Title: Seven Deadly Virtues |
Medium: Buffy The Vampire Slayer/Angel: the Series
Summary: Faith is a bad, bad girl.
Spoilers: Buffy S3/Angel S1/Angel S2
Author Notes: Inspired by glossing's Six Paramitas for the Wolfman and minim_calibre's Seven Virtues From a Broken Hill. Big kisses to gloss. TItle irreverantly stolen from Lerner and Loewe's Camelot.
Disclaimer: Mutant Enemy Productions, Joss Whedon, 20th Century Fox, UPN, and the WB all have more claim to Faith than I do. I keep trying to find somewhere to rent Eliza Dushku, though.
Faith can count the things she knows for certain on one hand.
She's a Slayer. She's a good Slayer.
And that about covers it for her when she arrives in Sunnydale. It's the only thing she knows for sure, that this may just be her destiny but she's good at her destiny. When you're stronger than most of the world, you can be a little cock-sure, she likes to tell herself.
Faith is a good Slayer. Not good like Glinda, sure, but she's a good Slayer - she's good at what she does.
It hurts when Buffy thinks she takes it too seriously.
It's a typical feeling for Faith: everyone has someone but her. She feels it accutely when Angel plays her for a fool. Buffy has a perfect little blond Barbie life, and she doesn't exactly flaunt it - but there's a sting. Watching Buffy is like watching a living, breathing catalogue of everything Faith doesn't have - can't have, won't have.
When Angel switches sides, Faith feels the bile rise up in her throat. Jealousy tastes green, like the burning in your stomach just before the contents come back up.
Nothing is hers. Everything is hers. It's all in the inflection.
There's no such thing as too much of a good thing. Or so Faith used to think.
But by the time she's been in Sunnydale three weeks, she's had all the family togetherness she can take. She thought being a Slayer was an alone sort of thing, and here she's got this red headed witch and a werewolf and some kid who's even not anything special hanging around.
Faith's overdosing on people. There are just too many people around.
She feels like she's choking on Buffy's friends. She wants to escape from this steady diet of goody-goody and sugary-sweet.
She can't find a way.
When Faith gets to Xander, she is simply desperate for human contact, and the Harris boy doesn't fight her - much. It's easy to get him into bed, and from there, it is ... not what she was looking for. Skin on skin and rough and tumble, and for the first time in her life, it's just not enough. She tries to justify this to herself, and she can't do it.
Still, Faith likes the crescents that her fingernails leave on Xander's shoulders. She likes the way her teeth marks slip from beneath the collar of his shirts for days.
The Mayor likes Faith because there's something out there she wants. There's something he wants, too, and he likes her drive. Faith won't stop until she's taken what she wants.
He wants power; she's got power.
He can feel it running underneath her skin, and sometimes he's surprised it doesn't explode from her veins in a messy burst of energy.
There's Slayer power, but there's something else, too rawer than hurt, fiercer than resentment.
He feels what runs beneath her exterior. Violence. An itchiness to be someone else. Hurt, fear, desire, need, more violence. And a useful bounty of rage.
When Faith gets to L.A., she finds out that even Cordelia has what she wants. Cordy's apartment might not be much, but it's something. Ghost and all, it's something she doesn't have: a home.
And a family. Same as Sunnydale, a little group without a place for her. Maybe that's why she puts the knife against Wesley's neck, in the end.
Not because he was a shitty Watcher, which he was.
Not because he let her down, which he did.
Because she can take this intangible thing from the midst of them, and she can tell how much it'll hurt.
Prison is simple. After weeks and years of endless nights and demon slaying, Faith thinks this is some sort of twisted, well-deserved vacation. It's no villa on the beach in Ibiza, that's for sure, but it's restful. At least as restful as prison can be.
Only Faith would think that prison was vacation.
But it is, in her head, and it's easy. Fights without effort. Showing everyone who's boss. She could and would defend herself from any comers with her eyes closed and both hands behind her back.
Prison is a cakewalk for Faith.
Somehow, she doesn't really enjoy that.