(no subject)

[sunnydalealum]

Historically, as a rule, the funeral of a Slayer has been a quiet affair. On occasion there have been families to make the arrangements, but most of the time, the parents and (if any) siblings have long since lost all contact with their daughter, whether deliberately or not. The Council has always seen to it that the Slayer is given a decent burial: a hardwood box, and six feet of consecrated ground, and someone to say the words, and the Watcher as sole mourner.

This, like so many other things since the Call, has changed.



It's the first time they're all back together again in over a year, the women who came to Sunnydale as Potentials and fought the First Evil there as Slayers. Caridad and Chao-Ahn, Rona and Vi and Shannon, half a dozen others. Many of them died in the battle at the Hellmouth ... but Kennedy is the first of them to have died since then.

So they're here, and so are newer Slayers who had Kennedy as their first combat instructor, and field Slayers who had her as their team leader. And so are at least one ex-lover, and at least one current one. About four-fifths of the Slayers are in somber black; the rest are in equally somber white.

Kennedy's parents and her half-sister are here somewhere too, in the crowd. Buffy and Giles are talking to them.

Soon someone's going to stand up front and start the memorial service.

Comments

[milkbonesoldier.livejournal.com]

Wells is silent as he makes his way into the room. He thought about it for a while and opted against his black suit for this; he looks like a gangster in that thing at best, and Father at worst. No, for this he's got his old uniform out instead and added a black arm-band to it. He reckons that's as appropriate as it's going to get.

[there-is-a-me.livejournal.com]

Today is not a day to be as different as possible. Spoon's got his braids out, and his hair pulled back and pinned tightly. After a while, a long while, he went with his instincts and pulled out the uniform.

He's the beta. He follows.

[sunnydalealum]

Willow's standing not far from the door.

Her dress is black and unadorned, and it's not just the dark fabric that makes her look pale.

[milkbonesoldier.livejournal.com]

Wells hasn't met her before, but he's seen her about often enough. Silently, he starts heading her way; if it turns out he's wrong and he's not supposed to know her, well, it's not as if being by the door is unusual or anything.

[there-is-a-me.livejournal.com]

Spoon doesn't move back with Wells, the last thing anyone needs right now is to feel like the werewolves are ganging up on them. He's just standing, uncomfortably, where he was left and watching passersby.

He has handkerchiefs folded into every pocket that he has.

[sunnydalealum]

She glances at him, and there's a moment's pause before recognition comes into her face.

"You're Harry Wells, right? Andrew's cousin."

Beat.

"Hi."

[milkbonesoldier.livejournal.com]

"Yeah," says Wells quietly, "yeah, I am. Hallo, miss."

[there-is-a-me.livejournal.com]

Spoon stands, awkwardly, where he was left. He's not good at this kind of thing.

He's really not good at this kind of thing.

[sunnydalealum]

There are still people filing in; the room's not full yet.

Jordie and Tricia, both in sober black, have just come in.

[there-is-a-me.livejournal.com]

Spoon raises his hand when he smells them, offering the empty spaces next to him. If they want.

He's also got handkerchiefs. Lots of them.

[sunnydalealum]

They move into the offered seats, with a murmur of thanks.

Tricia's got a handkerchief of her own; her hands are twisting it in her lap, and her eyes are on it.

[there-is-a-me.livejournal.com]

Spoon moves enough to offer her a squeeze of his shoulder, and some kind of encouraging noise.

He doesn't know either. This is all just wrong.

[sunnydalealum]

Jordie glances at him through her hair.

Her voice is very soft, and a little worried. "Are you okay?"

[faithful-slayer.livejournal.com]

Somebody's not supposed to be here.

Somebody's supposed to still be in bed, resting from, you know, getting stabbed.

Somebody really doesn't care what other people say she's supposed to be doing.

[there-is-a-me.livejournal.com]

Somebody is getting a handkerchief held out, silently, and a disapproving look. But only a mild one, because...yeah. His face is still healing and he's here anyway.

[faithful-slayer.livejournal.com]

Faith accepts the handkerchief, with some confusion.

".....am I crying and just don't know it?"

It seems unlikely, but she can't imagine why else he's giving her a handkerchief.

[there-is-a-me.livejournal.com]

"D' you really think that we're going to make it through this without someone crying?" Spoon asks in turn, "Got handkerchiefs in every pocket. If you don't need it, you can pass it along."

[faithful-slayer.livejournal.com]

"Point taken."

Faith keeps the handkerchief. Just in case.

"Thanks."

[there-is-a-me.livejournal.com]

"Welcome." Spoon says, and avoids leaning on her. He's there, though. To be leaned on. If, you know. She should want to give him comfort. Or take some. Whatever.

Spoon does not do good in this kind of stressful situation. He's not killing anything. There is nothing to kill. Killing is wrong, here.

You hear no faint and confused whining.

[stilljustandrew]

Aren't you supposed to be convalescing?

*It's an Andrew, studying her pensively.*

[faithful-slayer.livejournal.com]

"Wheelchair," Faith points out.

It's a fairly big concession for her.

[stilljustandrew]

Seriously.

*He takes a chair nearby and sits on the edge of it, leaning forward.*

You doing okay? I mean, aside from the aftereffects of near-disembowelment?

[faithful-slayer.livejournal.com]

Faith shrugs.

"I guess. Okay as anybody would be. I mean, we weren't ever gonna be close friends, but....mostly I'm pissed."

[stilljustandrew]

*He nods.* I hear that.

We hurt them, you know. The raid. We hit them hard enough that they'll still be feeling it in a month.

[sunnydalealum]

The memorial service is short, and quiet. Rupert Giles speaks. Buffy Summers speaks.

Six Slayers, including Tricia and Jordie, carry the coffin to the waiting grave, with its plain headstone reading:

KENNEDY LYNN GRAY
1983 - 2005




A hardwood box, and six feet of consecrated ground, and someone to say the words.

In the end that's all a funeral ever is.