Xander's room at the Arms, Saturday Evening

Xander woke up a little before sunset. Like, you know, normal people do, so breakfast gets a chance to run around out there while you sleep and warm itself up for ya.

There was no sign of Willow in the room; he guessed she must've found someplace to hole up for the day. Hopefully with a better-stocked wetbar than this one; the booze selection was okay, but not a drop of the red in sight. A quick toss of the room, peeking into the wardrobe and under the bed -- and in the big suitcase just in case because sometimes Willow got creative -- revealed that they hadn't stashed the former occupant anywhere, either.

Just as well, probably; he hated leftovers.

Still, it meant that by the time the sun finally set, he was hungry. Xander put on his leather jacket, slipped a small bottle of whiskey from the bar into one of the pockets, and grabbed the money clip out of the computer bag that must've belonged to last night's dinner. Not like he'd be needing it, and not like this was Sunnydale. Town not ruled by vampires, you still needed cash for some things.

Then he was out the door and into the night.

--
[Yaddayaddastablishycakes. Xander's... Xander. If he happened to have died when he was sixteen, never met Buffy Summers, and definitely never went to Fandom High.]

Xander's room at the Arms, Saturday Evening

Xander woke up a little before sunset. Like, you know, normal people do, so breakfast gets a chance to run around out there while you sleep and warm itself up for ya.

There was no sign of Willow in the room; he guessed she must've found someplace to hole up for the day. Hopefully with a better-stocked wetbar than this one; the booze selection was okay, but not a drop of the red in sight. A quick toss of the room, peeking into the wardrobe and under the bed -- and in the big suitcase just in case because sometimes Willow got creative -- revealed that they hadn't stashed the former occupant anywhere, either.

Just as well, probably; he hated leftovers.

Still, it meant that by the time the sun finally set, he was hungry. Xander put on his leather jacket, slipped a small bottle of whiskey from the bar into one of the pockets, and grabbed the money clip out of the computer bag that must've belonged to last night's dinner. Not like he'd be needing it, and not like this was Sunnydale. Town not ruled by vampires, you still needed cash for some things.

Then he was out the door and into the night.

--
[Yaddayaddastablishycakes. Xander's... Xander. If he happened to have died when he was sixteen, never met Buffy Summers, and definitely never went to Fandom High.]