a new world hangs outside the window
beautiful and strange
it must be I've fallen awake
I must be

Buffy's shifting, uneasy eyes took note of the way Azrael quickly put away his phone. Even if subtly, he showed some bit of weakness. There was certainly something on that screen he didn't want her to see. But Buffy didn't think much of it. She out of anyone, knew what it was like to carry around the burden of skeletons in your closet. Whatever this older, more powerful dark hunter had going on, she didn't care much about it.

As their conversation limped on, Buffy twirled the shot glass around in her fingers, an outlet for her nervous energy in his company. It made a dull scraping sound against the worn wood bartop that was barely audible at all over the televisions overhead and the chatter from people coming and going. The simple, distracting act gave her a reason to keep her eyes on the bar, and out of his direct gaze. But the more disinterested she seemed, the more personal his questions became. The twirling ceased immediately when Azrael made some off-hand comment about her and family, as if he knew her. Buffy, cry? Please. The dark hunter grit her teeth and clenched her jaw, resisting the urge to let the flash of anger get the best of her.

"At least I have a family." She said sharply, her deep brown eyes flicking to meet his momentarily before she pressed the beer bottle to her lips. Azrael would either take it in stride as a hard-hitting joke or he wouldn't. But Buffy didn't regret saying it.

She nodded once when the older hunter mentioned he was waiting for his ride. "Your friend, the one you don't want me to see you texting?" She asked casually, nodding and pointing her gaze in the direction in which he pocketed his phone. She didn't know what exactly she was insinuating with the gesture. But she wanted him to know she could tell he was hiding something.

For a second she wondered what that was like, having the kind of friends who would come and pick you up at the airport. Not like Buffy traveled anywhere. But did she have someone in town who would pick her up? Maybe Sebastian, she mulled, but the thought made her stomach crawl. The only thing waiting for her later tonight was an empty Metro car. And Simon the house cat, back in her apartment.

She was back to the twirling the shot glass again when Azrael said something even more outlandish. She froze, fearful at first of his judgment (giving his good standing and position within the Council) but then flat out angry. If he knew about the drinking, he most certainly knew about the Jason fiasco. She cocked her head his way, her eyes reeling back into tight, vengeful slits with a matching, pursed-lip smile, before she tossed the shot back in a quick and dramatic fashion, out of spite if nothing else. The thin dark hunter's head whipped back as she swallowed the cheap bourbon. If he knew about Jason, then it was just plain mean to bring up her drinking habit so nonchalantly. But Buffy had no upper hand in this situation. There was no thread to pull, no way to stab back at him.

The Council had been surprisingly lax after what happened with Jason those years ago. He had meant to be just an average, everyday kill. But she was young and naive in her training. Jason was old - too old for her to be taking on by herself - and he easily manipulated her. Perhaps as a greater punishment to the Council, the vampire made her his plaything for more a than a year. Under his spell, she performed his every wish. Meanwhile on the inside, she was trapped, agonizing over the gruesome and intimate acts he tasked her with. All the while she'd abandoned her dying mother and young sister at home alone, with no clue as to where she'd been or what had happened to her. And where was the Council? Never did a dark hunter come to her rescue.

"Fuck you." She said hoarsely after the whiskey was gone, now sloshing around her empty stomach. But she didn't stutter. She clutched the shot glass in her hand so hard that it shattered into pieces, spraying shards and a few drops of blood onto the bar and the floor around them. Buffy reached across Azrael to grab a cloth napkin sitting in front of the bar stool on the opposite side of him. She didn't once look up at him as she bent over his lap, snapping back into an upright position with the napkin in hand, and wrapped it feverishly around her bleeding palm.

A short silence spanned between them (and the rest of the bar) after that. But clearly Azrael wasn't that amused, because he had yet another question for her. Buffy shot him a quick warning glance when he spoke again, wary of the insults that were likely going to continue to spill from his lips. She had just about fastened the napkin around her hand when he asked her about coming back to work full time.

"I'm working on it." She responded quickly.

GIA BUFFY JONES