“Nope, no shitting.”
Digits twitched and dug into the ground beneath her; was she talking to herself out loud again? And in a different voice? No no, she already determined she was crazy enough as is—no need to put more emphasis on that fact and start diagnosing herself with all sorts of mental illnesses. But she had already clarified that there wasn’t anyone else in the eerie graveyard, unless her eyes deceived her and she just happened to miss the only person near her. Which wouldn’t be a first, given that her ability to think about or notice the people around her wasn’t exactly one of her award-winning talents.
“It’s all real- no imagination needed.”
Blue hues shot up at the hand that seemed to come out of nowhere, raising her hand to accept the form of help before she grimaced at the dirt on it. With a quick wipe to one of her favorite pair of jeans, and much to her dissatisfaction, she got whatever residue off and took the help with a smile of her own in return. Once up, she dusted herself off; a good wash could easily solve the mess, so no need to get her panties in a bunch over it. As long as there wasn’t a tear, which she diligently checked for, she was good.
“I’m sorry about that, I was chasing… My uh, friend.”
In a graveyard? The brunette sure did have a strange friend. She’d heard of parties being thrown at graveyards before, but playing catch? And at this hour? Well, she couldn’t exactly judge. Last she checked, she was in the same situation; except she’d lost track of where she was going and winded up there. But same enough, right? And it’s not like the stranger had to know she got lost. That’d be a pretty dumb way to start a conversation. A blonde not knowing where she was would be quite the joke, but she wasn’t ready to tell it.
”Bea, was it? Don’t worry about it darlin’! I’ve had worse happen.”
She’d seen plenty of rudeness throughout the years and a lack of introduction certainly wasn’t at the top of the list. And the more polite the brunette came off, the less she worried about what a mess she probably looked like. Hair tossed about and ass covered in dirt, but the other’s hand was delightfully received with her own and a few shakes. Smile kept in place as she laughed, letting go of the other’s hand as to not shake for too long. She’d been on the receiving end of one taking up too much time and it never set across the right message.
”My name’s Francesca, but I’m a much bigger fan of bein’ called Fran.”
Her introduction cut short when she looked around, trying to pin down a sighting of the friend Bea was looking for. Their collision course probably ruined it all, and the guilt started sinking in at the thought.
”Listen, I’d hate to be responsible for you losin’ sight of your friend so…”
She canted her head in the direction Bea herself appeared to be looking, hoping that following her eyesight would lead them to the vanished individual.
”If you want, I’ll help you look for ‘im.”
As she helped the blonde up, the thought occurred to Buffy that she seemed a little confused. But she shoved it aside, nobody got lost in a graveyard. She had to have some sort of reason to be there, which Buffy’d hopefully be able to find out. She did have a way of getting information out of people without much coaxing, she’d always chocked it up to her face. People just seemed to trust her for some reason or another, which she never really questioned to hard because it always worked out well for her. The blonde got up and dusted herself off just fine. Good, she wasn’t hurt. Even though she wasn’t actually Buffy right now, she knew she couldn’t afford to go around hurting innocent bystanders. Nope, slayers weren’t about that.
And she could tell this girl was one of these so called innocent bystanders, or she looked to be. Her mannerisms were graceful yet obviously human. And her accent was… Well it was certainly different. Something Southern she could tell. If anything, the name Fran sold her as being southern. Maybe she was from out of state, didn’t know about slayers. But something told Buffy she ought to play it cool, what if she was some sort of government spy out to find slayers that’d gone unregistered? Or what if Buffy was just paranoid? She couldn’t tell these days and thought it better to be safe than sorry. She’d play along, keep the girl close. Hopefully she’d be able to find out what she was up to.
“Yeah, my friend. I wasn’t like being weird or anything.” Right. She was chasing a friend. A weird scaly demony type friend. "Funny thing is, my friends actually a dog.“ She’d buy that right? "I was chasing my dog. I know I said friend, but the thing is…” Oh wow was her foot ever in her mouth. Buffy felt herself digging her own grave here with the nonsense she was spewing. "She’s my only friend. I’m the very lonely type.“ Maybe that’d save it. She was just a lonely girl chasing her only friend/pet dog through the cemetery. She hoped it was buyable.
"Anyways Fran, I think I’ll be taking up on your offer of helping." She knew hope of finding the demon again last night was long gone, but she needed to get them out of the cemetery. Getting seen in a graveyard wasn’t good for any young and impressionable lady’s opinion. She took quick steps ahead, her usual walking speed of super fast. It took her a moment to realize that her footfalls were sounding farther and farther away from Fran’s. She stopped and walked back to her, grabbing the blonde’s arm and pulling her away. "I’m getting creeped out!” she said in a way that was hopefully damsel in distress like.
This Is A Test 