[ and so (with a little help from our good friends movie magic and the almighty timeskip, the sharpish hour of nine am rolls around on the next day. and buffy (an utter non-fan of the frou-frou dresses and distinct lack of denim in the castle's closets) is decked out in swag she got from the station a while back. decent jeans, for one. a superhero-ish kinda gal can't live without decent jeans.

she's unarmed, except for a mug of what she hopes is very strong coffee cradled in her palms. except it's not coffee at all: more like a stiff and murky tea. but beggars, it seems, cannot be choosers. except they can at least be complainers. ] Oh my God, where did they get these mugs? The local runner-up craft fair for potters who just couldn't quite make the cut?

[ buffy is mumbling. mostly to herself. she stops just outside the armoury and takes a fortifying glug before shouldering open the metal door. ]