strangelyliteral | + appointments

"Mmhm. Depends on the enterprise. The kids at the smithy seem to do okay. Some people still barter. Only..."

Only what skill, really, did Anya have? Even Buffy couldn't stretch her imagination that far. "Only if I were you? I'd focus on finding a place. Making some contacts. The other things'll...happen."

A problem Anya had realized for herself when people had the gall to rebuff her during her possessed pricing spree. Some were okay with it at the time, but she doubted that she could consider Rapunzel a contact. Shikamaru... seemed okay, but there he was, running a store for conveniences without anything to show for it. And then there was Jack, the Bar, and ... well, Buffy herself.

And what did Anya really want? Safety, security, belonging ... but still being herself. Things she wouldn't ever ask for, all save the last. And she had tried.

"They always do, I guess." She lowers her folded arms with a shrug and looks off to the side window.

Edited 2013-07-08 00:30 (UTC)

...Buffy dropped into her chair -- looking almost deflated. With a murmur: "Can I get you anything? Tea?"

Anya felt fidgety. This was the part where she should have been leaving, finding some hole to crawl in while her head ached. She almost missed Buffy's murmured question, and even then it takes her a while to answer, as she keeps her gaze focused on the window.

" -- What? Yeah, whatever."

Normally, she was the kind of customer who would get up and log her order at the counter -- even stand around chatting with Sheena or Albert or other patrons while she waited for her drink. But today, fearing Anya might (rightfully) slink off should she so much as avert her gaze, Buffy signalled the staff with a casual gesture -- holding up two fingers: two more of the same. It was rude, of course. Terribly rude. But some situations trumped courtesy.

"I hope you don't mind chai," she followed up -- a little lamely.

"It's fine, I guess."

She offers a shrug, not paying that much attention to the bustle of the shop. She might have liked tea once, some centuries ago. Not really a big drinker, but that might have been because of the job. Always somewhere to go, something to do, who had time to sit for tea? And when human, it wasn't as if tea was high on the beverage list. Particularly in a household with Xander.

"They do a decent one, here. More than decent."

She was chattering -- self-concious and prattle-y. Desperate to move beyond the initial blowout.

Anya didn't know why she was still here. She said her piece, Buffy said hers - really, she should have left already, but it wasn't as if she had anywhere to go. Anything else to do. And wasn't that usually the way? Being a demon she worked constantly, always in search of someone who needed her. With Xander the need eventually developed into a mutual one, up until the wedding. And then ...

God, why was she still here. She could hear Buffy prattling on, but she wasn't even sure what the woman was talking about anymore. Tea? Were they actually doing this?

"Yeah?" She sounds more distracted than interested, her gaze drifting back to the door, though one of her arms absently touches the back of a chair.

"Mmhm," she confirmed -- her mouth bowing into an almost-smile but faltering but trying but failing to maintain the emotion. So she swallowed hard and was grateful to see their two mugs arrive -- hot and steaming and spewing forth earthy, spicy notes that hit the nose like a mack truck. Buffy gratefully grabbed onto hers, wrapping fingers around the mug but waiting for it to cool a little more before drinking.

"Small blessings, I guess. Like I said. They get me through your average Luceti day. Good tea. A nice day of weather. The chance to go out for a sail, maybe a quick dip in the ocean. We could take you, sometime, if you wanted. We have a boat. Two boats, actually."

She'd slipped so casually into a we, she hardly even noticed.

The sound of the tea being brought to the table causes her to blink and turn her head, looking back down at Buffy and then her own waiting cup. She actually takes a moment to take in some of what Buffy had been prattling on about. Boats? She had seen them out in the harbor, from the day of her initial arrival and on a few other trips she had made to the beach in search of some familiarity.

"Boats, huh? What, you and the Pirate?" It wasn't as if that relationship was particularly a secret, especially after her brief encounters with Jack Sparrow.

"Me and the pirate," she confirmed -- but opted not to gush about the relationship. Even had the moment been a sweeter one, Buffy was no longer the sort to sit and sigh schoolgirlishly over her romance. "I've learned a few things. About boats and sailing and not getting smacked on the head by the boom in the smaller sail boat. A harder feat to accomplish than you might expect."

She licked her lips. To reiterate the invitation would sound desperate, and Buffy didn't feel desperate. All she did feel was a heavy desire to do right by Anya. Make amends. Prove to at least one of her critics that she'd grown up -- and that she wanted to be far from the same cold-blooded general who'd been kicked out of her own house so many years ago. Anya, she recalled, had been particularly vocal on that night.

"I've never had to know anything about boats before."

Cruise ships were prime vengeance opportunities. Sailboats? Not so much. She still sounds a little distracted - not entirely certain how to take this invitation. It wasn't going to make anything better, and frankly, it was a little weird.

The chair scrapes the floor as she slowly pulls it out enough for her to slump into.

"...Neither did I, really. Apparently there's a lot to know. I'm still nowhere near ready to take the big one -- the Joanna Joyce -- without supervision."

Step one: Admit Weakness. It was difficult -- a little like tearing off a bandaid or amputating your own foot.

"... Joyce?"

The name catches her attention almost more than Buffy's omission. Anya had liked Joyce. She frowns a little, taking in the rest of what had been said. "So... you're doing that, here. Learning boats. Even though there's nowhere to go in them?"

She had tried going as far as she could go in the enclosure with her large wings. The trip had proved fruitless. And felt pointless. She hadn't gone over the water.

"Jack named her," she paused to sip her chai. With that act, the pirate had reopened a door that had otherwise been rather firmly shut. He'd appealed to Buffy's long-buried sentimentality. Now, of course, that choice had been brought into question. Had it been for her mother or for the strange dream-child Jack claimed had saved his life during that winter? Most days, Buffy decided she didn't want to know the answer.

"And he also made a pretty good case about sailing for sailing's sake. Who knows? One day, there may be somewhere to go. And if that happens, I don't wanna be left behind."

She also didn't want to be left depending on others' know-how.

She reaches for her own chai, mostly in an attempt to mask her acknowledgement that Buffy had made a good point. Sure, it might have seemed useless on the surface, but Anya understood the sense of skill-acquiring. Even if she still relied too heavily on other people for them.

"Is it satisfying?"

Finally, a genuine (albeit slight) smile lit her lips.

"A little. I mean -- yes, absolutely. In my line of work -- in our line of work -- you don't get to do much with your hands that doesn't end in broken bones and bloodshed. This changes that."

She contemplates the chai cup after another sip, setting it down.

"And it's, something you're doing for yourself, right? For - ... skill acquiring and still feeling productive. Not like - like your doing bartending for free gig."

"...Exactly." She was pleased they could find some common understanding -- however fledgling. "I serve no one but myself. And -- okay, technically? Jack's the Captain. But only technically. And only because he built her. Which, by the way, happens to be another one of those feeling productive things."

"...Like Xander's old job."

Except it wasn't just a job, for Xander, when it came to construction. He built himself right out of his parent's apartment and into a new life - even if it wasn't with her.

Which still stung, in it's own way. Not a painful one, but the sadness of knowing that they never would have the time to piece together what it was that they were.

"Very much like that. I'll never make fun of a dove joint again."

"I'm sure all the dove joints are happy for it."

Was this small talk? She contemplated her cup further, still feeling the burn to go but having no destination.

"I'm sorry that the Spirits thing had to be your first taste of...here, by the way. It was mine, too, when I showed up. It's more than a little freaky."

"... Did one choose you that time?"

Said very lightly. Anya could remember Twila's twinge of disappointment at the failure to recruit Buffy to it's cause - though at the time, it had been quickly crushed under the weight of that revelation.

"Nah. I was untouched. But, like you, it was my first month. I didn't know anyone except the anyones from home. For all I knew, they were the bad guys."

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