FAITH
hands dampened from a round of washing clothes, still hanging over to dry. she’s done this so much, she might as well open her own advice column: how to wash your clothes when you can’t afford a public laundromat, a guide by a broke teen. tv remote turns on the (admittedly, crappy) television, flipping through channels as if anything’s been able to catch her attention lately. a knock on her motel door catches faith off guard, she wasn’t expecting anyone. certainly not when she wasn’t needed. on the other side of the door, the slayer previous to her. her death activated faith into the calling, not that faith was complaining too much about the numbers ⸺ hell, the more the merrier, right?
she contemplates for a second, not quite in the mood to deal with even more of a straight laced ‘talk’ the other might’ve been there to give about how much she’s not living up to the title. what should they care? it’s her title, she calls the shots with it.
the brunette slayer caves, a huff of breath through nostrils as she moves to the side, giving kendra the open invite. ❝ wasn’t expecting company or i might’ve done somethin’ with the place. ❞ clean up a bit maybe. what else was there to do? some various soda cans littering the motel desk, stray jackets and boots tucked underneath the bed. hey, least she can crack a joke at her own expense. ❝ so what’s up? b send you to retrieve me for sunnydale’s bad of the week or you just come by for the apple pie bakin’ in the oven? ❞
( RE: some meme. ⸺⸺ PROMPT: ‘are you going to let me in?’ @keirdra·.
“buffy doesn’t send me anywhere,” and some trace of the old haughtiness that kendra had worn so well when she first arrived in sunnydale is still apparent in her tone. she moves into the apartment, critical eyes taking everything in.
it’s easy for kendra to avoid the question, harder for her to look faith in the eyes and say, “i came on my own. i wanted to check up on you.” maybe the phrasing sounds bad, maybe she said it wrong, maybe buffy would have said it better: buffy understands things kendra doesn’t, how to be casual, how to talk to people when you’re not trying to kill them.
the bleak living area almost reminds kendra of home, in some paradoxical way. she’d never had much in the way of personal belongings either, just a place to sleep and a place to store her weapons. it’s what sam had thought best, and kendra had agreed. but she’s not so sure now.
three slayers, three different styles of fighting, of living. it almost seems like it shouldn’t be allowed, like someone is going to come and take this away from kendra. but in the meantime: well, as strange as it sounds, they’re a team, and kendra genuinely does want to get to know the newest slayer, make sure she’s okay, because aren’t they all driven by some kind of trauma?
