[Jacketed and scarfed, Buffy is hard at work on the lawn of House Seven. She has in her hands a most fierce and gruesome weapon--long and pronged, wickedly effective for roping in and dealing with rogue...leaves. Yes, today Buffy is devoting her time to raking the leaves on the lawn (a task she takes even into the early but dark evening). And while
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...What are ya doin'?
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What's the point of gatherin' up...leaves?
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[Yes, he's leaning against the wall of the house, watching. You might have felt him coming...maybe.]
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Ah, but that would be the sensible and rational thing to do.
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[He'll stand up and make his way over.]
Got any bags? I can start stuffing them.
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Time to wage war on the leaves?
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[Then, commenting on her equally bundledness:] Makes you miss California, doesn't it?
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[ Yeah, a bundledupness that she's not too happy with, either. ] Very much. No snow except that one freak year in high school. And not much on the cold factor, either.
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Trouble?
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