[It's a Thursday evening in Luceti and Buffy is filling her time with a customary shift at Good Spirits. She seems to be putting a lot of effort into being a good worker. Any patron who has been in for a while has seen her wipe and re-wipe the counters, check inventory, and personally count and stack a pile of coasters.

When it seems like there's little else left to do, she leans one elbow on the bar and begins to half-heartedly flip through her journal. None of the weird experimental happenings have happened to her yet. And she hopes it stays that way.]

Maybe it's just some kind of elaborate practical joke. [At first, it sounds as though she is musing on the experiment. Only:] Leak a list of potential draftees and then let us all wallow in our busy-body preparedness. Sounds about right for the lab-coats and their oh-so-not-funny sense of humour.

[Because bitching and moaning about the war seemed far more satisfactory than solo-musing on other subjects she has at hand.]