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

Her hands were shaking, she realized, as she walked briskly down one alleyway and toward another. The adrenaline from her the kill hung heavily on her, but she walked with her shoulders bunched and muscles tense. This time didn't feel quite like the others. Buffy searched, waited, longed for that familiar release, where her chest would rise and fall and she could exhale out the ever-present anxiety that plagued her, if only for a few minutes. It was this tender moment, this sudden and immediate relief, that drove her to hunt, wasn't it? Over time, it became something she craved. It became the only thing that would ever set her free from her wretched, ever-turning mind, albeit temporarily.

But things had changed. After the long torment from Jason, which kept her out of the life of her dying mother, it look a long time for Buffy to find solace in her job again. She was surprised at how shaken she was from the semi-recent date rape attempt she'd survived at a bar on the East side of town. But she wasn't sure if it reminded her of Jason, or of the trauma from that period in her life. Another unsettling prick that lingered in the back of her mind was Sebastian -- it had been a vampire of all things -- that had saved her. She felt conflicted, even as she yearned to trust Sebastian. She knew deep down that not all toothy, blood-sucking characters in this town were as wretched as Jason. Sebastian was proof of that. But still, her stomach twisted in knots when she thought too much about it.

Her hands were still shaking, so much so that she struggled to read the directions illuminated on her phone as she walked briskly down the street toward what she hoped would be a near desolate pub. Buffy tried to remember her breathing techniques, coping methods she long ignored from therapy, but revisited recently after having joined a yoga studio. So suburban and so basic, she knows. But much to her surprise, the deep breaths helped.

Finally the pub's low-lit sign came into view. Buffy grit her teeth and chewed absentmindedly on her lower lip, unwrapping the ill-fitting red flannel shirt that was sorely wrinkled and tied around the tight jeans at her waist, and slipped it over her bare shoulders. She buttoned it haphazardly to hide the sweat-stained white wifebeater underneath. The dark hunter flung open the door, her wide brown eyes squinting as she adjusted to the haze of smoke and sweat inside. The bar, it seemed, had a fair number of patrons tonight, to which Buffy bemoaned. But there were still empty seats at the bartop, and that's all she needed.

She moved slowly through the throngs of folks standing idly around the small pub until she reached an open seat a few feet away next to a petite blonde. Buffy sized up the bafoon of a man who hovered drunkenly over her, the hairs on her neck standing in protest as a familiar sense of dread lurched in her stomach. Soon her face morphed into a thick scowl. All she could see were those men from the other night, the ones who had slipped something into her drink...

It appears that the blonde could handle herself. Buffy sensed she was a were right away. By the time Buffy stalked up behind them, the drunk was standing down and staggering off. But still, all Buffy could see was red. She balled her hands into fists and tried quickly to remember her breathing exercises. She abandoned it quickly. "Ah, fuck it." She muttered under her breath, her brows furrowed as she took two stomping, deliberate steps toward the drunk dude lingering in the distance. "If I see you near her again, I'm going to give you another one." She said loudly over the thump of the idle music and chatter. He looked at her dumbly of course, confused by her words. "Another what?" He said aloud, and Buffy merely smiled before pulling her arm back behind her head and releasing her fist to meet his face. She felt his nose crack in more places than one, and watched as the blood began to drip from his chin.

A few onlookers seared their eyes into the back of Buffy's head. What they didn't know is if she really wanted to, she could have beaten his face into a bloody pulp with just a quick one-two, given her gift of tremendous physical strength. She turned slowly on her boot heels with her hands up in surrender, but no one came to collect her. So she merely flashed a toothy smile at the gawking bystanders, and settled into the open bar stool next to the blonde. Her eyes flitted over a well-dressed dark hunter on the other side of her, whom at this point didn't appear to be a problem. Buffy rested her chin in the palm of a propped up hand on the bar top. She nodded once in acknowledgement to the were girl sitting next to her, then caught the eye of the bar tender. "Bourbon please. Make it two."

GIA BUFFY JONES