#bigbrewingevil

“So… it was blood. Everywhere. Like a Jackson Pollock painting, but, y’know, extra iron-heavy. I’m standing in the doorway like, okay, this is it, this is the Big Bad. Some demonic massacre, probably goat hooves and a Latin incantation scrawled in entrails, classic. I call Giles, I get my axe, I’m mentally going over how to best break it to you without you trying to teleport yourself into the middle of danger—” Buffy stops, leans dramatically against a crypt, eyes wide with mock gravity, “Turns out? Jess got food poisoning. From a mystic jambalaya. And decided to, direct quote, purge the evil from both ends. Which he did. In my apartment. With the door open. Because he needed airflow for the ritual.”

Buffy exhales loudly, rolling her eyes. She’s still traumatized. Her boots may never emotionally recover, “So if you were wondering why your favorite Watcher has been suspiciously quiet and deeply humbled this week? That’s why. And if he tries to say it was a summoning mishap, he’s lying. He summoned shrimp. That’s it.”