"It's fine. Sleep and I aren't on speaking terms at the moment," she replied, fixing the can opener on the ravioli and working to open it. It was the truth, actually. Ever since destiny came knocking at her camp in the form of a wise Englishman named Giles, she'd had the worst time sleeping for more than a few hours. Stupid, prophetic dreams.
"Good to know about the not biting me thing," Buffy added, more thankful than he would know but still trying to act as casual as possible. She'd been told something vague about the potency of the Slayer's blood, so having a Master who would be sucking on her life force like it was a sippy cup might've been a very bad thing. "I'll remember that when keeping your 'Don't Kill Me in My Sleep' guideline in mind."