bunnies aren't just cute like everybody supposes!

[Action]

[The house is empty. Sure, Buffy and Jack had gone on missions before and disappeared, but this was different. The cozy touches that had made rooms rooms were all cold and bare. Maybe some things were left - nothing special. Not many things of true trinket value. Gifts? Maybe they were gifts. And some weapons, but not as big as the usual stash.

One confused cat left to paw around the rooms.]

Just you and me left, huh, Cupcake? And she said she'd still -

[Be here. She was so sure she'd be here. And was Spike still around? She'd have to go searching. And check that house by the sea to make sure they hadn't secretly moved out on her, after all...

Anya's hair is darker and her expression is fairly grim today as she moves around the village, checking certain spots - visiting the bar for a drink or two before she can't stand it. The barracks, to check for signs of her housemate, knocking a few dummies around. She will eventually end up at the beach after that, and drop in to check the place she first arrived. Cullen house and the old fort. Empty, cold, dark. And she stands out there for a while in the cold. Perhaps alone, perhaps not.

Then it's the trek back to seven just before dusk. Anyone who doesn't know by now will have to be told. She sits in front of the fireplace, malt in one hand, cat curled up by the other, and stares at the book. And finally picks up the pen to write, with purposeful letters.]

[Written]

Buffy's gone. The Pirate Captain too.


Thought you ought to know.

[And she leaves it at that. No preamble, no real closing statement. Will people want to talk? Ask questions on how cryptic the statement seems? Probably - and they're more than welcome to do so among themselves.]

[Action]

[Waking up unceremoniously in Luceti with no idea of where she is and what she is doing there is of course a disorienting experience. Anya finds herself out on the beach, lying prone on the sand. It could be Sunnydale, except the area she's been deposited in doesn't have much surrounding it besides sand and blue skies.

Her back hurts, and by the time she sits herself up and reaches back there...] Wings? Is this a joke?

[Some more time passes with her half-ranting to herself, trying to get oriented and squinting at the placement of the sun. She almost misses the fact that the journal is there completely, save when she finally starts to walk and nearly trips over the thing, half buried in the sand.]

[Accidental voice]

- Ow! I have sand in places that I don't want to think about, there's no sign of anyone - what is this, a book? I don't even get a pair of shoes, or even suntan lotion, I just get a lousy book? [She turns the journal over in her hands, pages rustling, her image still not visible, though there's the sound of the ocean's waves in the background.] ... my name is on this book. This just entered a new level of creepy.