premade profile by Chen
edited by me

In every generation

There is a chosen one.
She alone will stand against the vampires,
the demons and the forces of darkness.

She is the slayer.


Buffy rolls over and turns off the third alarm she set for this morning, her arm half asleep. "Agh. Just great," she mumbles, rubbing the tingling tissue with her left hand.
Her phone vibrates and she checks her messages before rolling towards the en edge of her bed. A sudden movement to her right causes her to slip off her silky bedspread and land directly on her knee. "Gods, Willow. Think you could be any quieter?"
Her response came in the form of a purr. Willow, Buffy's orange tabby slinked her way onto Buffy's lap, her lithe movements almost rhythmic. Rubbing her chin, Buffy looks solemnly into Willow's midnight black eyes. "Wish I could bring you with me, Wil. I know Xander was your buddy."
As if in response, Willow purred louder still, standing in her owner's lap to nuzzle her small, black and orange face against Buffy's. A couple tears had escaped her golden brown eyes and soaked into Willow's coat.
"I've procrastinated long enough. I'm going to be late," she sniffs and stands, placing her 'little orange furball,' as she so affectionately calls her, on the bed. Her clothes for the day laid out on her dresser, she shuffles over, snickering when she picked them up.
"They were black yesterday. Now they're mysteriously orange. How did that happen?"
A small meow from the peanut gallery follows her out of her room and into the bathroom.
"How am I going to get through today if just a couple tears can turn me into a damn puffer fish?" She asks her reflection to no avail. It mimics her funny faces, dances around with her, sticks is tongue out, matching each motion perfectly. Sighing, she turns away from the mirror and starts the shower.

After her shower, she grabs her lint roller and thoroughly removes all of the bright orange fur, slips into her leggings, pulls her dress over her head and zips the side.
"Now to do something with this hair."
The large paddle brush on the sink was missing several of the bristles and the handle was full of holes from Willow's younger years. She runs the battered brush through her hair, straightening out the curls, humming quietly to herself.
The warmth of the hair dryer flushes her already rosy cheeks and even in her sorrow, she smiles. The alert from her straightener just barely audible over the hair dryer, Buffy turns it off and returns it to its home and begins straightening her hair.

Her morning routine complete, she finds Willow in the exact place she left her.
"I've got to go, Wil. I'll be back later," she says quietly into her soft fur. Willow purrs quietly and stretches, rolling from one side to the other, catching Buffy's face with her paws as she stands up.

There funeral service was nice.