[ buffy summers has learned long ago that her birthday isn't for celebrating. bad things happen when it is celebrated: disappointment; terror; betrayal; wacky wacky hexes. but today -- by luceti's calendar -- she turns twenty-seven. the key will be in celebrating stealthily. she might have once considered throwing caution to the wind and celebrating regardless, but the emotional climate is simply not conducive to cake and noisemakers. she's lost a lot. loved ones and frenemies and maybe a scrap or two of dignity. even the things she's gained (and regained) were packaged with steep price tags. losing archie isn't easy, but she hasn't been letting her pain show. not publicly.

and a few nights ago, she stopped by faith's apartment. empty. after spike, faith had been her last link to home. now there's no one; it completely spoils her knee-jerk desire to revel in the woman's absence. but buffy is nothing if not unspeakably resilient and, on her birthday, she fits herself with the same pluck and guts and steel used day in and day out by this slayer and likely every slayer before her. for a creature with a shelf-life rarely counted above eighteen, every new year lived is impressive; hard-won; surprising.

by noon, she's behind the counter at good spirits. once there, she does what she did on her last birthday and makes an open call for friends join her, whether they know the occasion or not. she props open her journal and puts on a brilliant, belying smile: ]

People of Luceti. You -- especially the yous that I like -- should come hang with me at Good Spirits. And for the newer among us? I'm Buffy Summers. Me and the rest of the staff -- we few we tappy few -- pull pints down at the local pub. We have a little bit of something for everyone, boozers and non-boozers alike. I'll even let you play darts if you're not so wasted that you'll risk losing an eye in the process.

Brave the cold, order a drink, and...more importantly? Keep the boredom demon from knocking on my door and coaxing me into a George Clooney cope-a-thon.

Actually. There's a thought. If you're not gonna come down and keep my company, at least indulge me instead. Spill the deets on your favourite movies, if you have'em. Some days, I like Thelma and Louise.

[ buffy will be at the bar until the evening, when (unless otherwise waylaid) she'll patrol. unless she's outright told someone her birthdate, assume they don't know it. even still, she'd love to spend some time with you. catch her at home, in transit, or at the bar. ]