[ it is late friday morning and buffy summers is attempting some tricky meditation techniques in an unoccupied corner of the barracks. a small (carefully arranged) pile of crystals sits a few feet away from her. without her ex-watcher's help, buffy is trying to sort out a little mystical inner peace and, without his help, it isn't going very well. she has fallen a lot. remained distracted. no relaxation here.

aggravated by her failure, she packs everything up in the early afternoon and walks back to the village centre with a gym back slung over her shoulder. she has a shift at the bar -- still a very melancholy responsibility now that guy is gone.

upon arrival, buffy settles behind the counter with her journal propped open. between orders, she addresses the village at large: ] Anyone got any good stories? They don't even have to be real ones. Just good ones. Preferably with a twist like the taxi driver turns out to be the aunt's long lost lover's dog-sitter. [ god. she needs a distraction from her distractedness.

much, much later in the evening? buffy writes a crisp, tidy note to the local lab-coat. it's locked to john (of malnosso infamy): ] If I brought a man to you, could you fix his penalty? He doesn't have to be...conscious or anything, does he?