Seating: Buffy
Buffy had made probably the biggest deal ever about being involuntary arm candy, and there she was. Totally ditched and sitting by herself with one of the free sodas that marked the only thing she was allowed to drink. She suddenly wished being the Slayer came with telepathic powers to convince the bar keep to serve her something harder. Not that she could really afford to get trashed in a place like this. Not that she'd ever been trashed to know what it felt like.
She sighed, taking her time to look around the place. It was pretty packed already, and there were more than a few pairs slinking off into dark corners to perform some sort of unmentionable ick that she didn't want to think about ever again. Maybe there were other, trusting Masters who would let their mortal pets off their symbolic or actual leashes?