Disclaimer: I own nothing. Joss owns Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Walking Dead is by Robert Kirkmen. I repeat, I own nothing.
A/N: Reviews are Good. This has been a subtle hint from the author - Please return to your regularly scheduled reading.
They ran out of hair dye about a half year in. And even before that Buffy had decided – just, fuck it and let the younger slayers fight over the last few boxes they had left from what they had snagged on their last supply run that had hit a CVS.
It was a bit strange to her though to let her roots grow out, to see her natural color and not be able to run out and get it covered with the bright California blonde that had grown so familiar to her. Buffy had actually forgotten what her true hair color was, she had been dying her locks for so long – much longer than she had been a Slayer.
Not brown like her sister she decided as she tilted her head and her hair (newly cut, by Andrew of all people, so that the brighter blonde was now gone) brushed her shoulder as sunlight filtered into the room. She was still blonde, just a much darker, deeper blonde. Golden,
That seemed right. Almost a dark, golden blonde now instead of a bleach blonde. Kinda like honey.
She smoothed a bit of it behind her ear absentmindedly.
It was odd the little things that the mind grabbed a hold of, fixated on to a truly stupid degree, when there was much more important things to worry about. But, that’s how her life had always been and Buffy had finally accepted it many years, and many apocalypses, ago.
With a last smile at her reflection she re-sheathed her scythe at her right hip, her machete on the left, picked her sawed off shotgun off the vanity table, patted her belt to double check her extra ammo, and left the room to join the others.
Zombie hordes to go fight off and all that jazz.