Two Formely Dead, Ex-Watchers Walk Into a Bar....
Joy to the world, peace on earth and god bless us all. If one more Christmas caroler would bleat in my general direction I wasn’t going to be responsible for my action. God, I hated the town, I hated the city and most of all I hated the people in them. It. In it. I had never been a fan of crowds, but that seems to have doubled since I’d come back. Avoiding people had become somewhat of a day job for me now. I didn’t trust anyone. The only one who came even remotely close to something similar to trust was Faith.
Faith, whom I’d not seen in maybe a week, possibly longer. She’d been running around doing god only knows what. I know she’d been busy trying to contact Buffy about something. I doubt it was because of me, since I still had this strong feeling that in the grand scheme of thing I wasn’t important. It didn’t make sense.
God only…well, the devil in this case… The devil only knows why I was brought back. Failed man, failed watcher and failed just about anything. Not only did I fail myself and everything I had tried to do, I’d failed numerous others during the journey. And then I even died failing to accomplish the task I’d been given. Why would they bring me back of all people? Why not the champions, why not Fred, why not… It made no sense.
I needed a drink because those thoughts kept spooking through my head. Why, why and why. For some reason I cannot fathom they had locked all the liquor away in the safe house after I’d gotten my hands on it that one time. Could’ve been Faith’s order, could’ve something to do with my finding my way into the weapons arsenal. I didn’t care, I’d find somewhere else to get my fill. The pub was the most logical place. I had found one, remote, dark, obscure, where you could sink into the shadows and not be bothered all night. Just my kind of place.
I had no idea what was going on around me, no idea if there was any news of…something big going on. I found I didn’t care. My fight had been over a long time ago, I was tired of it. Tired of fighting the good fight. Personally, I didn’t think it was getting us anywhere, only buying us time. Though time for what was anyone’s guess.
Sitting around in the rain however, wasn’t as I found out, very fruitful. I’d been mauled, tortured, blown up, shot, had my throat slit, died and gone to hell. If they think a mere cold would get to me, they had another thing coming. Still it was annoying, but it did give me a good excuse to drink.
I mean, it’s the best cure’s for colds, or so rumor has it.
So instead of walking around in the rain being depressed, I sat in that pub and sipped my whiskey while being depressed. At least I was dry, and warm and…staying out of trouble for as much as I could. If anything important would or had happened, I was sure someone would inform me. And if not… I *really* didn’t care.
[Open for Dian]