[54] - [action] & [audio]

[slaying]

[Jacketed and scarfed, Buffy is hard at work on the lawn of House Seven. She has in her hands a most fierce and gruesome weapon--long and pronged, wickedly effective for roping in and dealing with rogue...leaves. Yes, today Buffy is devoting her time to raking the leaves on the lawn (a task she takes even into the early but dark evening). And while she is not generally the kind to shoot for domestic organization, there is a certain manic compulsion to be found in her efforts. She is raking up these leaves as though her sanity depended upon their neat and tidy disposal. In many ways, her sanity does depend upon it; after all, this is part of Buffy's method for getting over the social trauma caused her by one Captain Jack Sparrow. The protracted lies he told her and the humiliating reveal--the stress it inspired--has all culminated in a series of desperate domestic behaviours. Inhabitants of House Seven will find the dishes painstakingly done and every window scrubbed clean with a vinegar solution. Things are clearly not okay with Buffy.

However, if anyone swings by to chat with her during her desperate lawn tidying? She will be friendly and bubbly. Perhaps too bubbly. She wants to paint a perfect picture of happiness while repeating to herself--mentally: don't let the bastard get you down.

This good cheer is kept up until--by some failure of planning or through a breath of rogue air--her leaf piles are at all disturbed. This, which she takes as a direct accusation of her failure, manages to greatly distress the Slayer. So much so that she finally reaches for her journal and asks in a tense, dramatic tone:]

Does anyone have a better rake? Mine's broken. [It isn't broken, of course. She just wants to blame something other than herself.]