[Buffy is out in her finest fall fashions, today. Bundled under one arm is a pile of flyers and she has a staple gun gainfully employed in her opposite hand. Any building that will allow her to work her PR skills will now be sporting a (
cute little advertisement )
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I'm giving the people here the tools they need to make it in this place. That's all.
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[Things might not be that okay.]
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[Quieter:] We should...talk. Face-to-face, I mean. And less with the public.
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[There's an abrupt shut off of the journal. He'll make it there eventually. And knock on the door. And stare at the ground and wait for someone to answer it.]
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She arrives shortly after Xander's knock--wind swept but certainly not winded.]
Here--let me get the door.
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[One of his least favorite smells.]
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[She opens her front door and steps in, making room for Xander as she goes.]
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