Who: Buffy Summers and Spike What: Drinks? When: Backdated to last night (the 6th) Where: The Factory Rating: TBD Status: Incomplete
Her mood had turned to a more sour one when she had taken a five minute break from life to turn on the television, only to Harmony's face plastered on it. That wasn't new. What was new was the location. She was now in New York, and still spreading the Slayer hate. She was in NY, and the squad there had no official leader. Even though she knew it would be useless, she still tried the phone, attempting to connect first to the New York squad, and then she tried to call Rona, and Robin. Neither of them had worked either. Her mood went below sour.
No point in glaring at the phone all night. Spike had asked her to come over, and after a brief deliberation she didn't see why not. Soon enough she found herself first outside the Factory, and then working her way in, glancing at security briefly. She didn't really see the appeal in constantly watching people beat the crap out of each other. The money was a draw, yes, but it didn't keep her attention long.
Next time she'd have to make a mental note to ask Spike just where he'd be waiting, instead of having to scan the crowd. You'd think platinum blonde hair like that would be easier to find?
The bar seemed like the best place to start. Glancing over her shoulder at the door for just a moment, the Slayer turned and began to move her way through the crowed, her conversation with Kennedy going through her head. What was she doing here? She had no idea. Buffy was well aware that any real relationship with a vampire was impossible. She was going to get old, he wasn't, she was probably going to die before she hit forty, and he was well over forty. And which he was she thinking about anyway? Not that either of them made sense.
Still, she was here, and stopped just short of the bar, looking for Spike. </center>