strangelyliteral

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[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.

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I thought if anyone would have had one, it would be you. [Not said too unkindly, but that had been the crux of most of Buffy's speeches before the plan.]

[ she cradles her emptied cup -- feeling chagrin enter through the tips of her ears and flood down to her toes. ] That was my mode of thinking for about the...oh, the first year. This guy who used to be here kept telling that there were no no-win scenarios. And I believed it. [ ... ] For what it's worth, I still think there's a way out. We just haven't found it yet.

[She drains her glass of water and hands it back to Buffy.]

But for now we're just... stuck here in wingy limbo with no money, no Xander, and the threats of ... experimentation or attacks from... cultists?

Plus a war. Plus occasional kidnappings. Plus the previously mentioned fun and frequent time discrepancies. You will adapt. I mean...

[ if anyone can... ]

Even the most stubborn do. In some way or another. Eventually.

Adapting's one of those things I'm used to. [It doesn't mean she likes having to do it.

Sigh.

Jumping into this was probably better than worrying over what was left behind there. Even if it still felt much too jarring for her to make sense of.]

Step one to adapting here is to ... what, then, find a place, or something? And I guess that's free too?

[Well, they had to get to the village first ...]

Totally gratis. There are apartments. And some houses. Everything's fairly standard issue, at first. It takes a while to...I don't know. Make things your own.

It's too weird. I can't believe there's even some kind of guidebook about it.

Well -- some people have been around here long enough to write about...having been here long enough. [ a soft sound, as if considering whether she should continue. ] But you can trust what Raine writes. I'll vouch for her. Any day.

[ one doesn't need to be entirely reacquainted with a friend to vouch for them, right? ]

... I haven't read it yet. But now I will.

[With the guide being Buffy-approved she could feel more comfortable with perusing it. Now she was just feeling antsy to get moving.] Let's go to the village now.

Hmm? [ she glances back, as if caught in a mini-daydream. it takes a moment to process anya's request. ] Oh, sure. If you're up to it. You might even find a few of your things. But don't hold your breath on that one. Some of us don't see a lick of home for months.

[ she pushes off the wall and leaves the glasses in the sink, collecting anya's without thinking. ]

Don't have much anyway.

[And she doesn't like the idea of looking for it in free shops, either. It feels like shoplifting, even if it... isn't.]

Not really up to it. I just want to feel like I'm doing something instead of waiting around to be shoved back into that battle.

...Let's hope that doesn't happen too soon, considering--

[ HUFF. buffy kept her arms crossed as she heads for the door. ] Well -- we'd better get going.

What? The sooner we leave the better, right?

[That was an awkwardly cut off sentence, but, whatever. She shrugs and follows Buffy's lead, lifting up the pack and -]

Ow. Ow, ow. Can you take this? Just for a little bit?

[ it's not as simple as... ]

O-of course. For as long as you need. The wings are still bugging out, huh?

[ buffy holds out a hand -- eager to reclaim the burden. ]

A - a little. [More than that. But she wanted to be tough in front of Buffy. As much as possible, anyway.] Just another thing to adapt to, right? I'll deal.

They will stop hurting. Y'know, so long as you don't go and bust them up.

[ and they can be downright pleasurable in other ways, though she's not prepared to share that knowledge with anya. not yet. perhaps not ever. ]

Because they're vital to my survival. Heard that one a lot.

[ she grabs onto the front door and shoulders it open. ]

They repeat it because it's true. I've seen some nasty wing injuries in my day. Luckily, I've avoided too many to my own.

[And she follows her back through the doors. Distraction might help, maybe.]

Any cool stories?

About the wings? Or -- y'know -- just in general? 'Cause I might have a lot of both.

Both might do. It'll take a while to get back over to the village, right?

Not as long as you'd think. But -- okay. Wing stories. You already know the part about how you die if you lose them, so that's covered. But...oh!

Not everyone has tiny little useless feathers like you and me. Some people have big ones. Serious angel wings. Those people were born here, in this world.

So if you're born here, you get to fly, and if you're not, you're stuck with these? So lame.

I dunno. [ she watches the shoreline as they walk -- a thoughtful eye on the jj. ] The trade-off seems to be that the big-wingers have an easier time of, y'know, going mad and trying to kill us all.

[She thinks about that for a moment, scavenging for some of the hastily given info that she found hard to digest to begin with.]

... Those outside-guys then, that you mentioned before. The cultists?

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