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Jun 01, 2010 20:02

[It's another evening shift at Good Spirits. Buffy seems to be spending a lot of her time at the bar, soaking up the gossip and avoiding boredom. She is developing a habit of patrolling afterwards, before she heads home. It feels nice for the days to regain some form of structure. Less lazy.

But today has been anything but lazy. When Buffy closes her eyes? Sometimes, she hears--no, feels--the heavy bass associated with a much different establishment. Hints of the Bronze's decor show up in her peripheral vision. Buffy Summers, trying to be pragmatic, assumes that she is just in wicked need of a good nap. But, maybe it's something else.

Pushing aside the rag she was using to wipe down the bar top, Buffy grabs her journal.]

Please, someone tell me that there is a serious case of experimenty badness going on? I'd very much prefer to not be losing my mind. [Her voice is strained.

Later that evening and post-patrol, Buffy will be sitting on the front step of House Forty-Seven. She has a flashlight with her and she is flicking it on and off in the direction of the nearest bridge. For a second, she thinks she sees the shadowy outline of a cemetery.

The Slayer is confused and freaked. Do go ahead and bother her.]

visions of sunnydale, barmaid of the year

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