All the usual disclaimers apply; I'm no one, mean no harm. Feedback is the impetus of creativty!
Not every function has an inverse; those that do are called invertible.
Without notice, something shifted in Sunnydale: a tiny turn of the wheel, a flash of light, a slight adjustment of order. Buffy Summers turned over in bed, kicking off the heavy coverlet in the process as she sighed and drifted back to sleep.
She slept late that day, past two, only rolling herself out of the tangle of sheets when the sharp pangs in her stomach forced her down into the kitchen for sustenance. The house was empty and normally she would have grabbed a snack, tooka quick jog over to the Magic Box and worked out until lunch, but today she felt like vegetating.
She yawned and scratched the back of leg while she surveyed the contents of the refrigerator. A week-old bucket of chicken, something brown and chunky in a pink Tupperware bowl, wilted lettuce, and a jar of pickles stared back at her.
Didn't anyone in this damn house ever hear of groceries? She slammed the fridge door closed with more force than necessary, feeling slightly comforted by the sound of clanking glass as the bottles on the shelves bumped against one another.
Ok, so technically it was her job to take care of Dawn now that their mom was gone, but slaying was a hard business that didn't pay and their funds were dangerously low. She yawned at the thought of the mountain of bills waiting to be paid, instead of breaking into her usual cold sweat.
Buffy opened the freezer, eyes brightening when they spotted a tub of double mint fudge chocolate chip ice cream in the back corner. She stood on her tip toes to reach back and grab it. "At least someone's doing something right," she mumbled as she dug a spoon from the drawer and hopped on the counter to sit and eat it.
Half way through the carton, she belched and set it down disinterestedly, sliding down from her perch and heading toward the stairs. The abandoned tub of ice cream mournfully dripped chocolate goo onto the shiny marble counter top.
Meanwhile, Buffy padded into the bathroom, quickly slipping out of the long t-shirt and boxer shorts she wore for pajamas. She started the faucet in the bathtub, leaning down to put in the plug and tip some floral-smelling bubble bath into the warm water.
As the tub filled, she appreciated her reflection in the body-length mirror behind the door, turning to her right side and then her left, lifting each breast to inspect its weight and shape, and then twisting her neck over her shoulder to check out her ass. Satisfied, she shook out her hair and stepped into the bathtub.
While she waited for the water to fill completely she closed her eyes, dipping one foot under the spray from the detachable faucet. Detachable. One eye popped open as she stared down the length of the tub toward the silver showerhead with its long, mobile cord swaying innocently in the spray of water.
Her eyebrow twitched mischievously and then she was leaning forward to maneuver the showerhead toward her soapy thighs.
