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

It seemed she hit a nerve.

Azrael's subtle flick of his gaze was enough to let Buffy know that her words indeed had some bite to them. For a second, a glimmer of guilt rolled through her gut and the dark hunter swallowed hard against a dry lump that persisted in her throat. She wasn't sure why she said it - that node about family - but she felt as if she had to be defensive. Perhaps it was out of protection of her own little, fledgling family. But Azrael had the upper hand here - he was older, obviously. He was more powerful. He had a reputation in Sacrosanct for his impressive kills and abilities. He was essentially a local celebrity in certain circles, and as such was in good standing with the Council. The only biting material Buffy really had to go off of was his age. It was low hanging fruit, of course. But apparently it stuck.

When the dark hunter quipped back at her after the mention of his friend and texting, a thin but pleased smirk slowly formed across her lips. She was slightly curious now, as to who the person was at the other end of the text message. She made mental note to revisit this again sometime, perhaps when she was back home alone and had her computer. While she'd never admit it out loud, it felt fine to see the great Azrael squirm a bit in her company. Nevertheless, she held her palms up in a neutral display of truce in response, and let her gaze fall lazily back to the bar top.

Unfortunately for Buffy, the conversation only seemed to get more heated from there.

The thin dark hunter didn't like talking about Jason. Or her drinking problem. Or her mom. None of it. And she definitely didn't want to talk about it with a high-ranking member of the Council, for God's sake. Azrael's prying nature may have been innocent at heart, but there was no way for Buffy to see it as anything other than prodding, highly personal and judgmental, given his lack of tack and poor choice of words.

She was still seething in the aftermath of shattering the shot glass. Shards still dug into her skin as she haphazardly wrapped the cloth around her bloody palm. Her nostrils flared and her slight chest rose and fell dramatically. Azrael seemed to have gotten the point. He shifted gears then, insisting on helping her and doing his best to calm the tense atmosphere that hung over the bar now. The once apathetic bartender stared at them from a few feet away, and Buffy caught his gaze quickly. She mouthed a silent "sorry" as Azrael worked on her hand, and eventually spoke again.

One he finally he let go of her, Buffy swiveled to face forward in her bar stool. She planted her forearms onto the sticky bar top and hunched forward, her fists clenched, one around the bloody napkin. But she's still listening to Azrael as he continues to make his case. She cringes when he mentions "her file" but she doesn't hold it personally against him. Of course the Council had a file on her. They had files on all of them.

She sighs dramatically and rolls her eyes when Azrael mentions how many meetings she'd missed. Back when she was taking on assignments full-time, there was less pressure to physically attend all of these get togethers. Maybe that was the silver living here... If she picked up a fuller schedule, she wouldn't have to see the faces of Azrael and the others quite so often. Or as... unannounced? She cocks her head to look at him suddenly, her gaze hard on him as she gives him a quick up-down.

"Is that why you're here?" She questions firmly, expecting an honest answer. "To bully me into taking on more work?"

Her heart was still pounding in her chest, so much so that the sound of the hard-working muscle flooded her ears. It seems irrational for the Council to send high-ranking members to follow her around, or to try to persuade her into coming back into the fold. But her constant paranoia, and heightened anxiety told her brain otherwise.

"Listen, I'm trying. I'm nearly there. I just had to step back for a while. I'm working my way back up to full-time," she admits. For a second, she feels a rare vulnerable moment bubble up and she considers telling him how lonely she is - how lonely this life is. Maybe he would understand. But instead, she grabs the beer bottle on the bar and takes another swig of it. "Give me a month. I'll be back."

GIA BUFFY JONES