Faith Lehane (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
slayerskiss) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
deercountry2022-05-11 07:22 am
slayerskiss) wrote in deercountry2022-05-11 07:22 am
my teeth will only cut your lips, my dear | open-log
Who: Faith Lehane & You!
What: Faith has mommy issues, turns into a succubus, gets a bit violent and then also hungry and horny.
When: May!
Where: Around!
Content Warnings: Grief, references to death of a family member, childhood neglect and abuse, alcoholism, hypersexuality, possible nsfw, monsterfucking, pseudo cannibalism.
I. MAMA, WE ALL GO TO HELL.
(May 8th.)
[It's mother's day, three o'clock in the morning, and Faith is at the cemetary. Which really just goes to show the miserable bitterness that wells up inside her every single time this day comes around. It's been... two years now. No, three. This bitterness doesn't stop welling up in her chest.
Her presence in the cemetary is likely only noticed due to the fact that she put a bullet through the head of an undead spectre that crawled its way out from the guard. It was a magic bullet. Works like a charm. There's a satisfied hum coming from her. If anyone else is here, she tries not to notice. She walks her way to the furthest corner of the graveyard and clears a spot in the dirt. She reaches into her coat and pulls out a bottle of vodka, shakes it up a bit and drops it in the clearing.]
Nightwalker said it'd help to pretend I was talking to you. For some reason. So I gave you your favourite to represent you. You're welcome. Not sure they even have booze in hell. You must be hating it.
You remember when I was eight? That was a year after you came and picked me up from your asshole relatives. This time, that year, it was mother's day. Your first and my first, and I guess I was excited 'cuz I'd never had a mom before, and I kept telling Alex, or Malice, whatever you wanna call her now. I kept telling her you were coming back for me, and I guess I stopped believing it was true until you actually did.
The day comes, and the night before you binge drank and got super wasted and got in a fight with our "roommate" at the time, who left the next morning never to be seen again. So you're hungover, miserable, ashamed, and really not feelin' it, right? But I wanna take you to ice cream, 'cuz I'd saved up enough money for it from stealing shit from the other kids at school. I only had like five bucks, but I figured that'd be enough for the both of us. Not like grandma ever took me.
You're hungover, and hating it, and hating that I'm making you do this, and hating me for bothering you when you really just wanna lay in a corner and die. But at that point, you still pretended. So I asked you how yours was, that you had to pay for because it turned out five bucks was only enough for mine. [She pauses, glancing upwards.] No, that's right. I paid for yours, you got one scoop, you paid for mine, I got three. God.
Anyway. I ask you how it is. And you smile. And you tell me it's lovely. And you thank me, and tell me you love me. [Her voice falters here and something bubbles up in her eyes and she realizes she's crying, just a little. Well, maybe more than a little.] So when I try to remember all the good moments we had, before you... before you fucking died. Why is it that it's just that that I remember? That one bitter memory where I don't even know if you were lying.
Did you even tell me you loved me? Or did I just imagine that like I imagined having a friend? [Faith wipes her eyes, smudging her makeup a bit. She lets out a sigh, shuddering. It's cold.] Anyway. That was my eulogy for the funeral you never had, mom.
Enjoy the vodka, mom. [She stands up, rolling the bottle over with her foot for a bit, before stomping it and shattering the glass into the dirt, leaving the ground wet with running liquid.] You always loved it more than you loved me.
That didn't help at all.[And with that, she turns away from the makeshift grave and walks away, staring at the ground. If anyone was listening, she'll glare briefly but do nothing else herself, not unless prompted.]
II. SHE WILL ALWAYS BE A BROKEN GIRL.
(May 10th.)
[Come the morning and Faith is... changed. She only notices when getting out from her sleeping position, which is less a bed (too comfortable) and more well, the couch. She gets up and almost immediately, her wings start getting caught on the cushions.
She finds a mirror, and comes face to face with the sight of what she's become. A succubus, with hair that's even longer and thinner, sharp teeth like a thousand knives in her maw, a forked tongue that extends frankly a bit uncomfortably long, and a long tail that coils up to her chin, moving like another arm.
And wings. Leathery bat wings. There's a lot of ways she can react to this. And she definitely does a lot of freaking out in the privacy of her own house, but by the time it's her favoured time of day, aka night, she tends to be less ashamed.
She can be spotted flying across Trench, and might drop on a rooftop near you and grin down at you. She is, notably, still not wearing much in the way of clothes. You try finding something that fits three new limbs. And there's an aura around her that attracts the attention of people around her, whether that's just because she's hot remains to be seen, but regardless she's hard to miss.
Or, later at night she'll be seen around the clubs, dancing and partying and flirting with just about anyone. At this stage, the demonic appearance is... lessened. Her face could pass for human, if it weren't for the horns. She wants to be wanted, to be craved. She's addicted to the sensation. She doesn't cover the monster, not much, just... well. She might as well be pretty.
Or alternatively, she might be at Sapphora. A bit more thoughtful, her tail flickers nervously as she stares at the staircase leading to the higher floors, sipping at her drink with a nervous chatter to her teeth. This physical form is still... confusing. She's not sure where exactly she got a glass of darkblood, but she's not exactly complaining. It's... delicious. Is this what it was like for all the vampires she killed? She feels bolder, stronger.
But still too weak to go upstairs and acknowledge the elephant in the room.]
III. TONGUES & TEETH
(May 15th.)
[She's back to normal for now, and one night she goes on a trip into the Trenchwood. She's itching, all over her body, it's like a siren call to anger, to violence, to the hunt. She disappears off the path at some point, but you might hear the faint cackle of her laughter.
If someone were to go and investigate, they'd find her standing over a beast. An ugly thing with long limbs and milky white skin and needle-like fingers, human looking, with a pinched up wrinkled face, all growls and hisses and whines. It still begs. It still pleads. Or maybe that's just what she's looking for.
There's a person in there, or there was once, and Faith is a Slayer. There's people in vampires, people who could be saved, people who were victims once. Faith is a Slayer. She's not a healer.
She's born for the kill. So she settles for grabbing the beast by the throat and hauling it up to her level, and she tosses her axe aside. There's something wild and feral in her tonight, and she just won't stop fucking itching. Maybe she just needs her fix.
That's what the rational part of her brain is telling her as her teeth sharpen into fangs and she drinks her fill from the beast's neck. She doesn't know that she's been spotted.]
IV. DAY TO DAY
(May. Wildcard option.)
[For the rest of the month, Faith does her job. She tends to patrol, even when the beasts are weaker. And she can be spotted in the middle of the night, with a crossbow in hand walking down the street or through the graveyard or through the woods or even on the beach. Sometimes she takes a minute to throw rocks and skid them along the surface of the water.
Sometimes she'll stop in bars and sit in a booth on her own, order something and enjoy whatever entertainments on. She's not as aggressively extraverted as she might be when she's partying, but if anyone wants to talk to her, they're free to.
And maybe once or twice, she'll engage in an underground fight, bet gems on it, and beat the living shit out of her opponent. Whether you come to her impressed at her ability, mildly outraged she didn't hold back a little, or even to offer a round in the ring, she'll be around.]
What: Faith has mommy issues, turns into a succubus, gets a bit violent and then also hungry and horny.
When: May!
Where: Around!
Content Warnings: Grief, references to death of a family member, childhood neglect and abuse, alcoholism, hypersexuality, possible nsfw, monsterfucking, pseudo cannibalism.
I. MAMA, WE ALL GO TO HELL.
(May 8th.)
[It's mother's day, three o'clock in the morning, and Faith is at the cemetary. Which really just goes to show the miserable bitterness that wells up inside her every single time this day comes around. It's been... two years now. No, three. This bitterness doesn't stop welling up in her chest.
Her presence in the cemetary is likely only noticed due to the fact that she put a bullet through the head of an undead spectre that crawled its way out from the guard. It was a magic bullet. Works like a charm. There's a satisfied hum coming from her. If anyone else is here, she tries not to notice. She walks her way to the furthest corner of the graveyard and clears a spot in the dirt. She reaches into her coat and pulls out a bottle of vodka, shakes it up a bit and drops it in the clearing.]
Nightwalker said it'd help to pretend I was talking to you. For some reason. So I gave you your favourite to represent you. You're welcome. Not sure they even have booze in hell. You must be hating it.
You remember when I was eight? That was a year after you came and picked me up from your asshole relatives. This time, that year, it was mother's day. Your first and my first, and I guess I was excited 'cuz I'd never had a mom before, and I kept telling Alex, or Malice, whatever you wanna call her now. I kept telling her you were coming back for me, and I guess I stopped believing it was true until you actually did.
The day comes, and the night before you binge drank and got super wasted and got in a fight with our "roommate" at the time, who left the next morning never to be seen again. So you're hungover, miserable, ashamed, and really not feelin' it, right? But I wanna take you to ice cream, 'cuz I'd saved up enough money for it from stealing shit from the other kids at school. I only had like five bucks, but I figured that'd be enough for the both of us. Not like grandma ever took me.
You're hungover, and hating it, and hating that I'm making you do this, and hating me for bothering you when you really just wanna lay in a corner and die. But at that point, you still pretended. So I asked you how yours was, that you had to pay for because it turned out five bucks was only enough for mine. [She pauses, glancing upwards.] No, that's right. I paid for yours, you got one scoop, you paid for mine, I got three. God.
Anyway. I ask you how it is. And you smile. And you tell me it's lovely. And you thank me, and tell me you love me. [Her voice falters here and something bubbles up in her eyes and she realizes she's crying, just a little. Well, maybe more than a little.] So when I try to remember all the good moments we had, before you... before you fucking died. Why is it that it's just that that I remember? That one bitter memory where I don't even know if you were lying.
Did you even tell me you loved me? Or did I just imagine that like I imagined having a friend? [Faith wipes her eyes, smudging her makeup a bit. She lets out a sigh, shuddering. It's cold.] Anyway. That was my eulogy for the funeral you never had, mom.
Enjoy the vodka, mom. [She stands up, rolling the bottle over with her foot for a bit, before stomping it and shattering the glass into the dirt, leaving the ground wet with running liquid.] You always loved it more than you loved me.
That didn't help at all.[And with that, she turns away from the makeshift grave and walks away, staring at the ground. If anyone was listening, she'll glare briefly but do nothing else herself, not unless prompted.]
II. SHE WILL ALWAYS BE A BROKEN GIRL.
(May 10th.)
[Come the morning and Faith is... changed. She only notices when getting out from her sleeping position, which is less a bed (too comfortable) and more well, the couch. She gets up and almost immediately, her wings start getting caught on the cushions.
She finds a mirror, and comes face to face with the sight of what she's become. A succubus, with hair that's even longer and thinner, sharp teeth like a thousand knives in her maw, a forked tongue that extends frankly a bit uncomfortably long, and a long tail that coils up to her chin, moving like another arm.
And wings. Leathery bat wings. There's a lot of ways she can react to this. And she definitely does a lot of freaking out in the privacy of her own house, but by the time it's her favoured time of day, aka night, she tends to be less ashamed.
She can be spotted flying across Trench, and might drop on a rooftop near you and grin down at you. She is, notably, still not wearing much in the way of clothes. You try finding something that fits three new limbs. And there's an aura around her that attracts the attention of people around her, whether that's just because she's hot remains to be seen, but regardless she's hard to miss.
Or, later at night she'll be seen around the clubs, dancing and partying and flirting with just about anyone. At this stage, the demonic appearance is... lessened. Her face could pass for human, if it weren't for the horns. She wants to be wanted, to be craved. She's addicted to the sensation. She doesn't cover the monster, not much, just... well. She might as well be pretty.
Or alternatively, she might be at Sapphora. A bit more thoughtful, her tail flickers nervously as she stares at the staircase leading to the higher floors, sipping at her drink with a nervous chatter to her teeth. This physical form is still... confusing. She's not sure where exactly she got a glass of darkblood, but she's not exactly complaining. It's... delicious. Is this what it was like for all the vampires she killed? She feels bolder, stronger.
But still too weak to go upstairs and acknowledge the elephant in the room.]
III. TONGUES & TEETH
(May 15th.)
[She's back to normal for now, and one night she goes on a trip into the Trenchwood. She's itching, all over her body, it's like a siren call to anger, to violence, to the hunt. She disappears off the path at some point, but you might hear the faint cackle of her laughter.
If someone were to go and investigate, they'd find her standing over a beast. An ugly thing with long limbs and milky white skin and needle-like fingers, human looking, with a pinched up wrinkled face, all growls and hisses and whines. It still begs. It still pleads. Or maybe that's just what she's looking for.
There's a person in there, or there was once, and Faith is a Slayer. There's people in vampires, people who could be saved, people who were victims once. Faith is a Slayer. She's not a healer.
She's born for the kill. So she settles for grabbing the beast by the throat and hauling it up to her level, and she tosses her axe aside. There's something wild and feral in her tonight, and she just won't stop fucking itching. Maybe she just needs her fix.
That's what the rational part of her brain is telling her as her teeth sharpen into fangs and she drinks her fill from the beast's neck. She doesn't know that she's been spotted.]
IV. DAY TO DAY
(May. Wildcard option.)
[For the rest of the month, Faith does her job. She tends to patrol, even when the beasts are weaker. And she can be spotted in the middle of the night, with a crossbow in hand walking down the street or through the graveyard or through the woods or even on the beach. Sometimes she takes a minute to throw rocks and skid them along the surface of the water.
Sometimes she'll stop in bars and sit in a booth on her own, order something and enjoy whatever entertainments on. She's not as aggressively extraverted as she might be when she's partying, but if anyone wants to talk to her, they're free to.
And maybe once or twice, she'll engage in an underground fight, bet gems on it, and beat the living shit out of her opponent. Whether you come to her impressed at her ability, mildly outraged she didn't hold back a little, or even to offer a round in the ring, she'll be around.]
no subject
He'd grumble about using such a silly young people word for it, I think. But we are together, yes.
[This isn't the real reason Qrow hasn't wanted to give what they have a label, but Break isn't about to go nattering at people about the truth of it. But, Qrow has grown comfortable enough to tease him over the network about it in a totally transparent public anonymous post, so Break sees no reason to deny such a direct question. The Clockhouse kids have been half convinced they were together about thirty seconds after they met anyway.]
And, if I'm not mistaken, you're one of the young ladies who had him all in a tizzy about vampires this past January.
no subject
[She huffs a laugh, at both statements really. She hasn't been called a "young lady" since...
Well.
The Mayor. Actually that's less funny. Still her slight smile doesn't drop and she nods.]
Faith, the vampire slayer. Nice to meet you. [She's not sure what his opinion on all that is, but she's not eagre to repeat the argument anyway.] I think we're cool now. Cooler, anyway. We bonded. Me and Qrow, I mean, not sure if Ozpin holds a grudge or not. I figure if I asked he'd just give some deflective non-answer, anyway.
no subject
[...and generally the way to do it is to have some sort of tragic backstory that resonates hard against Qrow's scars, so Break makes a mental note that Faith is likely to be one such kid. Given the whole "drinking in a graveyard in the gremlin hours" business, that's not a surprise, either. Break will not be the one to bring it up. The almost sacred nature of his own secrets has made him courteous of other people's. He'll simply check in with Qrow later to confirm whether this girl is on the list of kids they quietly look after, these days.]
Mister Ozpin does seem to stick with variations on a theme of "it's fine", doesn't he? More importantly..."slayer" is an awfully grand word, isn't it? I suppose you must come from one of those worlds that likes to force kids to handle its nastiest problems.
cw for flippant talk about ephebophilia
She smiles slightly, only a little bitter at the summary of Ozpin's general modus operandi. Because yeah. He sure does that. The expression, rather tellingly, doesn't change at all as he continues. It's a similar matter of feeling used by people who think they know better than you.
She shrugs, though, like it doesn't bother her.]
By the time I became the Slayer, I was seventeen, nearly eighteen. Can't say I felt any more forced to play the role than I was beforehand. [Everyone always expects her to weep at the burden, but she was so hungry for the power that came with bearing it. If the world revolved around her simply for it to crush her over and over at least she'd be important. But she never got that.] But yeah. There's a council of shady british assholes who think of us as chess pieces they move around, and they love making teenage girls fight their battles. Probably get off on it, to be honest.
no subject
He keeps this to himself and simply makes a horrid face about it. It's an open secret at this point that Break is so often struck by such gross and goopy feelings. But that does not mean he enjoys it, and the vibe he is getting from Faith is that she would helpfully shank him if she knew he was having this problem.
Whether or not that is true, Break decides he likes this vibe.]
That seems to be a common theme in people's backstories around here, I notice. [He does not bother to deny her judgement on the matter. Quite frankly she is probably not wrong.] I imagine yours also comes with some poppycock rule about being the only one who can do what you can do?
[The Slayer, she'd said.]
no subject
Except she wasn't the only one. She was the spare. She's the exception to the rule, where she was supposed to have a destiny instead she was relegated to the sidelines of the real Slayer's life.]
That's the rule, yep. [She shrugs.] I'm the exception. There were two of us when I was called. Nobody really gave enough of a shit about me to burden me like that.
no subject
...well. In this silly little hellhole where at least you haven't any old men ordering you about, do let me know if you ever are in want of someone who gives enough of a shit to tag along on your adventures in this area. I may not carry a ridiculous scythe with a shotgun in it, but I can keep up.
[He is aware that he does not look like a professional swordsman long trained in fighting monsters who is now actively dabbling in darkblood nonsense, and he caught that flat look from her earlier.]
no subject
She'd have chafed under the role, even she's aware of that, but she still feels robbed that Buffy got to be the center of the universe and Faith was left alone in a motel room with a dead mom, a dead watcher, a deadbeat father, and the motel's manager's rotting corpse buried in the backyard after they killed him to get to her. (That was good fortune, though. He was an awful creep.)
She still had to give her life and die young. They still expected it of her. But they didn't lift a finger for her sake. Not until she made them afraid.]
Don't worry, I don't need a scythe either. I normally just stick with my dagger.
[Still, she would be a bit worried about him being able to keep pace with her.] If I'm in the area, sure. You a hunter?
Feel free to drop this, it got lost in my old-as-balls backtag pile
[Coworkers. Eyugh. Gross. Yucky. That so many of the Hunters seem to act alone and get away with it is nice, but that doesn't get you out of having bosses and paperwork and respecting other people's stomping grounds and whatever else.]
At home, however, I was something similar. And, I've kept my hand in since I arrived. It's only sensible around here, you know?