasn't a long one. Being the middle of the day, there was little in the way of traffic save for the occasional tourist or student with a later class. The pair managed to get a parking space that wasn't too far out of the way, and they headed into the mall, wallets burning for its goods.
After about two hours of hard shopping, the pair grabbed some food from the food court and found a seat.
"I still say that you shouldn't have said that to the clerk." Samantha chided Buffy. "How did you know that he was cheating on his wife anyway?"
"Please, he was looking at your boobs the entire time he was talking to you, and his ring finger had an indent where a wedding band should have been. He'd taken it off." Buffy couldn't very well say that the voice in her head called him a naughty man who wanted to do naughty things with... well, the voice had been thorough. She hadn't expected it to be right. After all, it was just evidence of her being crazy, right? "Still, it was pretty funny. Too bad someone that cute had to be wasted on a cheating-y personality like his."
Samantha made a noncommittal grunt in response, and Buffy continued. "So, any special boy in your life, Sammy?"
"Not... exactly. Buffy, you might not remember this, but I did come to visit you sometimes in the hospital. I told you this about a year and a half ago... I..." Samantha looked down at the table and blushed.
Buffy pondered. A year and a half ago, Samantha supposedly told her deluded-y trapped self about something relating to her and bo- oh! Oh. Oooh. Yeah, that would make some sense. Samantha had been reminding her of Willow for a bunch of the trip, only she was a lot more confident. Maybe Willow was somewhat based off of her friend... and when Willow started dating Tara, Samantha started... "You like girls, not guys. That's okay, Sammy, you're still my friend. Any special girl in your life?"
Samantha laughed nervously. "You could say that, but if you mean 'are you dating someone?' No, not right now. My last girlfriend and I... agreed to see other people. We needed different things from the relationship."
"Ah." What do you say to that? Honestly, there was only one real response to that answer and it was to eat her food and try to change the subject without making it more awkward. "I'm going to go get a smoothie... do you want one?"
Samantha shook her head. "I'm good. When you get back, I'll get you caught up on what some of the others from High School are doing. Some of it's pretty funny."
Buffy nodded and headed toward the kiosk in the food court. In Sunnydale, Buffy had amazing situational awareness. She could block a knife thrown at her head without even seeing that it had been thrown at her, but this wasn't Sunnydale, and Buffy's mind was distracted by a smoothie decision when she bumped into a man walking toward his table, sending his food off of the tray.
Buffy sheepishly turned to look at the man, who wasn't all that much older than her. The clean-shaven brown-haired man was dressed in a suit jacket and slacks, though he wore a black polo shirt underneath it. His shoes weren't half-bad either, Italian leather, and... Goddess, she just spilled this man's food court food on his shoes. "I'm so sorry Mister... I really should have watched where I was going..." And on his farm, he had a sea of lint... E I E I O...
The man, (Lint Sea?), shook his shoes off, causing the rice to fall off. "It's no big deal; I can have these shoes cleaned pretty easily. I should have paid more attention myself."
He smiled, and she swore the man had dimples the size of a planet. This Lint Sea person... "Let me buy you another lunch."
"It's okay, I got it. I was just trying to eat something so I didn't overeat at the firm. How about I get you what you were focused on instead? Looked like a smoothie to me from the direction you were going."
Buffy nodded. "Yeah. I mean yes, please." Something about him felt odd, but given how good a judge she was or wasn't, rather, she'd let it be. Also, if he wanted to buy her a smoothie, she'd let him. It had been a while since she'd had a good smoothie for real.
The man, the farmer of the lint sea, led the way over to the smoothie counter and placed an order for the both of them. He hadn't even asked Buffy what she wanted, but somehow he managed to guess exactly what kind of smoothie she liked down to the individual ingredients. Well, maybe she'd spoken up some, but she wasn't sure. She was pretty sure she'd stayed quiet throughout the affair. Maybe this farmer guy who didn't dress anything like a farmer just was a good guesser. Simple coincidence. Of course, there were two things Buffy never really let herself believe in: coincidences and leprechauns, but this was the real world. Surely coincidence happened sometimes.
When the smoothies were up and ready, farmer handed Buffy her smoothie and she noticed something on his left wrist. The skin color didn't quite match with the hand there. It wasn't a difference in tan, but a subtle difference in coloration.
"Must have been some accident on the farm to cause that kind of scarring..." Buffy commented.
"Farm?" The man shook his head. "Haven't been on a farm since I was a kid, miss. Why'd you think that?"
"Oh... it's nothing... Thank you for the smoothie." Buffy didn't want the guy to think she was crazy.
"Ah, you saw the name on the credit card. Used to get a lot of jokes like that when I was little. Not so much of them happen now. Let me get you back to your table, miss..."
"Summers, Buffy Summers." Buffy quickly said as farmer man's cheeks just became dimple factories again.
"Well, Miss Summers, it was very nice to meet you." The pair managed to reach Samantha, still sitting at the table, waiting. The man placed his hand on the table as he pulled out the chair for Buffy.
"Oh look, Buffy, you managed to find a real gentleman." Samantha grinned at her friend.
"Sorry that I can't stay and chat, ladies, but I have an important meeting in half an hour with a client. I'm sure we'll run into each other again." He smiled that damn smile again, and turned to walk off.
Samantha spotted something on the table near Buffy, and she snatched it up before her friend could even take a look. "Looks like he left you his business card, Buffy... with a personal number on back."
"Mmm..." Buffy tried to take a look. "He was interesting."
"Lindsey McDonald, Defense Attorney. Wonder what "Special Projects" is... and why it doesn't list the firm." Oh. That made so much more sense than a sea of lint.
"Let me see it." Buffy held out her hand, and Samantha daintily placed it there. "Looks like there's an embossed logo on there... but I can't really make it out. Lindsey McDonald though..."
The name sounded vaguely familiar, like she'd heard it once and forgotten about it. She wasn't sure who this Lint Sea Old McDonald was, and that didn't stop her from wondering about him. A ghoulish man with an evil hand.
***************************
Ridiculously Average Guy
I'm you, but stronger
- Location
-
Ah, bleedthrough.
Ellf
Apprentice Wizard
- Location
- Virginia
Wouldn't necessarily say portals... but the Wolf, the Ram, and the Hart have significant presence in a number of dimensions.
And I like Jennette too. And Therese.
Baughn
Healing-type writer
- Location
- Dublin
Noncanon, but: "We are the canker on the rose, the worm in the apple, the slow rot in the hearts of men. From within we shall tear down all they have built, and rule over the ruins until the stars grow cold."
The Wolf, Ram and Hart explicitly run a multidimensional organisation.
Last edited:
Finagle007
[Verified Great Old One]
- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
I like Jeanette more than Therese. Too bad she's/they're undead.
Finagle007
[Verified Great Old One]
- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
They're walking corpses.
Nope they are cold and have no pulse. Thinbloods are more alive though and are less vampirey in general which matches Buffy's experience.
Finagle007
[Verified Great Old One]
- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
You just HAD to remind me, didn't you? Seriously, what kind of utter idiot sleeps with a corpse?
Ridiculously Average Guy
I'm you, but stronger
- Location
-
A necrophiliac.
Ellf
Apprentice Wizard
- Location
- Virginia
Technically, one could argue that because they are walking, talking, thinking and trying to defend their own existence, the vampires are not corpses. (Yes, I know the term is animated corpse or undead, but still.)
The undead aren't technically corpses, so it wouldn't be necrophilia. However, that still doesn't make it right.
Angel probably won her over due to his soulfulness. Spike didn't win her over. She used him to make herself feel alive.
The undead aren't technically corpses, so it wouldn't be necrophilia. However, that still doesn't make it right.
Angel probably won her over due to his soulfulness. Spike didn't win her over. She used him to make herself feel alive.
Fourth Snippet
Ellf
Apprentice Wizard
- Location
- Virginia
Over the course of the next week, Buffy began to acclimate herself to life back home with her parents. It was going to be a bit of a process for both sides; her parents were used to living on their own without her, and she was used to both of them not being there, even if she hadn't been alone in her mind. It was hard for different reasons with each parent. With her mother, she kept flashing back to finding her body on the couch, staring, unmoving, dead. She recalled the funeral that she'd arranged, going to buy the coffin, and barely having any time to mourn her because Glory wanted her damn key. Hell-bitch didn't get the Key though, and when Buffy would have had the opportunity to take some time to mourn, she wasn't there anymore. Of course, now it wasn't necessary. The woman she hadn't gotten to mourn was now there. Despite knowing she was insane, albeit recovering, her mother loved her.
Her father, Hank, on the other hand, was a different story. The last memory she'd had of Hank in the delusion was also related to her mother's death. The man was unreachable when people tried to let him know about Joyce. Unreachable, uncaring, and difficult to communicate with when he could be reached all described her father and how he acted in her delusion. Perhaps her father had his reasons, but that hardly mattered now. The man here both was and wasn't how she remembered. During the week, he'd actually led some of the family outings, taking both Buffy and her mother to the beach, the movies, and to various restaurants. He wasn't trying to parade the fact that she was out and about to anyone, he was genuinely trying to bond with her again, something she appreciated a lot.
One major thing that Buffy had noticed over the course of the week was something she hadn't realized until just before they'd gotten to the movie theater. The year was different from what she had remembered in her delusion. 1998, the year in which she sent Angel to Hell, when she first met Faith, when Miss Calendar had died, the year she had turned seventeen in her delusion... was this year. Now, she was obviously the same age as Sam; the two of them had gone to high school together, after all, and she'd been in the hospital for six years. She had no real explanation for why she would think it was four years later in her delusion other than it was a delusion. It had real vampires and demons in it, and everyone knew they weren't really real, why should the year matter?
Still, it did a little. She'd let Samantha know that when the girl had come over. In response, she had jokingly been asked to foretell the future. After all, if her knowledge was four years ahead, surely she'd know something good that could be checked against it. Unfortunately, the only national event that came to her mind happened the previous fall, a short while after she'd been resurrected in Sunnydale. It wasn't something she wanted to really be right about here, and she didn't even recall all the details as she'd still been focused on her own personal issues. Her focus had been too strong to worry about New York. Sunnydale had that sort of death count in a month... But again, it was a delusion. She couldn't guarantee that anything she saw in there was real. In fact, it was more likely that none of it was.
The medicine that she'd been prescribed by her doctors at the hospital seemed to be doing its job. She hadn't had a psychotic break or relapse into Sunnydale since she'd been out of the hospital and on these meds. She suspected that the change in medicine is what allowed her to come out of the delusion in the first place, but what the medicine was, she wasn't sure. Unfortunately, it couldn't do anything to mute the damn voice she kept hearing, but at least the voice wasn't telling her that certain people were vampire sand she needed to kill them. It just made her a little uncomfortable at how... accurate it was. It was almost as if she were reading someone's mind, but not quite. It wasn't deafening the way that the thoughts were when she'd obtained the aspect of the demon in Sunnydale, but it was still unnerving.
The voice, ultimately, was something she had resolved to speak about at her upcoming psychiatrist appointment. It wasn't making her a danger to herself or others, so she doubted that the shrink would lock her back up in the mental hospital, and she was able to recognize it as the imaginary voice it was. Maybe the psychiatrist would be able to up her dosage a bit. It might help quiet the voice, and it might help her to further sort out her memories. That memory of Merrick seemed the same no matter which way she looked at it, and that blatantly had to be a part of the delusion.
Still, it was before her major psychotic break that led to her getting placed in the mental hospital to begin with. Her next outing with Sam was the day after her psych appointment. She'd have to ask her friend to help her with that memory then. If she could find out what really happened, then perhaps she'd be able to remember it properly rather than focus on a memory that had to be false. Merrick couldn't be real; because if he was, then either he was crazy or she... she couldn't even finish that thought. She wouldn't let herself. Something more to talk to the psychiatrist about.
God, she didn't want to go see the shrink at all. The upcoming appointment frightened her almost as much as the possibility of returning to the hospital. Perhaps it frightened her because of the possible return to the hospital. Whichever it was didn't matter as she had no choice about going to this upcoming appointment if she wanted to continue getting her meds.
So that's the reason she found herself, without arguing the point, in Doctor Smith's outpatient office. The waiting room for the office was somewhat stereotypical in how it was laid out. She'd recalled all sorts of pop culture examples of these waiting rooms, and she wondered how much Doctor Smith embraced the stereotype. Wallpaper lined the walls, some print of something that probably was meant to seem classy, but to her they just seemed somewhat tacky. The chairs weren't all that comfortable either, but she didn't expect much out of armed waiting room chairs. Especially since the padding on them looked like they hadn't been changed since the late nineteenth century.
Her parents waited with her, at least for now. Her father had mentioned something about needing to go to some appointment or another with a client in half an hour so he'd be leaving shortly before her appointment with her mother along with him. Her mother would be back when her appointment was supposed to be complete to pick her up.
"Okay sweetie, I've written down my cell phone number so you can call when your appointment's done. I have some errands to run after dropping off your father, and while I'd like to be here when you get out, I'm not sure how long they'll all take." Joyce's hug reassured Buffy a little. It emphasized that her parents weren't just going to leave her here. Again. None of them wanted a repeat of the last six years, and Buffy knew that her parents couldn't keep scheduling their lives around her. Still, she wondered what errands her mother needed to run this close to sunset. Out, out, damned spot. A mind is a terrible thing to dirty.
Oh hell no. She lost her moth... No, it was just the voice again. She wouldn't worry until her mother said something. There was no tumor in her mother's head. That was something she'd seen only in the delusion. "Yeah, Mom, I'll be fine. I'm sure Doctor Smith just wants to see that I'm doing okay with you two..."
Her father ruffled her hair, knowing that it would annoy her a bit. "You're doing great, Buffy. We'll just be taking things a step at a time."
Swatting at his hand, and purposefully missing, Buffy smiled. "Thanks Dad, now go on you two. I'll be fine here at the big scary psychiatrist. Dandy even."
Her parents took that as their cue to leave, stepping out of the front door and leaving her and the receptionist as the only people in the waiting room. Idly she wondered why Doctor Smith scheduled the appointment so late for her. Didn't he have a home life or some kind of social life? A seven PM appointment seemed remarkably out of place for a psychiatrist, but at least it gave her parents time to do what they needed to do. Buffy eyed the receptionist, an older woman with poofy dark hair that seemed busy doing something or another with her computer. Maybe she was playing Solitaire. She seeks death's embrace.
After about a half hour of waiting, flipping through magazines, brochures, and wishing she had something to occupy her hands with, Buffy was starting to get restless. If she'd had a tennis ball, she'd probably be bouncing it along the wall and catching it. If she'd had a piece of wood, it would probably be a stake, but that was something that here was supposed to help fix. If she had something to do, she would be doing it rather than waiting longer in this godforsaken waiting room for something as simple as having her name called. It was the receptionist. Her fault. The doctor probably wasn't even here, and she'd have to wait for even longer to get home. She deserved to be punished. Perhaps the doctor wa-
"Bunny Summers?" The receptionist's voice was nasally and dry. Perhaps there was a hint of a whine in there as well, but it grated, especially since she got the name wrong. Happy bottoms make sour faces.
"Buffy Summers, miss." Buffy corrected as she stood up. That woman... The door next to the desk opened, and out stepped a nondescript older man who made for the exit.
"The doctor will see you now, Buffy." That woman's face settled into something akin to as if she had smelled something supremely awful while swallowing a lemon. Rude receptionist aside, Buffy decided to be the bigger woman and passed through the door.
Doctor Smith's actual office was a clash of stereotypes. Books lined the walls, similarly to the waiting room, but unlike the waiting room, not every wall was covered. The books only extended halfway down the wall behind the doctor's desk, and paintings and posters were on the wall instead. The portrait on the far wall reminded her of someone and tickled the back of her mind, but she couldn't place it. Crazy-styled redheaded pale men aside, her attention was also drawn to the brain posters and what looked like a not often used beanbag chair. Next to Doctor Smith's desk, he had some regular chairs, and then the embrace of the stereotype. A leather chase, clearly kept shiny was set so that the patient could easily lay on it while the doctor slid over. Still, that didn't explain why the office was so...
"I know, I know, it's a bit big, isn't it? This was originally going to be a surgical theater." Doctor Smith smiled at her and gestured at the seats available. "Sit down wherever you feel comfortable."
Buffy decided to take the chase lounge, the smell of the leather tickling her nose, drowning out the hint of disinfectant that she smelled. Now if only she could get that buzzing to die down, she'd be set. The doctor's speaking would help with that.
"It's good to see you up and about, Buffy." Doctor Smith's voice was calm and collected. "A far cry from where you were a month ago. Your progress has been phenomenal."
"Thanks, Doctor Smith... I feel a lot better too. I'm glad that I'm able to be with my parents." Buffy figured that it was time to start. "So when are we going to get the funny pictures out?"
"Honestly, Buffy, I feel a Rorschach test would be premature this soon after your release. Instead, I would rather just ask you directly a few things. How are you adjusting to being home again?" The doctor rolled his chair over nearby, and had a pen and small pad, probably for notes. The ink from the pen smelled black, maybe. A mark, a moon, the Dark Father and Mother...
"Well enough, I suppose. They kept my room the same... I think I need to change it some, but I don't know to what." Buffy was hesitant. This was the same doctor that told her to kill her friends in Sunnydale, but that was a delusion, wasn't it?
"Yes, well, you'll need to start to figure yourself out. Who you are as opposed to who you imagined you were. Part of that will be learning to fend for yourself... Are you making any plans to join the workforce, or are you planning on continuing your education?" Doctor Smith scribbled down in his notebook, and he glanced toward the door.
"I haven't... I haven't really thought about it yet. I suppose I could study for my GED and then see about joining Samantha at UCLA afterward, but I don't know... I'd be so far behind everyone else. I missed most of high school... I don't know how my parents did it." Buffy really was worried about the burden she placed on her parents, and she knew that she needed to do something for funds. She couldn't live with her parents forever.
"Yes, I see... In your case, I would recommend studying for the GED. I can recommend some tutoring groups to help get you caught up on what you would need. Let's change gears a bit, how have the meds you were prescribed been working? Any hallucinations, reminders of the delusion, strange hints at all? Clearly you haven't regressed." More scribbling and more glancing. Buffy guessed that normally a patient wouldn't be watching their doctor like this, but Smith was an odd one.
"The meds have been working fine... I haven't really noticed any side effects, I think. Though I do... I hear a voice. It's not mine, and it's not always, it's not even always the same... But I hear it sometimes. Whispering. Telling secrets that I shouldn't know or be privy to. Of course, it's usually not right, but it's odd. Could that be something related to my delusions?" There, now it was laid on the table. If he was going to lock her away again, so be it. She didn't want it to happen, but the voices were something she needed to talk about.
"Voices, eh? Well as long as-" Smith was cut off by the sound of his intercom buzzing. He moved over to the device and depressed the large button on it. "Yes?"
"Doctor Smith, he has arrived. You told me to let you know when that happened." The receptionist's voice sounded even more nasally over the intercom, but Buffy had to wonder who she was talking about. The master has come to check up on his pet...
"Yes, of course, send him in." Smith stood from his chair, shakily laying down his pad on the desk behind him as he did so, and seconds later, the door opened. In the doorway was the man from the portrait, only his hair was tied back into a ponytail, and he wore a well-tailored suit, albeit with a few eccentric points. "Buffy Summers, this is Doctor..."
Buffy's whisper carried through the room. "Alistair Grout..." She quickly stood up, placing the chase lounge between her and the man. She didn't trust the situation, nor did she trust the feeling drawing her respect toward him.
"Oh, you remember. Well, somewhat. Marvelous. We've met before, James, back in her room in the Asylum wing." Grout walked into the room, followed by a man and a woman dressed in what looked to be outfits stuck in the sixties. They seemed to follow Grout's lead. Dogs follow their master's treats...
"You... No. You did something..." Buffy shook her head.
"I consulted with him on your treatment when it looked the worst. It helped." Smith said simply.
"Of course it did, James. I am one of the foremost minds in psychiatry, after all. Now, please be quiet while I talk to Miss Summers." Smith nodded and mimed zipping his mouth.
"What do you want with me? Didn't you find out enough last time?" Buffy tried to put on a brave front.
"That? No, my dear. That was merely research. What I am looking for is discovery." Grout nodded to his two shadows, who broke off and flanked Buffy. "And discovery requires experimentation..."
Her father, Hank, on the other hand, was a different story. The last memory she'd had of Hank in the delusion was also related to her mother's death. The man was unreachable when people tried to let him know about Joyce. Unreachable, uncaring, and difficult to communicate with when he could be reached all described her father and how he acted in her delusion. Perhaps her father had his reasons, but that hardly mattered now. The man here both was and wasn't how she remembered. During the week, he'd actually led some of the family outings, taking both Buffy and her mother to the beach, the movies, and to various restaurants. He wasn't trying to parade the fact that she was out and about to anyone, he was genuinely trying to bond with her again, something she appreciated a lot.
One major thing that Buffy had noticed over the course of the week was something she hadn't realized until just before they'd gotten to the movie theater. The year was different from what she had remembered in her delusion. 1998, the year in which she sent Angel to Hell, when she first met Faith, when Miss Calendar had died, the year she had turned seventeen in her delusion... was this year. Now, she was obviously the same age as Sam; the two of them had gone to high school together, after all, and she'd been in the hospital for six years. She had no real explanation for why she would think it was four years later in her delusion other than it was a delusion. It had real vampires and demons in it, and everyone knew they weren't really real, why should the year matter?
Still, it did a little. She'd let Samantha know that when the girl had come over. In response, she had jokingly been asked to foretell the future. After all, if her knowledge was four years ahead, surely she'd know something good that could be checked against it. Unfortunately, the only national event that came to her mind happened the previous fall, a short while after she'd been resurrected in Sunnydale. It wasn't something she wanted to really be right about here, and she didn't even recall all the details as she'd still been focused on her own personal issues. Her focus had been too strong to worry about New York. Sunnydale had that sort of death count in a month... But again, it was a delusion. She couldn't guarantee that anything she saw in there was real. In fact, it was more likely that none of it was.
The medicine that she'd been prescribed by her doctors at the hospital seemed to be doing its job. She hadn't had a psychotic break or relapse into Sunnydale since she'd been out of the hospital and on these meds. She suspected that the change in medicine is what allowed her to come out of the delusion in the first place, but what the medicine was, she wasn't sure. Unfortunately, it couldn't do anything to mute the damn voice she kept hearing, but at least the voice wasn't telling her that certain people were vampire sand she needed to kill them. It just made her a little uncomfortable at how... accurate it was. It was almost as if she were reading someone's mind, but not quite. It wasn't deafening the way that the thoughts were when she'd obtained the aspect of the demon in Sunnydale, but it was still unnerving.
The voice, ultimately, was something she had resolved to speak about at her upcoming psychiatrist appointment. It wasn't making her a danger to herself or others, so she doubted that the shrink would lock her back up in the mental hospital, and she was able to recognize it as the imaginary voice it was. Maybe the psychiatrist would be able to up her dosage a bit. It might help quiet the voice, and it might help her to further sort out her memories. That memory of Merrick seemed the same no matter which way she looked at it, and that blatantly had to be a part of the delusion.
Still, it was before her major psychotic break that led to her getting placed in the mental hospital to begin with. Her next outing with Sam was the day after her psych appointment. She'd have to ask her friend to help her with that memory then. If she could find out what really happened, then perhaps she'd be able to remember it properly rather than focus on a memory that had to be false. Merrick couldn't be real; because if he was, then either he was crazy or she... she couldn't even finish that thought. She wouldn't let herself. Something more to talk to the psychiatrist about.
God, she didn't want to go see the shrink at all. The upcoming appointment frightened her almost as much as the possibility of returning to the hospital. Perhaps it frightened her because of the possible return to the hospital. Whichever it was didn't matter as she had no choice about going to this upcoming appointment if she wanted to continue getting her meds.
So that's the reason she found herself, without arguing the point, in Doctor Smith's outpatient office. The waiting room for the office was somewhat stereotypical in how it was laid out. She'd recalled all sorts of pop culture examples of these waiting rooms, and she wondered how much Doctor Smith embraced the stereotype. Wallpaper lined the walls, some print of something that probably was meant to seem classy, but to her they just seemed somewhat tacky. The chairs weren't all that comfortable either, but she didn't expect much out of armed waiting room chairs. Especially since the padding on them looked like they hadn't been changed since the late nineteenth century.
Her parents waited with her, at least for now. Her father had mentioned something about needing to go to some appointment or another with a client in half an hour so he'd be leaving shortly before her appointment with her mother along with him. Her mother would be back when her appointment was supposed to be complete to pick her up.
"Okay sweetie, I've written down my cell phone number so you can call when your appointment's done. I have some errands to run after dropping off your father, and while I'd like to be here when you get out, I'm not sure how long they'll all take." Joyce's hug reassured Buffy a little. It emphasized that her parents weren't just going to leave her here. Again. None of them wanted a repeat of the last six years, and Buffy knew that her parents couldn't keep scheduling their lives around her. Still, she wondered what errands her mother needed to run this close to sunset. Out, out, damned spot. A mind is a terrible thing to dirty.
Oh hell no. She lost her moth... No, it was just the voice again. She wouldn't worry until her mother said something. There was no tumor in her mother's head. That was something she'd seen only in the delusion. "Yeah, Mom, I'll be fine. I'm sure Doctor Smith just wants to see that I'm doing okay with you two..."
Her father ruffled her hair, knowing that it would annoy her a bit. "You're doing great, Buffy. We'll just be taking things a step at a time."
Swatting at his hand, and purposefully missing, Buffy smiled. "Thanks Dad, now go on you two. I'll be fine here at the big scary psychiatrist. Dandy even."
Her parents took that as their cue to leave, stepping out of the front door and leaving her and the receptionist as the only people in the waiting room. Idly she wondered why Doctor Smith scheduled the appointment so late for her. Didn't he have a home life or some kind of social life? A seven PM appointment seemed remarkably out of place for a psychiatrist, but at least it gave her parents time to do what they needed to do. Buffy eyed the receptionist, an older woman with poofy dark hair that seemed busy doing something or another with her computer. Maybe she was playing Solitaire. She seeks death's embrace.
After about a half hour of waiting, flipping through magazines, brochures, and wishing she had something to occupy her hands with, Buffy was starting to get restless. If she'd had a tennis ball, she'd probably be bouncing it along the wall and catching it. If she'd had a piece of wood, it would probably be a stake, but that was something that here was supposed to help fix. If she had something to do, she would be doing it rather than waiting longer in this godforsaken waiting room for something as simple as having her name called. It was the receptionist. Her fault. The doctor probably wasn't even here, and she'd have to wait for even longer to get home. She deserved to be punished. Perhaps the doctor wa-
"Bunny Summers?" The receptionist's voice was nasally and dry. Perhaps there was a hint of a whine in there as well, but it grated, especially since she got the name wrong. Happy bottoms make sour faces.
"Buffy Summers, miss." Buffy corrected as she stood up. That woman... The door next to the desk opened, and out stepped a nondescript older man who made for the exit.
"The doctor will see you now, Buffy." That woman's face settled into something akin to as if she had smelled something supremely awful while swallowing a lemon. Rude receptionist aside, Buffy decided to be the bigger woman and passed through the door.
Doctor Smith's actual office was a clash of stereotypes. Books lined the walls, similarly to the waiting room, but unlike the waiting room, not every wall was covered. The books only extended halfway down the wall behind the doctor's desk, and paintings and posters were on the wall instead. The portrait on the far wall reminded her of someone and tickled the back of her mind, but she couldn't place it. Crazy-styled redheaded pale men aside, her attention was also drawn to the brain posters and what looked like a not often used beanbag chair. Next to Doctor Smith's desk, he had some regular chairs, and then the embrace of the stereotype. A leather chase, clearly kept shiny was set so that the patient could easily lay on it while the doctor slid over. Still, that didn't explain why the office was so...
"I know, I know, it's a bit big, isn't it? This was originally going to be a surgical theater." Doctor Smith smiled at her and gestured at the seats available. "Sit down wherever you feel comfortable."
Buffy decided to take the chase lounge, the smell of the leather tickling her nose, drowning out the hint of disinfectant that she smelled. Now if only she could get that buzzing to die down, she'd be set. The doctor's speaking would help with that.
"It's good to see you up and about, Buffy." Doctor Smith's voice was calm and collected. "A far cry from where you were a month ago. Your progress has been phenomenal."
"Thanks, Doctor Smith... I feel a lot better too. I'm glad that I'm able to be with my parents." Buffy figured that it was time to start. "So when are we going to get the funny pictures out?"
"Honestly, Buffy, I feel a Rorschach test would be premature this soon after your release. Instead, I would rather just ask you directly a few things. How are you adjusting to being home again?" The doctor rolled his chair over nearby, and had a pen and small pad, probably for notes. The ink from the pen smelled black, maybe. A mark, a moon, the Dark Father and Mother...
"Well enough, I suppose. They kept my room the same... I think I need to change it some, but I don't know to what." Buffy was hesitant. This was the same doctor that told her to kill her friends in Sunnydale, but that was a delusion, wasn't it?
"Yes, well, you'll need to start to figure yourself out. Who you are as opposed to who you imagined you were. Part of that will be learning to fend for yourself... Are you making any plans to join the workforce, or are you planning on continuing your education?" Doctor Smith scribbled down in his notebook, and he glanced toward the door.
"I haven't... I haven't really thought about it yet. I suppose I could study for my GED and then see about joining Samantha at UCLA afterward, but I don't know... I'd be so far behind everyone else. I missed most of high school... I don't know how my parents did it." Buffy really was worried about the burden she placed on her parents, and she knew that she needed to do something for funds. She couldn't live with her parents forever.
"Yes, I see... In your case, I would recommend studying for the GED. I can recommend some tutoring groups to help get you caught up on what you would need. Let's change gears a bit, how have the meds you were prescribed been working? Any hallucinations, reminders of the delusion, strange hints at all? Clearly you haven't regressed." More scribbling and more glancing. Buffy guessed that normally a patient wouldn't be watching their doctor like this, but Smith was an odd one.
"The meds have been working fine... I haven't really noticed any side effects, I think. Though I do... I hear a voice. It's not mine, and it's not always, it's not even always the same... But I hear it sometimes. Whispering. Telling secrets that I shouldn't know or be privy to. Of course, it's usually not right, but it's odd. Could that be something related to my delusions?" There, now it was laid on the table. If he was going to lock her away again, so be it. She didn't want it to happen, but the voices were something she needed to talk about.
"Voices, eh? Well as long as-" Smith was cut off by the sound of his intercom buzzing. He moved over to the device and depressed the large button on it. "Yes?"
"Doctor Smith, he has arrived. You told me to let you know when that happened." The receptionist's voice sounded even more nasally over the intercom, but Buffy had to wonder who she was talking about. The master has come to check up on his pet...
"Yes, of course, send him in." Smith stood from his chair, shakily laying down his pad on the desk behind him as he did so, and seconds later, the door opened. In the doorway was the man from the portrait, only his hair was tied back into a ponytail, and he wore a well-tailored suit, albeit with a few eccentric points. "Buffy Summers, this is Doctor..."
Buffy's whisper carried through the room. "Alistair Grout..." She quickly stood up, placing the chase lounge between her and the man. She didn't trust the situation, nor did she trust the feeling drawing her respect toward him.
"Oh, you remember. Well, somewhat. Marvelous. We've met before, James, back in her room in the Asylum wing." Grout walked into the room, followed by a man and a woman dressed in what looked to be outfits stuck in the sixties. They seemed to follow Grout's lead. Dogs follow their master's treats...
"You... No. You did something..." Buffy shook her head.
"I consulted with him on your treatment when it looked the worst. It helped." Smith said simply.
"Of course it did, James. I am one of the foremost minds in psychiatry, after all. Now, please be quiet while I talk to Miss Summers." Smith nodded and mimed zipping his mouth.
"What do you want with me? Didn't you find out enough last time?" Buffy tried to put on a brave front.
"That? No, my dear. That was merely research. What I am looking for is discovery." Grout nodded to his two shadows, who broke off and flanked Buffy. "And discovery requires experimentation..."
TheMagister
Lord Magus
"And that's how I lost my medical license"
Seriously though, I love where this is going.
Seriously though, I love where this is going.
