ooc ↻ how's my driving?
} you're all cold
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❮whoa, summers! you drive like a spaz!❯

Buffy Anne Summers (slaying) played by Aly (arcvertic).
Concerns, comments, or criticisms? Leave a message here! Anon + comments unscreened.
Want to contact me some other way? greenbayonet (aim).

Mucho gratitude to rumi for the hmd graphic.
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voice + action ✪ a ghost just needs a home
} where's my lover -- where's the bar?
Good morning. Happy Sunday. Et cetera, et cetera.

My dear barman-in-arms, Zack, has already intro'd you fine folks to the equally fine watering-hole we like to call Good Spirits. So here's me -- Buffy Summers -- with a bit of a follow-up question.

Name me your favourite chilly weather drinks. I'm talking both boozed-up and boozeless versions. A few winter specials might not go amiss and I know I'm already craving something toasty warm. So what do you like? Mulled wine? Hot chocolate? Hot chocolate with Bailey's? [ a break to breath. she needs those. ]

Oh! And for those of you who remember it from last year? Consider both the virgin and non-virgin versions of my very special just-like-apple-pie cider back on the menu. Please, please come in and order it. [ then -- with courage: ] And the McCoy is still available. As always.

[ routine is reestablishing itstelf; this catches buffy completely off-guard. this mornin, unlike all the previous mornings, it simply doesn't occur to her to put out a third mug for the now absent leonard mccoy. guilt follows hard upon that realization. she sets out a third just to spite herself.

such a gaffe (along with the missing status of one archie kennedy) colours the rest of her day with a bubbling, below-the-surface anxiety. things change so fast in luceti. this isn't the first time she has learned this lesson but it feels particularly poignant in this instance. old faces and new feathers and -- suddenly? thanksgiving. the holiday ramp-up comes as a relief to the tension she's been carrying around with her. it's something to put her back into; it's something to dig her fingers into and she plans to whip herself into distraction. like so many whipped potatoes. like so much whipped cream. ]

thanksgiving invitations; filtered [60%] to surrogate family & friends & friends of friends & anyone buffy has taken a shining toCollapse )

[ otherwise? you can find buffy summers first eyeing up the grocery store shelves in the early afternoon and then gracing the bar-counter at good spirits that night.

she's in one of her pretend it's good and it'll all go away moods with means equal opportunity snarking for everyone. come partake! ]

} i broke down and wrote you back
[ the first thing she notices is cupcake mewing low and lonely in the hall. buffy clucks her tongue and stoops to spoil the cat, caressing the soft strip of short fur along the feline nose. a small smile and a few gentle words; from this angle, she can see that mccoy's door is open. ajar. was he home...?

she calls out a friendly greeting and regains her feet, pushing the door more widely open. buffy so very rarely knocks, you see. but the room is eerily empty and ice enters her veins. the world seems to crash into the sun and the stars fall. buffy can't remember how she made it once again to the floor but there she kneels. struck. cupcake wanders in and nudges against those fingers now splayed against the floorboards. attention-seeking.

a half hour later, buffy doesn't bother with a filter for one pointed message over the journals: ]
Jack. House Seven. Now.

[ the afternoon passes with little other note until the sun is sinking. she addresses the village at large. her voice is firm but artificially so. ]

Luceti. [ the slayer takes over; she keeps a steady grip on her control. ] Bon -- no -- Doctor Leonard McCoy has been sent home.

[ a long pause. ] S-sorry.

[ a muffled sound. control breaks. ]

( ooc; buffy has asked jack to help her respond to those reacting to the announcement. expect to be tagged either by buffy or jack or perhaps both -- but both separately rather than as three-ways. )

action + video ✪ my words don't travel far -- they tangle in my hair and tend to go nowhere
} but i have to squint
[ It's a beautiful fall day in the neighbourhood and the Slayer and her ex-Watcher are doing something they should have done a while ago. Despite the Shift (or perhaps, in a twisted way, because of it), they are sitting out on a pretty little checked blanket. A picnic basket stands nearby. Many fantastic, eye-opening heart-to-hearts are about to happen... ] Giles. [ Buffy begins. ] You're totally right. I should've...it's about time we... [ Her stammering gives way to frowning. The Slayer gently touches the base of her throat. What's happening?

Giles, for his part, had immediately started shuffling through his mental catalogue of fairy tales - already extensively referenced, during this experiment - for something relevant when Buffy had made the proposal. He'd come up blank, a fact which was both gratifying and...a little intimidating. They should have done this a while ago. The fact that they haven't was...probably going to make this harder.

But if Giles was anything to her anymore, he was the one who made the hard decisions, no matter how much they were bound to hurt later. And so he'd walked over and seen the pretty little checked blanket and the picnic basket and let himself hope.

He looks over at the sound of her voice, very much fighting back the urge to clean his glasses as an excuse to look away. He expects the stuttering. It's unusual, from her but...not unexpected. The clearly distressed silence, however, is.]
Buffy? What's wrong?

She taps her throat again. And again. Again and again with growing insistence.Collapse )

[ Half an hour of busy construction after that, an announcement is made to the village at large. ] People of Luceti. Sorry to interrupt the general chaos, but I have a bit of a challenge that I thought some of you might be interested in.

[ The video function is turned on. Giles, to his...much reduced annoyance, is back in his royal costume. Buffy has been put into something suitably pretty and demure for a reclusive princess. A table has been set up on top of the checkered blanket, with three chairs placed nearby. ]

I know a great many of you here claim to care for Buffy. Well, I'm afraid today is where you prove how much. If she'll actually speak to you, then fine. Wonderful. What further proof do any of us need? But if she won't even deign to do that...

[ The camera is turned so that what appears to be a miniature guillotine is visible, a few yards away. It's a small one - a stage prop, more than anything, modified to deliver a blow with a lump of wood to the back of the head rather than a blow to the neck. But, still. It's utterly intimidating. Tremble in fear. ] I'd say you'll have a great deal to think about, but you won't, because I'll be executing you.

Have a nice day, everyone. I look forward to any visitors who might like to stop by.

(ooc; it's backdated to wednesday afternoon and buffy and giles are stuck acting out the mute princess! bring your characters along to try and conversationally tempt the chilly, silent slayer into talking! mortify the ex-watcher with your total unsuitedness to steal away his daughter! or feel free to wreak other fairy-tale havoc!

please be sure to let us know in the subject line whether you want a thread with giles or with buffy or perhaps both separately. or both together. as it is, be on the look-out for timely threadjacks! )

voice & action ✪ everything we've ever stolen has been lost returned or broken
} where's my lover -- where's the bar?
Rookies, newbies, New Feathers. Lend me your livers. And also possibly your ears.

I'm Buffy Summers and I'm spamming your journals today to tell you about Good Spirits. Which is a bar. Which is in the plaza. And it's a bar that's co-tended by me, and Zack Fair, Meryl Strife, and Shizuo. I know some other hot-spots have recently opened up but I can assure you that if you want some good old pubby atmosphere and even better booze, we're your spot.

[ a pause. this is harder than she thought -- last time, at least, she was pretty happy when she did her advertising shtick. today she is simply trying to keep it together. ] We're also happy to mix you some non-alcoholic magic, too. And give us a shout if you have any particular beverage-y dietary needs. [ and, as ever, just don't ask for human blood. she will flip you and your table. ]

Also? Be sure to order the McCoy. Think of it as a signature drink. I'll be here till about eleven, if you want to come give it a try.

Oh and...Winry? Do you have a sec?

[ so buffy is bar-bound on this fine day. come bug her, break her brittle anxious shell of coping, or just get drunk.

at around eleven she'll hand the shift off and hoof it directly to the treehouse. she doesn't stop by the house to get changed or drop off her purse or collect a weapon or pass go or collect two hundred dollars.

she simply takes a deep breath and climbs. ]

} but it came back
[ it is a fine, late august monday and buffy summers has just been returned from a kidnapping. but she isn't laid out on the forest floor or wandering the village in a daze. she isn't harmed but she certainly isn't happy. this is because buffy summers is standing unsteadily -- arms crossed tightly over her chest -- in a lavish little bouncy castle in the heart of luceti land.

she nudges her journal open with a bare toe. ]

I'm back. [ her voice is flat. slowly, she kneels and smooths out the white new feather dress that she was returned in. one arm uncrosses so that she can pick the book up. ] And in one piece -- which is nice and all but...

[ a sigh. her backdrop is all garish yellows and greens. she sways in the journal's feed, unable to keep her balance with all these fun-time bouncy shenanigans. ]

But I need...someone? Anyone? The glorified toaster ovens won't let me out of this... [ she glares at something off-journal; the droids manning the park have kept her all-too-firmly trapped in this bouncy hell. as much as she hates to admit it, she's been reduced to a damsel-in-carnival-distress. ] Castle. I'm trapped in a castle. I can't believe I just had to say that. Time to take me out behind the barn and have me shot.

[ with another dramatic sigh, buffy turns her journal and shows off the portion of the park that she's being kept in. humiliatingly, she needs to convince people to win her some stuffed animals as currency to buy her way out of this trap. until then? she's stuck listening to overly cheery music and grumbling to herself.

she edges back against the far corner and leans her head against the yielding wall. a hero awaiting heroes. ]

(ooc; ahaha so buffy needs to convince people to win her prizes in order to be let go. she won't be very charming about it, either. also let's assume this goes on for a few hours so she'll still be there once the sun sets for all your awkward vampire and slayer conversation needs.)

video ✪ i'll be a hurricane when i grow up
} every turn of the screw
[ it's a wonderful daynight in the neighbourhoodfreaky experimental prison village and buffy summers is walking home from the bar. things are good. life is...well, life is kinda good. sorta good. good enough to cause her to question all the surplus goodness. she has an oversized purse dangling from one shoulder and it clinks with booze bottles as she walks. the bi-weekly bourbon bottle for bones. a little bottle of something else to keep nearby in case of expected visitors.

or one particular occasional visitor -- a man she can't help but think about when crossing one particular bridge on her nightly trip back to the house. but midway across jack sparrow's marauding bridge the droids catch her by surprise. her purse crashes open to the ground so too does the journal nestled precariously inside it.

a recording begins. a shadowy scuffle. an oath. buffy is clearly on the ground and she scrambles for the journal, hauling it towards herself. ]
Guys -- Dawnie -- I'll be fine. A bunch of wannabe Roombas can't keep a good Slayer down. [ something off-journal prompts her to look suddenly back over her shoulder. the sound of a dull, thudding kick. when she looks back it's with one of those grim battle-ready smiles that doesn't dare reach her eyes. ]

While I'm gone? Keep each other safe. [ and with that, she's dragged out of the frame. there are a few more audible signs of a struggle before all that is left is a crime scene consisting of smashed bottles and one open journal. the pages flutter anxiously in the breeze. ]

(ooc; feel free to threadjack reactions/meet up at the spot where she was taken/get your co-reactiony kicks out here. ♥)

voice & action ✪ in a town where blood ties are only blood
} though our parts are slightly used
filtered to jack sparrow, archie kennedy, dawn summers, rupert giles, leonard mccoy & jilly coppercornCollapse )

So, Luceti. My little baby sister turns twenty next week. This means that on the 21st, I'm commandeering Good Spirits -- which is a pretty fab bar, for all your New Feathers not yet in the know, tended by myself and a few other illustrious villagers -- and throwing her the bestest, funnest, most amazing twentieth birthday bash a girl who has been disappeared out of her own world and held captive in another could ask for. So what if you haven't met Dawn yet? Think of this as an excellent opportunity to do so. Dress code is smart but fun. Think cocktail party. Think LBDs and dress shoes.

And on a mostly entirely related note -- does anyone have a camera I could borrow for one night? Or if anyone sees one in the shops, can they give me a shout? I know I've seen some kicking around.

[ that seems to be the end of everything official, but the journal does catch the tail-end of buffy muttering to herself: ] Ugh. How do I manage to misplace my sunglasses when I've gotta own at least seven pairs already?

[ and the journal slams shut.

given that she got these announcements done rather early on in the day, buffy spends her wednesday afternoon catching some rays. to the left of house seven, she has set up a little patio lounger and is sunbathing. you can take the girl out of california, but you can't take the california out of the girl -- and this particular one wants her so-cal bronze back.

as she lounges, she reads. shock-horror, buffy summers is reading a book. little women. but she doesn't seem too far into it and occasionally can be found napping with the book propped on her stomach. ]

(ooc; edits for timelineliness -- i belatedly realized that there are hiatuses interfering with the filtered meeting-proposing so switched it to sunday and perhaps some backdating will be in order. ]

action & voice ✪ all the time in the world just ran out
} i broke down and wrote you back
tl;dr -- buffy has a dream and wakes up to a missing pirate. life gets steadily worse.Collapse )

action for admiral james norrington.Collapse )

[ so much for all the time in the world, jack.

much, much later in the day -- mid-evening, really. she props the journal open on the table in front of her and clears her throat. this will not be easy. practice was supposed to make perfect, right? and how many of these announcements has she made? too many. but buffy summers wouldn't really have it any other way. her shoulders were built for shouldering burdens. but jack, she's sure, would be disappointed to see her take such business-like trepidation to this task. too bad the pirate's not here to register that disappointment. hah. ]

...Oh, God. [ her voice is strained. it should sound remarkably calm for those who are only acquaintances of the slayer. close friends, however, can hear that tell-tale sound of buffy breaking to pieces. ] People who're friends with Captain Jack Sparrow? Enemies too, even. I guess you all have a right to know. This is an equal opportunity kind of announcement. He's -- uhm, Jack's been sent home. This morning.

[ should she leave it at that? no -- after a few minutes: ] If he stole something from any of you and you're looking to get it back? Let me know. If I can find it, I'll make sure it gets home.

[ and the feed goes dead. she feels guilty that she didn't say something...nicer. more loving. but the last thing she wants is to start crying again. not in public. ]

voice & action ✪ now with added filtery goodness
} i know that nothing
[ buffy has been running on autopilot. smile at the right times, nod in the right moments. make the appropriately inappropriate remarks about over-sugared coffees and pop music at all the wrong times in just the right ways. it isn't hard to do once she sets her mind to it; after all, she had done it in sunnydale for seven years.

since she's behaving as if everything is a-okay, she might as well get some pencil-pushing done: ]

So...some of you maybe don't know this -- it's been kinda in a slump, lately. Totally my fault. But we have a little combat training collective, here in Luceti. It used to be run by two of us and now there's just me. It's been just me for a while and that isn't really working out so well and...oh, maybe I should be accepting applications for a co-coordinator? Would anyone be interested? Preferably someone organized. Organized and good at, y'know, breaking things. With your fists. Or other things that aren't fists. I'm not trying to be exclusive, here.

[ a deep breath. ] If anyone's got some experience running admin on this kind of thing, let me know. And then we can get the whole operation off the ground again. Together.

[ with that done, she moves onto other business. some of it social and some of it not-so-social. ]

voice. filtered to the friends & family of sokka & suki. plus the couple themselves. 60%. also? filtered against yue.Collapse )

voice. filtered to helios. 60%Collapse )

[ OTHERWISE, you are welcome to run into her on a regularly scheduled patrol that evening. housemates are welcome to action-it-up at home at any point, too. ]


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