10th Shot // [Voice/Action]

[cowboykinneas]

So, everything's getting back to normal, right? Must mean everything's gonna quiet down a bit too.

Did anyone actually enjoy the past few days?

[Action]

[It's at this point that Irvine's usually out leaning against a tree, with his gun slung on his shoulder and hat tipped over his eyes. This time, however, he's leaning against the tree and just

Comments

[slaying]

[Oh hey, someone who she hasn't actually met yet. Buffy is striding confidently past--enjoying her return to her own body--when she sees....a cowboy? Oh God, is that really a cowboy? Excuse her while she takes a moment to try really hard to keep a straight face because--wow, there's the hat and the gun and the nonchalance.]

Since when did this turn into the wild, wild west?

[cowboykinneas]

[Watch it or he might shoot the sheriff, but not the deputy. Irvine'll look up to her at that comment. Granted, he doesn't know what that is, but okay.]

Now, apparantly. Mind explaining?

[slaying]

The hat, the...everything. It's like you stepped out of a spaghetti western.

[cowboykinneas]

[Up to his feet he goes!] I'm sure if I should be thankful or insulted.

[slaying]

I guess that would depend on whether you like cowboy movies, or not.

[Amused? Probably a little.]

[cowboykinneas]

I'll take it as a compliment, then. We haven't met, have we?

[slaying]

Nope--don't think so. I would've remembered meeting a cowboy. Sorta hard to forget.

[A wry little shrug and then:] I'm Buffy. Buffy Summers.

[cowboykinneas]

And I'm sure I would've remembered a pretty face like yours.

Irvine Kinneas. [Extending the hand for a shake.]

[slaying]

[Oh? A charmer, is he? Buffy has both a moment of being rather flattered while also being a little bit on the wary side. She reaches for his hand, shaking it firmly.]

Irvine? Well, nice to meet you and all that jazz.

[cowboykinneas]

[Hey, he's not a perverted old man.]

The same goes for me. Been here long?

[slaying]

[Ah, but even young charmers gotta be taken with a grain of salt.]

Five months--which just might be about five months too many. What about you?

[cowboykinneas]

[But he's a cowboy. ):]

I could say the same about my eight months too many.

[slaying]

[Cowboys get extra salt. How else could you eat all that campfire food?]

Eight months. [She whistles low and grins.] You're a vet, then--in comparison to me.

[cowboykinneas]

[With bullets. It makes sense to me.]

Doesn't feel like I'm anything of the sort, honestly.

[slaying]

[Sigh, oh cowboy. Bullets never help anything. Or, that's the official Slayer verdict.

She frowns, bursting right into a topic that probably should be reserved for people who aren't--y'know--practically strangers:] Have they taken you yet?

[cowboykinneas]

[They help everything. He's a sniper and that's why.

Psh, like Irvine minds. Conversation is conversation, and he's usually all over that. He'll be shaking his head for the answer.] I lucked out so far.