Buffy found it a lot more difficult to plan a heroic rescue without the support of her Watcher and the freedoms of the settlement. She was a leader. She hadn't wanted to be, but she'd fallen into the role. That was why, when everything went so wrong so quickly, she felt responsible. They'd had a plan for if they'd ever be discovered, a plan to run and to where and how long to wait and how hard to fight.
They hadn't been anticipating dragons.
The infuriating thing about it was that the son of bitch had technically kept his promise, keeping Tifa and those left alive. But then he'd gone and purchased her best friend. She wasn't sure if this was some twisted game or if he hoped this would keep both of them under his thumb, but the Slayer, the hero, inside of Buffy couldn't sit still for one second thinking about what he could be doing to her friend right now. She'd very nearly broken a great number of very expensive things before she heard Ambrose's voice downstairs.
"Coming!" she called as non-angrily as she could. To his credit, Ambrose was keeping up with the nice-guy Master act. She was maybe even slightly beginning to believe it, but he had a long way to go before she'd fully begin to trust someone who, at least on paper, owned her.
Dressed in a simple pair of black yoga pants and a white tank top, blond hair falling loose around her shoulders, she came down the stairs with the most obedient and non-sarcastic smile she could muster on her lips. "I am at thy service, mi'lord," she joked, mock seriously.