[voice -- filtered against Drusilla]

Hey, folks of Luceti. Lucetians? Lucetitarians? Oh, whatever.

[Sounds of rustling; Buffy clears her throat.] I need a priest--is anyone here a priest? Or know a priest? I need someone who can bless things. Watery things. Oh, and maybe a few crosses. It's sort of urgent. I'll supply the crosses and the water, you supply the mystical blessing mojo.

[/voice]

[After her open call for Luceti's religious types, Buffy is grabbing some prime ground real-estate on the river-bank behind the house she's staying in. She is running a one-woman production line, rigging together pieces of wood to make crosses. She's sitting cross-legged on the ground, the fruits of her labour scattered around her. She hums and boogies a little, where she sits. For any who might recognize it, she's humming along to Bee Gees songs. Go ahead, ask to help or offer up a distraction or tell her how annoying her taste in music is. ]