23rd Fairy Tale § Voice/Action
[This wasn't the first time she'd fallen asleep in her studio. Even before Geordie had arrived, there'd been nights where she'd been so caught up in her work that walking back to Seven had seemed more effort than it was worth. Or those nights when, after Drusilla had shown up, Jilly had stayed to give Buffy peace of mind that she wasn't wandering the streets with a sign saying "Bite Me." But falling asleep here usually meant the couch and the spare pair of PJs she kept in the closet of what had been her old room.
It didn't mean lying fully clothed, cozily tucked under the covers in Geordie's bed.
Confused, she levered herself up into a sitting position and felt everything protest. A lingering headache pounded faintly in her temples, and her muscles were sore from days of sleeping. But worse were the bits and pieces that began to come back as she tried to think of how she'd ended up here.
She remembered Geordie coming back with his groceries. She remembered Amelia. She'd-
Oh God. She'd hit her. She'd hit Amelia, just like she'd hit Angel all those years ago. And even if she couldn't understand it now, she could still remember that desperate need to go back to painting. It had seemed so justified.
She's almost afraid to call out. It might be easier if the apartment was empty and she could just slink back to House Seven and sort it out there. But, easier or not, she wasn't one to hide. So, after a bit of hesitation, she cleared her throat and managed to call out] Geordie?
...Is anyone here?
[Over the journals, later in the afternoon]
[it's a more sober and--ironically--tired Jilly who actually addresses the journals, but she manages a smile.
Saying "I'm back" didn't really seem like enough. And saying "I'm sorry," definitely didn't...so she settles for something else entirely]
Does anyone have any suggestions for hobbies?
...I think I need to take a break from art, for awhile.
It didn't mean lying fully clothed, cozily tucked under the covers in Geordie's bed.
Confused, she levered herself up into a sitting position and felt everything protest. A lingering headache pounded faintly in her temples, and her muscles were sore from days of sleeping. But worse were the bits and pieces that began to come back as she tried to think of how she'd ended up here.
She remembered Geordie coming back with his groceries. She remembered Amelia. She'd-
Oh God. She'd hit her. She'd hit Amelia, just like she'd hit Angel all those years ago. And even if she couldn't understand it now, she could still remember that desperate need to go back to painting. It had seemed so justified.
She's almost afraid to call out. It might be easier if the apartment was empty and she could just slink back to House Seven and sort it out there. But, easier or not, she wasn't one to hide. So, after a bit of hesitation, she cleared her throat and managed to call out] Geordie?
...Is anyone here?
[Over the journals, later in the afternoon]
[it's a more sober and--ironically--tired Jilly who actually addresses the journals, but she manages a smile.
Saying "I'm back" didn't really seem like enough. And saying "I'm sorry," definitely didn't...so she settles for something else entirely]
Does anyone have any suggestions for hobbies?
...I think I need to take a break from art, for awhile.