And poor little broken Buffy Summers couldn't sense a thing. Not that she would've been trying, anyway. Often times, she depended more on her reflexes than her senses. But nope, her instincts evaporated away in a little bubble exiled from her mind by the slimmest prospect of fun.

"That's exactly it." She shook her stick at him. Stepped forward. Gave his chest a playful little nudge. "Now. Hand over the bow before I get cross?"

Get it? 'Cause it was a crossb--oh, just hand over the damn thing!