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

She could feel it tugging at her, first in a foggy sort of way, clawing its way forward from the back of her mind. But the panic grew stronger the longer she sat in the dimly let bar, her wide brown eyes darting from the warlock next to her to the silhouettes of fellow late-night drinkers all around her. Every so often she'd feel a pang of the worst kind of nostalgia - scenes from that terrible night clouding her vision. Buffy couldn't remember their faces - she was far too gone, thanks to the drugs they'd slipped in her drink - and the not knowing was the worst part. It could be anyone.
A shiver ran down the length of her spine and she rolled her head slowly, back and forth from shoulder to shoulder, in an attempt to get a grip on the ever-knocking trauma. She just wanted to have a good time tonight, she mused helplessly to herself. Just relax.
Her gaze flashed to the warlock when he spat back at her, and she scoffed at him with a fleeting smirk upon her lips. "I guess we'll see if you live up to your reputation, then." She quipped back. As their glasses clinked, she locked eyes with him fully for the first time. "Bad decisions." She repeated, and then stared down into the earthy liquid in the small shot glass. Buffy briefly wondered if it would feel different this time, after seven full days of foregoing alcohol. But her body still craved it. A light sheen of sweat pimpled her chest and the back of her neck in anticipation. She breathed a long and low sigh before bringing the glass to her lips, filling her mouth, and swallowing.
The burn was familiar and welcoming. She reveled in the brief bit of warmth that ignited in her gut, and radiated through her extremities. Immediately, she wanted another. So the dark hunter cocked her head to one side, eyeing the warlock again. This time, she had a curious unmanicured brunette brow raised. "Another round?" She asked, with a lazy hand already in the air, signaling the bartender.
Buffy relaxed into the barstool while she waited for the bartender to prepare her next fix. But her eyes remained on the warlock, hungry for some casual banter. This interest in being social was rare for Buffy. She wondered how long it would last. "So what makes you all 'woe is me' tonight?" She asked with a brow still slightly raised. "Lady problems? Or is it a witch thing?"

GIA BUFFY JONES