(Untitled)

[stillbecoming]

Buffy is by the fireplace, attempting to toast marshmallows on a polearm.

It's going about as well as you'd expect.

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[hunterswidow]

And now Ellen can say she's seen damn near just about everything.

"Not really sure that's what they had in mind when they invented the thing," she points out.

It's her way of being helpful. Sort of.

[stillbecoming]

"But are you sure it's not?" says Buffy, waggling her marshmallow near a particularly bright lick of flame. "History is an art, not a science."

The marshmallow catches on fire.

[hunterswidow]

Ellen nods in the direction of said flaming marshmallow.

"And burnin' down the place is neither of those."

[stillbecoming]

Buffy hauls the marshmallow out of the fireplace and blows on it, hard. It lights up like a torch.

A nearby waitrat pours a glass of water over it.

"Well, it could be kind of artistic," she says meekly. And, to the rat: "Thank you."

[hunterswidow]

In the face of a burning marshmallow, Ellen remains remarkably calm.

The same may not be said for what is fated to happen to the Roadhouse.

"Probably just best to take flammable objects out of the equation."

[stillbecoming]

"...People are flammable objects," Buffy says dubiously. "Also things like food and clothing." She thinks. "And alcohol. I don't think fireproof bars are very much fun."

Neither are wet marshmallows. She starts prying it off with a napkin.

[hunterswidow]

"Might be 'cause no one decides to cook marshmallows on--"

She squints at the weapon.

"That a spear?"

[stillbecoming]

"It's a polearm," says Buffy, primly. "A partisan. And since polearms have been used in agricultural contexts before I don't think food preparation is that much of a stretch." She tries to pull the napkin away; a long, springy veil of marshmallow comes with it. "So to speak."

[hunterswidow]

"Doubt they ate many marshmallows," Ellen says.

But the mental image is interesting.

[stillbecoming]

"Well, history is an art," says Buffy, grandly.

She wedges another marshmallow onto the tip of the polearm. "You want in on this?"

[hunterswidow]

"Thanks, but I'll pass."

Ellen seems at least mildly interested to watch and see how this next effort turns out.

[stillbecoming]

Your loss, says Buffy's expression.

Marshmallow #2 gets tucked next to a burning log, and Buffy settles back to watch. Pretty far back, since the polearm is taller than she is. "This seemed like the least hazardous way to break it in, believe it or not. It's a little too long to be really useful with the rabbits out back."

[hunterswidow]

Ellen lifts an eyebrow.

Mostly because she has a hard time picturing anyone use that thing to kill rabbits. Or that anyone would consider it as an option.

"Right."

[stillbecoming]

Buffy glances at her, and back at the marshmallow, which is rapidly turning a pleasant shade of coffee brown.

Removing it from the partisan is a complicated process. She winds up with the chocolates sandwiched between two pieces of marshmallow, sliced gooily and accidentally apart.

[hunterswidow]

"Second time's the charm?"

If there are other casualties lying around, she hasn't seen them.

[stillbecoming]

"This almost makes it easier," she muses. "Usually I have problems getting the chocolate and the graham cracker to stick together." She looks at it thoughtfully. "My name is Buffy, by the way."