: A Long Shot Chance at Leather PantsSeries Title
: Looks good in those leather trousers, if I say so.Disclaimer
: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
does not belong to me. Nor does Bring It On
: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
/Bring It OnIn Canon
: Season Eight 'The Chain'/Post-FilmCharacters/Pairings
: Missy Pantone, Rona, Robin WoodWord Count
: ~500Author's Notes
: Inspired by the decoy!Buffy in 'The Chain'.Summary
: Be Strong! Faint not-fight on! It's with a laugh that you tell him the bite scar was a fashionably late decision.
Some of the posters say 'I Want You', some of them say 'You Are Chosen', a few say 'How Did You Fight and Why?', many say 'You Are The Difference'.
The one on Mr Wood's office door says 'Be Strong!' It has a subtitle, like a motivational poster except in silver Sharpie, that says, 'Faint not - fight on!'
You tell the receptionist who you are and why you're there. She asks about your paperwork and you hand it over.
"Are you certain about your height based on the Council measures?"
You say that, yes, you are Faith-feet tall.
"Are you certain about your proportions?"
You say yes, you are Faith-bust, Faith-waist and Faith-hips.
"Is that you're natural hair colour?"
You say yes.
"Off the record, you look...just like her. If you were a few years older, I'd think you were twins."
Before you can say anything, the intercom buzzes. "Rona, is th--"
It cuts off as the woman, Rona, presses a button. "She's here, boss. Send her in?"
"Yes, please," is the answer, in what you think is a New York accent.
Rona jerks her head toward the poster. "Mr Wood will see you."
You nod and take your paperwork back as she holds it out. You say thank you and her eyes look uncertain.
Trying not to think about it, you head toward the poster and you grip the handle on the door a little too long.
You swing the door open only enough to slip inside; you think this is an inner sanctum, a secret to be held.
The office is small and cramped with a desk, shelves after shelves of books and two weapon cases. Mr Wood is at the desk, engrossed in something on the screen of his computer. "I'm Robin Wood, Head of Operations here in the United States. Nice to meet you, Ms Pa--"
He's looking at you, jaw slack. "Faith?"
You shake your head, say your name, say he was expecting you. You wonder if his confusion means you have the job.
"You look exactly like her," he says to you, standing. "I mean, exactly."
It's with a laugh that you tell him the bite scar was a fashionably late decision.
He asks if you have any abdominal scarring and you lift your shirt.
He asks how you got it and you joke about accidentally doing a herkie when the routine called for a side hurdler at regionals.
"You were a cheerleader?"
You didn't expect him to know that and tell him that is was actually from a car accident. The one coming home from nationals. The one that killed Torrance.
You get lost for a long moment in the crash-crunch-screech of metal and glass. You can hear her crying again.
"You realised your Calling independently after seeing one of our TV spots?"
The one with the Leave It To Beaver
theme, you tell him. Not the one with the blue-eyed sister.
He stares at you for a long time until you're bored as hell.
Then, without any hesitation, he says, "You'll need a tattoo."