strangelyliteral

[ $ 1 ]

[Action]

[Waking up unceremoniously in Luceti with no idea of where she is and what she is doing there is of course a disorienting experience. Anya finds herself out on the beach, lying prone on the sand. It could be Sunnydale, except the area she's been deposited in doesn't have much surrounding it besides sand and blue skies.

Her back hurts, and by the time she sits herself up and reaches back there...] Wings? Is this a joke?

[Some more time passes with her half-ranting to herself, trying to get oriented and squinting at the placement of the sun. She almost misses the fact that the journal is there completely, save when she finally starts to walk and nearly trips over the thing, half buried in the sand.]

[Accidental voice]

- Ow! I have sand in places that I don't want to think about, there's no sign of anyone - what is this, a book? I don't even get a pair of shoes, or even suntan lotion, I just get a lousy book? [She turns the journal over in her hands, pages rustling, her image still not visible, though there's the sound of the ocean's waves in the background.] ... my name is on this book. This just entered a new level of creepy.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

I'm practically naked on a beach with wings and no towel. I don't remember this being in the plan. What's with the talking book?

A towel's hardly gonna h--[ help.

be patient, summers. ] The book's not talking. I'm talking. I'm just talking through the book. Kinda like a hipster version of a cell-phone. [ ... ] When you said practically naked, you mean you are still wearing the dress. Right? The white one? 'Cause if not, I can totally bring you something.

[ spontaneous nudity: just about one of the few things that can repair old, long-dead bridges. ]

Oh, I still have it. It's about all I have. Even if it isn't actually mine. [She pauses. They're getting off the bigger subject. Even she can realize that.] Does this mean you're nearby, or something?

...Technically? No. But I can be nearby in a blink. Seriously. It's possible. There's this whole machine and it --

It doesn't matter. But if you're at the shore, I can be there. Provided it's the shore I'm thinking of.

It's pretty empty here. The water must not be warm enough.

Oh. There might be... something in the distance. [She shades her eyes, studying the dark shapes.] They're not moving. I think they're boats.

And have yourself a good long look up the beach. Do you see a house? Or maybe what looks like the poorly-aged ribs of a stone fort?

There is some kind of building over there. Is that where you're all hiding out?

Not lately, no. And I wouldn't go a-knocking too eagerly, unless you wanted to meet the world's most dour admiral. [ and buffy took a moment to imagine anya and norrington exchanging pleasantries. hah. ]

Maybe you should stay put. I'll come to you?

Well, fine then. [And for once, she bites her tongue on how she once had to curse an Admiral once. Some topics just brought back sore memories. And speaking of sore, as much as she thinks it might be better for her to make some progress, her sore back reminds her that maybe she should take it easy. At least for a little bit.] I'll wait here.

Good. [ she sounds almost distracted. ] Good. I'll bring you what I can. Just...do us both a favour and don't stray too far from your book. And try not to touch the wings. You need those, too.

Fine, fine I get it. No touchie. No losing the book. Ugh, you are not making any sense right now!

...And yet -- somehow -- I believe it'll actually be worse when I do start making sense. Hang tight. I'll be there in ten. [ ... ] Eh. Fifteenish.

I'll be out here, then. You know, just waiting.

[ and she'll leave anya waiting for the full fifteen. granted, it's only because she's busy filling a bag with a few staples. a sweater. a pair of sandals. something to eat. she slings it over her shoulder and starts on the lonely -- if not long -- trek from house seven to the barracks.

it's a journey she's made hundreds of times, but hasn't lately. not as much. not since jack moved out of cullen house on a temporary basis that never seemed to end. the only real reason to head shorewards these days was to see the boats.

and now to see an ally. a friend? a scooby, certainly. and that means something. it means something as the stands on the beach with an arm raised, hailing the figure in the distance: the figure she assumes is anya. ]

[Anya has had a few distractions to play with for those moments, anyway, as the journal keeps churning out voices. She doesn't like it - the book can't seem to make up it's mind, whether it's a magical thing or a technological thing.

Eventually she gives up to stare at the shore for a few moments: the water lapping sand is something that makes sense, for all the sense she can make of her last few memories. It had gotten rough. Floppy, hoppy, bunnies.

Shaking her head a little, she'll start to walk toward where she had seen the buildings in the distance - and not before long, a waving figure appears.

It has to be Buffy. So she'll keep moving forward.]

[ she crosses that strange and awkward no man's land between sight and sound -- waiting until she's close enough to properly hail anya before she speaks. she keeps her distance, if only because she can't ever picture herself hugging anya.

though part of her wants to.

instead, she holds out the knapsack. ] I packed a few things. My things, really. But...you can keep them. I probably have too many things.

[There was that one time - the wedding that wasn't - when Buffy had tried so hard to save everything for them. It might have been appreciated then.

At a time like now, so rife with confusion still, it probably wouldn't be.

Anya frowns a little, reaching for the offered pack. She had heard a few things - tidbits, really, about the world - but somehow, all of the strangeness could be summed up in that utterance.

But then she remembers: time in other dimensions doesn't have to make sense. Though some would be nice.]

Your... things. You've had time to gather your things. [She needs time to process this idea.] When did you get ... things here? When did you get here?

[ she doesn't know what to do with her newly freed hands except to plunge them into her pockets. ]

...Four years ago. Like...exactly. To the very day.

[She opens her mouth, closes it. Opens it again.]

I was expecting maybe a few days or so head start, you know, with how time in other dimensions can be all crazy. But four human years?

[ self-consciously: ] Four human years. I'm twenty-seven. I don't even thing I qualify as a young woman any longer. And I have wings. And -- oh, look -- so do you. They're very lovely, by the way.

I didn't see any harps around so I didn't get the cherubic vibe from the place. Wait - [Back up a bit - somehow the time difference seems harder to take in than the wings.] You're almost 30? Are we even allowed to talk to each other anymore by human standards?

H-hey! What do you mean by that? Of course we're allowed to...

There aren't any rules. It's not...

It so doesn't work that way.

[ because this is what is important right now. ]

... okay, good. You may carry on with explaining. What happened to Xander and the others?

[ she resists the urge to kick at the sand. be cool, sodapop. ]

Sunnydale collapsed. We...uhm -- we got out. A lot of us got out. And then it was over. The only thing left to do was to find the other girls.

Except by 'got out', you mean... came here? To wingland?

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject