13375/Meetup at the Magic Box

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Meetup at the Magic Box
Date of Scene: 25 May 2021
Location: The Magic Box, Sunnydale
Synopsis: In the end, Buffy and Giles are both stubborn arses, but at least things have been said!
Cast of Characters: Rupert Giles, Willow Rosenberg, Mercy Thompson, Spike, Buffy Summers




Rupert Giles has posed:
Midafternoon sunlight slants in through the western facing windows, both at the front of the shop and at the back. It's somewhere between noon and what one would consider evening. And the hottest part of the day. As such, the ceiling fans are going to circulate the air within the shop, and the air conditioner in the workout area at the back is also going, to provide cooler air for the fans to circulate.

Presently, Giles is in the back, and dressed in sweats and a teeshirt, leaving his upper and forearms bare, for once. And showing off the fact that Mister Bookwarm? Actually /has/ muscles. This is something that isn't seen very often. Almost never, in fact. He is wearing shoes, as he's not on the workout mats, but rather is off to the side in front of a punchingbag.

And working over that punchingbag like he'd very much like to murder it. Or who'm ever is the reason for the man's furrowed brow. He's been at it for some time, as is obvious, because sweat glistens on his skin, darkens his greying hair, and darkens the plain grey teeshirt at his sides, down the front from the collar down the center, and along his spine at the back, in the places sweat tends to be worst.

He's been at this long enough his breathing is harsh, being forced to keep up with the workout. But, he shows no signs of stopping. Nope. Right, left. Right, right, left. Throw a fake one with the right, then jab with the left. He's even got decent footwork as he almost dances around the bag. But the punches, right at the moment, show less than grace. No, those are pure, brute force, of the sort that happens when one is angry or frustrated.

Willow Rosenberg has posed:
Today was an off day. She was still learning the ropes at her X-Corp, and was picking up fairly her duties. She took two drinks (one tea, one coffee) to have a break with Giles, before she headed home

Thank goodness the air conditioner was working! It was hot. Terribly hot outside.

*tinkle*

"Hey Giles! Are you here?" With Giles he could have hunkered down with a book, somewhere, and forgotten he was watching the door. (Thus the bell!) "It's so hot. Did you know, a hot drink cools you down faster than a cold drink? Truth! So I bought you tea. Earl grey." She wanders through the store, into the back, and stares at him.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
The hottest part of the day is likely not the best part of the day to be walking in, but that's what Mercy happens to be doing. She's made her way from her shop (which is also her home) and to the Magic Box. And it's likely not surprising that she's carrying a plastic container with her. One of the things that can be counted on, at least where Mercy is concerned, is that she often comes bearing gifts in the form of baked goods. Which today, happens to be sugar cookies. The cast on her right arm -- specifically on her right wrist -- is limited, somewhat. And at some point between the last time and this time, it's been changed since it's now purple.

Mercy's brown hair is loose rather than being contained in her usual braids, and it falls past her shoulders. She wears a plain green t-shirt, a pair of blue jeans, and her steel-toed boots. Once she arrives at the shop, she shifts the container a bit and then reaches out to pull the door open in order to step inside, her entry accompanied by the jingling of the bell there. And once inside, she takes a moment to breathe the cooler air. Her brown gaze lightly wanders across the shop, and she makes her way towards the counter at the back, her nose wiggling a little bit. Testing the air, and taking in the scents that are present to be gathered.

She becomes more curious as she gets closer to the counter, and she quietly sets the container upon the counter. Then she does what is a rather predictable sort of thing -- at least, for those who know about her sense of smell -- she follows her nose. And it leads her over to the open door between the front of shop and the back of shop, and then... she stops in the doorway, shifts a touch to lean against the doorframe, and she watches. Looking past Willow to be able to do so, and... well, maybe just a smidge admiring, and a smile quirking up the corners of her lips just a little.

Rupert Giles has posed:
Rupert Giles is just as lost in what he's doing to the punchingbag as he ever is when he's lost in a book. He doesn't hear the bell. Doesn't hear Willow speaking to him. But he does see it when she comes into the back. Does see it when she stops and stares at him. It is, at least, cool in the shop. Especially back here where the air conditioning is the strongest. That doesn't seem to be helping Giles, though. Nope, he's been working out too hard and for too long. It'll help once he stops, but... he hasn't, yet. Not even with Willow there. "Willow," he pants out, still punching at the bag. "Everything alright?"

This time, when the bell jingles, because he's focused on something outside of himself and what he's doing, he hears it. He takes a step back from the bag and looks over at Willow, then to the door where Mercy has stopped. "Mercy." He pauses and does a doubletake at her wrist. "Your cast is different. Still healing alright?" His eyes lift from her wrist to her face. Then over to Willow. He turns away and walks to the couch off to the side, where a towel had been tossed. He lifts it and starts drying his face at least. His breathing is still harsh and fast, but somehow he seems to be just fine. Just.. out of breath from the workout.

Willow Rosenberg has posed:
When Giles talks to her, Willow is forced to shut her mouth. Quickly. In fact, she becomes really embarrassed. Especially when Mercy catches her with her mouth swung open. Giles was one thing; Mercy is another.

And the other problem is: Three people; only two drinks.

"Uhh.. Would Mercy like a drink? Coffee with cream?" Quick thinking Willow! Pretend *that's* you were thinking about (even though you didn't know about Mercy until mere seconds ago!).

Mercy Thompson has posed:
The smile that had been teasing at the corners of her lips turns into more of a smile when Giles notices her there. She inclines her head towards him. "Rupert," she greets him in turn, then follows his glance towards her cast before lifting her gaze back to his face. There's a nod to his statement. "Mmhmm, it's different. I had it checked this morning, and they took the stitches out and did the range of x-rays on it. They say it's healing well, at least," she answers, tilting her head a touch to one side. Listening, and focusing on the scents for a moment then. What she doesn't say is that her wrist has been sore ever since that was done. She lifts her right hand and settles her fingers atop of her left shoulder, simply letting it rest there.

She had, at least, wisely made the cookies before her appointment. "Should I be curious about who or what it is that pissed you off?" Mercy asks, a soft note to the question. She'll let it be, if he wants her to, but... the question is nigh begging to be asked. Her attention turns to Willow at the offer of a drink, one of her eyebrows raising a touch as she considers, and then she gives a small nod. "I wouldn't turn down a drink, if it's not too much trouble. Coffee's good," she affirms with a smile.

Rupert Giles has posed:
Rupert Giles might be amused on any other day, catching Willow with her mouth hanging open, but not today. "I'll make another cup of tea from the kettle?" Because of course he has a kettle to make tea with. It's Giles. He can't survive without his tea. There's even a mini fridge back here with drinks in it. "Or would you prefer a soda or water, Willow?" Since she's given her coffee away.

"Ah. Healing well is good," he says to Mercy. He wrinkles his nose at his own smell and shakes his head. "I'm going to go rinse off. Keep an eye on things while I'm gone?" He doesn't wait, but instead goes to the small bathroom with shower attached to this section of the shop, and disappears within. The door is shut quite firmly behind him. And the nsick of the lock going into place can be heard. Mercy's question goes unanswered.

Willow Rosenberg has posed:
Willow actually smiles, even though she just given away her coffee. "I just happened to have a drink with your name on it." Regardless of whether or not Giles had a teakettle on hand.

*blink*

That was strange. Normally Giles was the soul of politeness. And he was not only going off to shower, but was ignoring Mercy's questions

Mercy Thompson has posed:
"Mmhmm, though the doctor says I'll need the cast for a while yet," Mercy says, wrinkling her nose slightly. She's not a very patient patient. The cast -- or more specifically the injury that is the reason for the cast -- is in her way for a lot of things. And there was probably a mention about not overdoing it, but... Mercy is stubborn. Her brown gaze lingers on Giles, and she gives a nod to his statements. "Sure, not a problem. Consider it covered," she comments, even though he didn't really wait for an answer. And once he's within the bathroom and with the door locked, she wiggles her nose briefly and tilts her head a touch to one side. "I'm guessing that's a 'no' on the being curious bit," she says quietly, though she doesn't seem disappointed or out of sorts by it. Just because she has questions doesn't mean the questions have to be answered, after all.

Or at least, it seems to be a 'no' on the asking questions about it part. The curiosity never goes away that easily. Which leaves her even more curious about the reasons behind why the punching bag was getting such a sound beating. She might have a couple of ideas, but if she does, she doesn't voice any of them. Her attention turns to Willow, and she smiles as she gives a nod. "Thank you, Willow, that's very kind of you. I owe you one," she says in a warm tone. "Oh! I should grab the cookies from the counter out front. It should just take me a minute," she adds, ducking her chin slightly in a brief nod. She shifts her weight to move away from the doorframe, lowers her right wrist from her shoulder, and then steps lightly over to the counter in order to retrieve the container. With it in her left hand, she returns to the back room with it and carries it over to set it on the coffee table there. It's only once that's done that she's step over to pick up the coffee.

Rupert Giles has posed:
Rupert Giles generally /is/ the soul of politeness. It's a British thing. Canadians are just downright nice. British are polite, even when ripping you up one side and down the other. This is not normal at all for how Giles usually is. Though he doesn't wait for an answer, he does hear it as the bathroom door closes. Clearly, he doesn't want to talk about whatever it is that has him all akimbo. Either way, he's going to be gone for a few minutes. Afterall, it does take a wee bit of time to strip to the skin, get cleaned off, and dried, and dressed again.

Willow Rosenberg has posed:
Meanwhile, Willow was going to the tea kettle, and instead someone came in. Guess who got to service them.. It was a really.. really.. REALLY long time.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
However long Giles will end up taking, Mercy doesn't mind. This, she can manage to have patience for. With her coffee in her left hand, she steps over to the couch and settles at one end of it, tucking one of her feet beneath her as she does. Even this far from the front door, she'll hear if anyone enters. And she'll likely smell them from here as well. She leaves the box of cookies where it sits on the coffee table, though. Lifting her right hand, she uses her fingers to help adjust her hold on the coffee cup, and then she takes a sip from it.

When someone does come in, she watches Willow head for the front of the shop to tend to them. And she, for her part in things, remains where she sits. Waiting, and listening.

Rupert Giles has posed:
Rupert Giles doesn't actually take all that long. It might have been ten minutes when the lock undoes. He emerges looking much refreshed from what he had been. He smells a lot better, too. His hair is still damp, but from fresh, clean water now. And he's dressed more like Giles is usually dressed. A long sleeved shirt, a pair of slacks, and his loafers.

He glances toward the front of the store where he can just hear Willow with the customer. He considers for a moment and then walks over to the door to gently nudge it closed, so the customer(s) don't hear whatever conversating he and Mercy get up to. Only then does he turn his attention back to the ghostly inclined. He nods toward her wrist. "How is it?"

Mercy Thompson has posed:
When the lock snicks open, Mercy is yet seated upon the couch. She's patiently waited, and without any snooping or peeking or prodding into anything. He's a friend, and whatever her curiosities might be, she'd rather ask him. She shifts her position slightly, reaching out to the coffee table to set her coffee there as her gaze turns towards him to look him over. A smile quirks the corners of her lips, and her nose easily picks out the difference in his scent. Though in her opinion, he hadn't smelled bad before. "You look refreshed," she says, her smile easily returning.

She doesn't seem either surprised by or to mind that he goes to close the door between the front of the shop and the back room. She glances towards her wrist when he does, then lifts her gaze back to his face. There isn't even a thought towards lying to him. "It hurts. It's achy and sore and it's hard to get it comfortable," she answers, wiggling the fingers of her right hand a little bit.

Rupert Giles has posed:
Showers are good for things other than simply getting clean. Getting one's thoughts in order. Putting away whatever is upsetting and calming down. Cooling off. Relaxing. Muscle aches. A number of things! There's quite a lot of things in here that could be snooped at without harm. Many weapons of various types, mostly of the medievel variety. And most of those of the sharper end of the spectrum versus the not so sharp. There's even a number of bows and their requisite arrows. And a target on the wall away from the couch.

"I feel refreshed," replies Giles, his tone much calmer too. His voice less tight. As though whatever had held him in its grip has gone. He nods about her wrist, looking sympathetic. "I can imagine," he says thoughtfully. He studies Mercy for a time, expression somewhat lost. He knows there's a chance that the bone, no matter how well the doctors say it's fine, won't heal right in the end. And this is troubling.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Even if one happens to need to wear a bread bag over a cast in order to be able to shower, showers are good for a lot of things. Though she had looked about the space in the back room from her vantage point on the couch, she hadn't done more than just look. The array of weapons were interesting and curious, and a great many of them were ones that she wasn't familiar with using though she did have a smattering of historical knowledge to draw on so she wasn't entirely in the dark about them.

"That's a good thing," Mercy says, giving a nod to him. "I always look forward to the shower that comes after my classes at the dojo," she comments, a smile quirking at the corners of her lips. One of her eyebrows quirks up a little bit as she watches him, studying him, and one of her eyebrows nudges up just a touch. "Something's troubling you?" she asks softly, a gentle note to the words. She's prying, a little.

Rupert Giles has posed:
A very interesing array of weaponry, oh yes. And every single one of them are functional, and deadly in the right hands. Giles looks at Mercy again. "Classes. At the dojo. What classes and which dojo?" He sounds pretty curious. Though he'd been boxing and at the point in what he was doing that it'd been almost all brute force, some of the hits had landed with a precision that speaks of at least a little martial arts experience.

He blinks and then nods slowly. "Yes," he says simply to her question. "I'm worried about your wrist not healing right. If it doesn't heal right, you won't be able to use your hand or fingers well. And I was.. well. Pondering something I probably shouldn't be." He has the grace to at least look sheepish with that admission. Even thinking of offering to perform magic for 'Outsiders' is taboo in his world amongst the Watchers. He seems torn though, on whatever it is.

He glances toward the front where he knows Willow is minding the shop. Then to the back door and whatever it is he's pondering. "Do you trust me?" His eyes are still on the back door as he asks this, but he turns his head to look at Mercy on the heels of the question.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
"It's called shisei kai kan," Mercy says, her smile coming easily. "It's a hobby. A way of staying in shape. And, well... it's come in useful a few times, too. My sensei calls it 'reach out and break someone'," she adds, giving a soft chuckle. "It's at the dojo just in town, so not very far." She gives him the nearest intersectio for it, so that he further knows which one she means.

Mercy's gaze lowers to her wrist when he mentions it, and she tilts her head a bit to one side as he lifts his gaze back to his face. Studying him whilst he speaks, and listening. But listening to more than just the words he says, but also to the way he says them. She wiggles the fingers of her right hand a bit. "That's a fair reason to be troubled. And I can say that's crossed my mind. I mean, my hands are both pretty important, considering that I'm a mechanic. I kind of need my fingers and my hand to be working well," she says, watching him. "Pondering something you shouldn't be? Well... I have to admit that's made me more curious," she adds with a smile.

She follows his gaze, towards the door between the back and front of the shop, and then her gaze turns back to him. "That's an unusual question," Mercy says, one of her eyebrows quirking up a touch. "Yes, Rupert, I trust you," she answers, shifting a bit to be facing him a bit more.

Rupert Giles has posed:
Rupert Giles blinks, and laughs. "Reach out and break someone? That is amusing," he says. "I'll have to make it a point to stop by there. Your sensei sounds funny." Oh the weather outside is... well. Frightful is one word for it. Flat out hot is another. And it's the hottest part of the day, midafternoon. In the front of the store, the ceiling fans are running to circulate the cooler air from the back of the shop where the air conditioning is running. The vents are open to let the air circulate, but the door itself between front and back is closed.

Giles appears to be fresh from a shower, his hair is nicely damp. And he's dressed about normal for him. A long sleeved shirt, in burgandy with washed out burgandy thin horizontal stripes. A pair of grey slacks. His loafers. Mercy is sitting on the couch. And Giles' brow is furrowed, and he looks a bit on the troubled side. Like he's pondering doing something he probably shouldn't be even considering doing.

And yet, he's considering it anyway. "Right," he agrees. "It's important for both hands and all fingers to work properly." He nods to her question. "Yes." Pondering what he shouldn't be. Gah! He reaches up a hand and rubs his forehead. "God. I'm as bad as Buffy," he mutters half under his breath. He lowers his hand when Mercy says she trusts him. "Good. I have something in mind to make sure that wrist heals properly." He beckons to Mercy and takes a step toward the back door. "Willow will be fine watching the shop."

Spike has posed:
"Mad Dogs and Englishmen, eh Rupert," referring the old song, came the voice of Spike, who had silently approached Giles and Mercy from behind, hoping to surprise them, though while Giles was doable, Mercy proved to be much harder. He used the sewer access and the back door that he frequented. And despite the weather, Spike was wearing black, on black, on black, with a bit of red. He had on a black duster coat, red dress shirt, buttons left undone, black t-shirt, and black jeans. He would be boiling, if not for the fact vampires naturally ran a bit cold. They didn't produce their own body heat. He didn't even look like he was sweating. His blanket had been placed, quietly, near the hallway that veered off between the rear training room, and the back entrance. "Hello Mercy."

Buffy Summers has posed:
Buffy Summers is dressed in her favoured workout gear, heading through the front door to have a quick chat with Willow, before she heads for the workout room in the back. She had heard voices, but as she steps in, she is surprised to see Giles is not alone.

"Heey Giles and Mercy? How've you been? It's been like forever since I last saw either of you..There were some things I needed to talk to you about." this last part is directed to Giles as she busies herself with filling the water cooler.

And then of course she spies a Spike. In full leather and black clothing. In this dreadful heat. In the middle of the day. "Uh..Oh, Spike. Hi." she doesn't seem as thrilled to see him.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
There's a grin when Giles laughs, her brown eyes showing a sparkle to them. "That's what he refers to it as. It's designed for facing multiple opponents," Mercy says, watching him. She lifts her left hand and lightly pulls her fingers through her hair, tussling it a bit before letting it go so that it settles about her shoulders again. She wears a plain green t-shirt, a pair of blue jeans, and her steel-toed boots. The cast on her right wrist has been changed this morning, and it's purple. There's a plastic box on the coffee table, filled with sugar cookies.

Mercy watches Giles, listening to him, and she gives a nod to agree with what he's said. "Mmhmm, it's a very important sort of thing. I'm... kind of attached to them, and kind of prefer them to be in good working order," she says, quirking a smile. And not just for mechanic reasons. It wouldn't serve her well when she's a coyote if her wrist and hand and fingers don't work properly. Then she tilts her head to one side. "What makes you say that? You're not bad at all," she says softly. Muttered or otherwise, she hears it.

There's no sign of her being surprised at all by Spike's entry. "Hey, Spike," she offers in greeting, before he speaks, intending to spoil his attempt at sneaking up on at least on eof them. She turns her head to look towards him. She shifts a bit, then rises to her feet from where she had been sitting. Then she looks over to Buffy, studying her for a long moment. "Hey, Buffy. Mostly well, for me. How've you been?" she asks. Mostly well, because she does have that cast on her wrist so that's not entirely good.

Rupert Giles has posed:
Well, there's success at least for one of them. Giles is just turning toward the back entrance when Spike comes through and speaks. He jumps and raises his hands in a defensive position before his brain has registered that it's just Spike. "Bloody /hell/ Spike, I just about took your head off," he states, brows lowered darkly, as he glowers at the vampire. Thus is escape with Mercy thwarted, just that easily. He continues glowering at Spike. "/Now/ what bad news have you brought me?" Apparently, it's just as right down to business as it had been the evening the day before.

And then there's Buffy. And whatever he'd been thinking flies right out of his head as he gets a look at her. "Indeed we do," he says dryly, fixing her with a /look/ that says he knows what she done and isn't pleased nor impressed with it. His attention returns somewhat to Mercy, though he keeps part of it on Spike and Buffy. One never knows what the one will do, and he has no intention of letting the other escape from him before he gets some answers from her.

"I'm going to have to talk to him, maybe teach me some of that style, hm? Think he'd be game?" He blinks at Mercy and nods. "I am, you just don't know why." Oh yes. Breaking the rules? He's bad!

Spike has posed:
"That's right, Rupert," unlike the rest of the Scoobies, Spike addressed the watcher as Rupert, but when talking about him to others, he was Giles. It was about respect. Not that anyone else had clued in on that little tidbit. Perhaps they thought Spike was antagonizing him by referring to him by his first name in direct conversation. Who could tell? "I have bad news," he said, sounding serious, "Arsenal didn't qualify for European competition." Though it was just a joke. He didn't actually know who Giles supported, but with his accent, he figured Giles was a Gunner. Spike himself a professed Manchester United fan, despite being from London. Of course, Spike was sired before football was even invented.

He would politely greet Mercy, "Hello Mercy, good to see you again," and he does a double take at Buffy. The man was caught between a rock and a hard place. On the one hand, he had, or at least was convinced that he had genuine affection for the girl. On the other, she was with someone, and professed to be happy, but her actions suggested otherwise. It didn't help that she was all hot and sweaty in skin tight workout clothes. Doing a double take when he saw her, he asked aloud, "sorry, what were we talking about?"

Buffy Summers has posed:
Buffy Summers had in fact bought a new workout outfit as her regular olive one was in the wash, and she hasn't actually started her workout for the day yet..But the heat outside and the jog here made her hot and sweaty enough to want some ice in her water.

Good thing there's a fridge/freezer in the back office room. She busies herself with plopping ice cubes in her water bottle, brushing a few strands of grey out of her ponytailed hair before talking again.

"Oh uh..What did you wanna talk about?" although the way Giles is looking at her has Buffy suddenly feeling nervous. And then she narrows her eyes on Spike. "So. Why are you here, in the middle of the day? And dressed like that? You feeling suicidal or something?" she smirks. Just a little as she takes that jab.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
"You might want to be careful about who you try to sneak up on. The wrong person might actually hurt you," Mercy says, raising an eyebrow slightly as she looks over to Spike. Then she tilts her head a touch to one side, looking to Giles. "Does he always bring bad news?" she asks, curious. And she takes a moment to look from one to the other of them, noticing the way it seems to be with them. It might lead her towards certain conclusions, but she doesn't voice any of them.

Mercy turns her attention to Giles, studying him for a moment, and her nose wiggles slightly. Then she quirks a smile before giving a nod, at his questions. "Mmhmm, I think he'd be game to have another student. It's a good style to know," she says softly. Then she tilts her head slightly to one side. "Well, I'll have to take your word for it, and you can explain the why later, if you like," she offers, a smile tugging the corners of her lips.

Her gaze turns to Spike, and she gives a nod to him. "It's good to see you again, too. How've you been doing?" she asks, a smile tugging her lips. She glances briefly towards Buffy, the source of his distraction, and then she slips her left hand around to tuck her fingers into a back pocket of her jeans. And she does, for once, not ask any of the questions. Nope! She leaves them for Giles to ask.

Rupert Giles has posed:
Rupert Giles doesn't even actually seem to mind the fact that Spike calls him by his first name. Or, at least, he's not letting on if he does. He blinks at Spike. "Huh? Who? What European competition?" Clearly, Giles is not up to date on whatever sport the vampire is referring to. He just doesn't care about sports, really. He has bigger things to worry about than what team is playing against what other team. He rolls his eyes at Spike and his doubletaking. "We were talking about if you had /real/ bad news for me."

His blue eyes turn back to Buffy at this point, and he steps closer to her. He points at her hair. Specifically, the grey streaks. "Do you have any idea why your hair is suddenly trying to look like mine?" He nods to what Mercy says and looks at Spike. "If I'd had a weapon in my hands, something unfortunate might have happened." He... sounds as though he means that! Could it be possible? Does Giles /like/ Spike???

Giles glances to Mercy and nods. "He never brings /good/ news," he says. "And it's rarely neutral news." He nods about her sensei and files that away for another time. And nods about later explanations. It'll have to be later, now. Giles has plenty of questions, but he'll leave it, for the moment, with the one he's already asked of Buffy. His eyes back on her at this point, awaiting the answer. "And don't think about getting defensive with me, Buffy. You know as well as I do that it's not normal for someone as young as you to suddenly have grey hair."

Spike has posed:
Spike never quite knew where he sat with the Scoobies, except for Xander. He knew how Xander felt at all times. But Giles was harder to read, as he could be disapproving, and helpful, in equal measure. Was it all because Spike occasionally, quite often of late, helped the Scoobies, or was Giles some kind of a surrogate father figure? What a horrible thought. Plus, Spike was much older; he just didn't act it, or look it.

"Hey, there was that one time, oh, right, bit of a mixed bag, that one, but, there was, uh, no, yeah." Spike tried to defend himself, that he brought good news, but even when he did, it was usually a mixture of good and bad, or something they already knew. But at least he tried. Sometimes he tried.

He would nod to Mercy, agreeing, "yeah, you're probably right. Still fun thought." He smiled, not quite laughing, but was close to it. Giles' address of Buffy kind of killed the mood.

He decided not to answer her, make light of it, more curious about her reaction. She had stormed off when he tried to confront her. How would she react to Giles doing the same?

Buffy Summers has posed:
Buffy Summers blinks slowly at Giles, a bit surprised when he points to her hair. Oh. that..She bites her lip, suddenly feeling very self conscious as she tucks her hair behind her ear. "It's nothing, really. Just a couple of grey hairs. Been working extra hard lately, and to be honest, I think I came down with the flu for a couple days after."

Her eyes shift briefly towards Spike, glaring daggers at him as if she knows exactly why Giles is suddenly addressing her hair, before flicking her slightly tense gaze back to Giles. "If you're about to go accussing Thomas of hurting me, forget it. I only saw him recently, a few days ago after he was out of town for a few weeks.." of course he can take that any way he likes.

"ANYWAY, I'm kinda in a hurry, need to check some weapons, get in some training before we check out the vampire stronghold in a couple days. Who knows how many more vamps are still hiding down there, or what sort of war might be yet on the horizon? Don't have time to be discussing the colour of my hair, or my nails for that matter." her tone is a tad snappy at that, or maybe she's just got a lot on her mind. There's a war to fight afterall.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
"Well, being without bad news isn't a bad thing, in and of itself," Mercy says, a smile quirking at the corners of her lips. She glances towards Spike, then turns her attention to Giles, studying him. And she tilts her head a little to one side. "Well... there's a first time for everything, right? I mean, maybe he's just here to be here and doesn't have news of any kind," she suggests.

Her gaze turns to Buffy, flicking along the strands of grey hair before she studies the woman -- and her scent. She glances to Giles, and she gives a small nod, agreeing with him. "It's usually a slower sort of thing," she says softly, a flicker of concern to her voice.

Her attention turns to Spike, and she quirks a smile. "It never hurts to try, anyways. You never know, right?" she says with some amusement to her voice. "Life should be fun," she adds. Her gaze tracks over to Buffy, and she tilts her head to one side. "The flu doesn't cause grey hair, Buffy. Neither does working hard for a few days. If either of those things were the cause, I'd have a fair share of it myself," she says, her brow furrowing a bit. Then she snorts a breath through her nose before giving her head a shake, and it seems there's nothing more that she has to say, at the moment.

Rupert Giles has posed:
Helpful and disapproving in equal measure, and at the exact same time! Giles wouldn't be surprised if he was some sort of surrogate father figure. He's been that often enough in recent years that it no longer surprises him. He raises a brow at Spike, and nods firmly. "Precisely," he says. "Never purely good news." His eyes move immediately back to Buffy, and he narrows them at her. "Buffy, please. Don't try to prevaricate with me. Grey hairs don't come from working hard. Nor do they come with the flu. Grey hairs come with /age/. When the life force begins to dwindle." Or at least, that's his take on it. "Not because you're working hard or got sick."

Giles snaps his fingers toward Buffy's face. "Focus. On me, not on Spike. Do you think I wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't said something? Hmmm?" That's true. He would have noticed anyway! He shakes his head at her. "I'm not planning on accusing anyone. I just want to know the truth and see how we can put a stop to whatever is causing it. You need to be on peak shape, not..." He gestures at her, from top to bottom and back up again. All of her. He narrows his eyes at her. "Why are you getting angry at me being worried about you?" Truth, he hasn't sounded accusatory at all, just... worried.

"No news would be preferable," he says in response to Mercy. He turn shis attention back to Buffy. "It takes a lifetime to get grey hair." He reaches up to point out his own streaks of grey. He had earned them the hard way.

Spike has posed:
Spike held Buffy's dagger glare, refusing to back down. But where she was angry, there was a certain sadness in his eyes and his demeanor, the kind one gets when they know someone is being abused by their partner, they want to help, but don't have a clue how to go about it. It pained him as she tried to hide her hair, and deflect, distracting away from the point at hand. She was adorable at it, but she was still trying to wiggle out of the conversation with Giles. Spike briefly looked to Mercy, nodding that it doesn't hurt to try, and listening to her assessment of the flu's effects on grey hair. As well as the other excuses Buffy had offered for her impairments. But mostly, this was between the Slayer, and her Watcher. Spike would idly move towards Mercy, largely keeping out of it, but there for support, whoever needed it.

Buffy Summers has posed:
Buffy Summers frowns, folding her arms as her sharp gaze sweeps briefly towards Mercy and she shrugs. "Well, I have nothing to hide. I had a rough few weeks. And yes, Thomas fed on me recently. What can I say, maybe I was just more under the weather than usual and not as full of energy as usual. Anyway, I'm not discussing this any further. As I said, I have more dire issues to discuss. Y'know, like a vampire war?"

She does adjust the straps on her crossbody bag which seems slightly fuller than normal, carrying some new weapon perhaps as it pulls the bag into a longer, pointier shape.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
And Giles isn't the only one to sound worried, either. Mercy has, as well. Even had Spike not told either herself or Giles about the grey hair, it would still have been noticed. And given the way that Mercy is, she would have mentioned something about it, too. She raises an eyebrow slightly as she looks over to Giles, and she lifts one of her shoulders in a faint shrug. "No news might be preferable, but sometimes the world just doesn't work that way," she comments in a soft tone, a small smile tugging her lips.

As Spike edges closer towards her, Mercy looks in his direction, a flicker of curiosity reflecting in her brown eyes. She wonders, for a moment, as to his purpose, and given other details that she knows, she perhaps comes to her own conclusions. Conclusions which she keeps to herself, in the moment. Turned quiet, has the coyote.

Mercy looks to Buffy, and she slips her left hand from her back pocket of her jeans before pulling her fingers through her hair, tussling it a bit. Then she lifts one of her shoulders in a bit of a shrug. There's little more that she can do to get Buffy to talk about things. She retrieves her coffee from where it had been sitting on the coffee table, lifting the cup with her left hand and taking a drink from it.

Rupert Giles has posed:
Said Watcher is /not/ willing to back down on this. Too much is at stake. Literally. Giles frowns at Buffy and shakes his head. "Buffy, if something happens to you, there won't be anyone to do anything about this vampire war you're so focused on. You have to take care of you before you can take care of others." He pauses and takes a breath. "If you refuse to be reasonable and discuss this like an adult, I'll go to Thomas. You know he'll talk to me." Afterall, the man /had/ invited Giles to his favorite eatery. Giles knows Thomas is willing to talk to him, so long as Giles is reasonable. And he has no intention of being unreasonable. "The vampire war is going nowhere."

He glances at Mercy and nods. "Most of the time the world doesn't work that way." News is news. It is rarely good. More often, neutral.

Spike has posed:
Spike had a mixture of emotions going on, being very conflicted. But this was one of those kinds of moments where the smart thing was to close his mouth, and open his ears. Surprisingly, he did the smart thing. If anyone might be feeling under the weather, it was probably Spike right now.

Buffy Summers has posed:
Buffy Summers has been known to be quite stubborn with Giles on occasion. Okay, correction, most of the time. Heck, didn't she even punch his lights out once or twice so she could go over his head and do whatever the hell she wanted, because she's the Chosen One, because its her destiny, blah blah blah...

"Giles, you're being unreasonable and you know it. I always take care of myself and I know my limits with him. It's not like this grey hair thing happens often or more than..Well twice, I suppose. I just had an off couple of weeks that's all. Nothing else to really say about it. And for your information, people are dying every day, and in huge numbers in New York right now, so yes! This war is going somewhere, it's going to hell, very very quickly! So no, I'm not discussing this any further. However, you're more than welcome to talk to Thomas if you really think it's gonna make a difference."

She sighs, "No matter what you think about what's going on, it doesn't change the fact that it's my choice to be with Thomas. And it's my choice to help him. Because I love him. And I'm not gonna let you, or anyone else ruin things for me, this time." And that's that.

Buffy is already setting her bag down on the bench near to the practice mat, starting to stretch and loosen up her joints, beginning with stretching her arms. "I'm gonna get in a workout now. And you can either listen to what I have to say about the chaos over the last few days, or you can leave me alone to beat up things."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
There's only so much that a friend can do for another friend. And Mercy hasn't really known Buffy for that long to be able to have much in the way of conversational sway. Her gaze turns towards Giles, studying him for a long moment before she gives a small nod, to agree with at least some part of what he's said. "I'm not really sure what good I'd be in any war, vampire or otherwise," she comments in a quiet tone. She has a fibreglass cast on her right wrist, and it's still healing -- fighting isn't exactly her strong suit right now. Not that it's necessarily her strong suit any other day of the week.

Mercy glances to Spike for a moment, noticing the quiet that he's adopted, and then she looks down to idly swirl her coffee in the cup. The wrinkle to her brow remains, even as she lifts the cup to take a sip from it. And other than that comment, the coyote echoes Spike and holds her tongue.

Rupert Giles has posed:
Rupert Giles lifts up a hand and rubs his forehead. "On your head be it, then," he says softly. "Clearly, you don't want to listen, and don't care that I'm worried about you. I don't want to ruin what you have with Thomas. I want to understand what's happening and find a way to keep it from harming you." Giles shakes his head and turns away. "Have fun beating things up." Giles looks.. well. He looks old in that moment. Old and tired. He looks every day of the age he happens to be. He doesn't usually look like this.

"Mercy?" He glances toward her, and then starts toward the back door. If he's not stopped, he's going to walk right on out. He pauses only to lift a hand to rest it briefly on Spike's shoulder, as though to wish him the best of luck.

Spike has posed:
Spike did not like what Buffy was doing to Giles. It was strange that he cared. "Buffy, you've lived longer than most slayers, Faith too for that matter, but the way you're acting, you're going to put your dear old watcher in an early grave," Giles wasn't that old, but Spike was trying to rile him up so that he wouldn't be so fatalistic, "or maybe Tommy's feeding will get you killed, and we all get to meet the slayer. For a girl that spent years extending her expiration date, you're sure trying to make up for it. You want to fight; I'm feeling a bit peckish. You up for seeing who'd win. Are you willing to bet on it?" What was he up to?

Buffy Summers has posed:
Buffy Summers sighs as she watches Giles going, knowing that they can both be just as stubborn as each other. She also knows there's really no way around it, other than simply not letting Thomas feed on her. WHich as far as she's concerned is not an option.

To Mercy, she smiles weakly. "Sorry you had to see that Merc. I hope your arm heals up soon, and dont worry about getting involved, you should focus on healing, really. I'd ask what happened, but maybe that's a story for another day.."

She glances at Spike next, frown deepening further. "Don't start with me, Spike. You think I haven't already considered all options? It's an all or none situation and there's really nothing more to be said. I'm not gonna die any time soon, unless people keep harassing me unnecessarily and endlessly, poking their nose in my business."

She smirks, pulling on her workout gloves and cocks her finger at him as she crouches into a defensive stance and nods. "Oh, I was soo hoping you'd say that."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Sometimes, the weight of days and of weeks and of years, and everything that fills them, is heavier than on other days. Mercy wiggles her nose slightly before she finishes her coffee, and her gaze rests on Giles both as he speaks and afterwards. Watching him, studying him, and no doubt in more ways than one. There's a slight perk of her attention when he calls her name, and she gives a nod to him, and a smile as well before she starts to head towards the back door with him.

She pauses for a moment, looking to Spike and studying him and finding herself ageeing with a lot of what he says, even though she doesn't voice it. "Good luck with the sparring," she says, giving a nod to him. Then she looks over to Buffy, and she lifts one of her shoulders in a small shrug. "It is what it is. The healing thing just takes time. It's not really a very interesting story," she says, a bit of a smile touching her lips. Or if it is, she's not getting into it now. She glances towards Spike, then back to Buffy. "Have fun," she offers, giving a nod to the Slayer. "Take care, both of you," she adds. Then she turns to continue on the way, to catch up with Giles and head out with him.