all_inclusive | OPEN | did you fall from a shooting star ; one without a permanent scar

It's been awhile since Dawn has been in the hotel. She's been home, living her life, growing up. She's had two birthdays since she was last here. She's fought a few big bad's and helped save the world at least two more times. That's the thing with apocalypses in her world, they always come in the plural rather than the singular. One ends and another begins. And you can never quite see them coming until you're smack dab in the middle of one. Sometimes evil is stealthy like that.

Thwarting the destruction of the world is what got her lost in an alternate dimension in the first place. Then, as she used her key power to punch her way between worlds, she unlocked the door to the hotel and can't seem to step back out of it.

Of course, her first order of business is to check for Buffy. Some things never change. Her attachment to her sister is one of those things. No matter how old she is, no matter how many years of college she completes, she'll always be Buffy's little sister. She's accepted that. She's grown to love that. Which is why she's sad to find that Buffy isn't here anymore. She remembers her time here from before. Buffy had been here then. Now Dawn's alone.

After a quick shower and change of clothes in the room that she used to share with her sister, she makes her way downstairs to the cafe to grab some food (she's starving, okay?) and then to the library where she used to work beforehand because books make almost all things better. Maybe she can get her job back. She does get her job back. Then she checks out a book.

She makes her way out into the gardens and sits in the grass. She opens her book and gets lost in another world.

Occasionally, one might find her concentrating very, very hard, trying to get her key power to work, trying to see a thinning of the veils between dimensions and punch her way through it. There are no portals here, not that she can see, not like what she could see in the other hell-ish dimensions. She's as stuck as anyone.

Yeah, reading is good.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

It's such a simple thing for Porthos to say, really. Those words aren't so simple to Dawn though. They carry with them a heaviness that's very near a tangible thing that she could reach out and touch if she wanted to. She's not alone with Porthos here. She knows Porthos. Porthos is safe. And she has a feeling that if she were to get into trouble as she so often does, Porthos wouldn't mind helping her out of it.

It's not like having her sister here. It's a very good substitute for it though. Porthos looks like he could fight any big bads who came their way. That, and he's nice to her.

"Without my sister here, I'm pretty sure there couldn't be better company to have." She tells him with a small smile. "And I promise not to make you braid my hair or anything... I mean, if you don't mind sticking around."

"What's wrong with braids?" Porthos asks with a frown. That's the way he most often holds his hair back, when it is too long. It's not like you can do much else with hair like his.

"Nothing! I mean, they're kind of great. I just didn't think you'd want... I mean... you're..." A big strong dude who could squash most people with his pinky finger and why would a guy like that wanna braid hair? No, she isn't going to say that out loud.

Dawn exhales a quick breath of a sigh. "You know what they say about people who assume things. I'll just be sure to call you when I want someone to mess with my hair. I mean, it feels good, right? Who messes with your hair for you?"

'Mess with'. It isn't a way to talk about braiding hair that he is familiar with, but he's so rarely familiar with anything Mademoiselle Dawn says. "I braid it myself," he answers, still frowning in confusion.

"I could braid it. I'm really good at braids, even with short hair." She doesn't mind bragging a bit. She basically knows every braid there is. Thanks YouTube.

Dawn smiles at Porthos. "Plus it feels good to have someone else do your hair, like... really good. Sometimes I would make my sister comb her fingers through my hair just cause it feels like some kind of heaven. You know?"

"I... suppose," Porthos answers uncertainly. It's been a very, very long time since anyone has touched his hair but lovers, and that thought is wholly inappropriate when it comes to mademoiselle Dawn. "But I can braid it myself, thank you," he finishes with a friendly smile and a decisive nod.

Oh. Did Dawn just make it awkward? Sometimes she does that without realizing she's doing it. Of course, Dawn is kind of an awkward individual so it comes naturally to her. Sometimes she can skate by on the naturalness of it. Sometimes, not so much.

"No problem!" She says, her voice just a hint higher pitched than it was before.

Thankfully, when she speaks again, it's back to it's normal timber. "Do you still have your friends here? The other Musketeers? Like you did before?"

"Athos is here," Porthos nods, "but I've not seen d'Artagnan again." Or Constance, for that matter, and yes, he is purposefully not mentioning Aramis.

OPEN | did you fall from a shooting star ; one without a permanent scar

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