The Universe's Mixer

So annoyed. Buffy stared at the computer screen, which was flat. Her fingers were unaccustomed to the keyboard of the internet cafe computer and missed keys occasionally. There was a lot of backspacing involved. She wasn't a typist. Most likely the City was responsible for shutting down her internet at her home since the bill was paid and the technician wasn't able to find anything wrong. He'd come twice. The City's mundane hijinx were starting to annoy her more than the monsters.

All she wanted to do was check her email. Was that so much to ask for?

Spam. Spam. More spam. Sale at The City Boutique. Oooh. Shopping. Nothing like pretending to be a normal girl for an hour or two between patrols. Spam. More spam. Nigerian Prince Spam. There was a distinct lack of personal emails. Buffy made a few friends in the City but it never seemed long before they disappeared. It hadn't been that important to check her email in the first place. But sometimes the slayer wished there might be something familiar waiting in her in-box.

Sigh.

At least the computer cafe was clean. And Buffy was always pleasantly surprised that she had just enough cash to cover the use of the computers. She had a mocha placed precariously next to the keyboard and occasionally reached blindly for it, managing to grab it just before it toppled over to take sips absently.

The Amazon had been doing good deeds left and right, but the City always seemed to be filled with bad guys. The Batman never stopped. There was this thief, that mugger, some jackass who thought beating some woman was a good idea. She was understanding more and more why Bruce Wayne had wanted to leave the job, or more why it had taken his life completely over. It was even more difficult when she would have preferred just shooting the offenders, ridding the world of the bad guys, but Alfred was rather adamant that killing the criminals was simply not acceptable.

Zoe wasn't an overly violent woman, but she'd felt the need for a release that didn't involve hitting something with some part of her body. The Mare's leg and other firearms were actually looking good, and while she would have preferred at times to live a quiet life she was beginning to suspect with how easily she at times donned the Batsuit. It helped that the people she talked to on a semi-regular basis knew that she was taking to the night as the Bat; she may need to see if Jesse wanted another meal sometime.

Jesse was not invited, nor would he ever be without her finding out he'd like such things, to her current activity. The weapon would be considered an antique, even though it was certainly nice and smooth - brand new - as she held it, turning it over in her hands. She listened somewhat to the safety lecture, if it could be called such, while she quickly broke down the Beretta 90two only to reassemble it. She looked up at the man who'd just been lecturing her about not getting her hand caught in the slide; he seemed a little uncomfortable with how quickly she'd "mastered" the gun, at least its mechanical parts.

"However many rounds I can have, thank you." Zoe seemed unphased, picking up the protective gear. The range beckoned.