Anya Jenkins (
strangelyliteral) wrote2013-05-01 09:08 am
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+ appointments

Please follow the format below:
- If it's a private journal ring: [ voice + date ] (i.e. [Voice - April 11])
- A private journal note: [ written + date ] -- of course, if it's just a note saying "lets meet here", it can progress to action quickly enough.
- A knock/planned meeting/continued thread/etc and so forth: [ action + date ]
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[And she leaves it at that, snapping the book shut.
It will take her a little while to cool her temper. More than an hour - close to two, even, as she wonders if the Slayer would still even be hanging around the shop as promised.
She almost decides to not go, but the idea of this meeting or this not-meeting looming over their heads wasn't a fun prospect to consider, either. Luceti was a small town, and there was only so long one could play the avoiding game.
Especially when one wasn't certain if it was a game they wanted to be playing.]
S U R P R O S E
It was all very undignified.
gasp.
Eventually she decides that pacing won't get her anywhere - in fact, it only would attract strange looks, and the last thing she needed was one of these goody-goody strangers to poke their head in her business and for her to decide whether or not the mess of a situation was worth explaining or complaining about to them.
Maybe Buffy wasn't even there.
She stops her pacing, taking a few uneasy breaths. Just what was this meeting supposed to do, anyway? One step, two. Eventually she reaches the top, scowling at the door for a few moments before pushing it open.
And there she was. Wonderful. And now Anya was here, framed in the doorway, bright colored halter in contrast to her still dark hair. Not as dark as she had worn it while possessed, but enough. She lets the door close behind her and stands, with her arms folded across her chest.
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Buffy raised a flattened palm, canting it once in an almost-wave. A signal. An invitation. But she didn't look happy about it.
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"I'm here. Talk now."
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She doesn't budge in her stance. After all, Buffy hadn't actually apologized yet.
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Her voice shook. Clearly, the apology was no easy feat -- and she'd only managed to talk herself into giving Anya one once she'd hashed the situation through with Jack.
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Anya could recall a time all too clearly when doing the right thing involved her being impaled on the end of the slayer's sword. And when taking it back meant sacrificing herself - or so she thought - until she watched her oldest friend's life wiped out in front of her. The guilt that followed, thinking that it should still have been her - and then for all of that, she died anyway. What was even the point of living those few months longer?
"It's always been too late for me."
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Buffy is not the only one raising her arms. "I mean, what is the point to any of this?"
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Deep down, the lack of monetary system shouldn't have bothered her. She had only gotten used to it because of needing to adjust to being human in the first place - and Xander. "There's nothing to gain by living here. We just wait for our turn to go, and we don't have a choice. Isn't that what you said?"
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I'm engaged. She couldn't outright say it, because only know was her capacity not to blurt things aloud deciding to function. "I'm not ashamed to say I've put down roots. I'm rooted. You could be rooted too -- a little. Eventually."
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But she doesn't have a choice. "Don't you understand how much that bites?"
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