"Left low kick!" She delivered a low kick with her left leg. The vampire blocked her easily. "Left high kick!" She delivered a high kick with her left leg. The vampire blocked her easily. "Back flip double kick!" She performed a perfect back flip kicking the vampire under the chin with her feet one after another. She landed in a crouch, "Ooh, missed that one! Bit too advanced for the brain dead?"
"Now Buffy you really mustn't play with him." A deep voice floated from somewhere to the right behind her. It had a very strong English accent and gave the image of a teed clad man in his mid thirties drinking tea, which was unsurprisingly accurate as that was exactly how Giles looked.
Although at the moment his brow was slightly furrowed and his lips slightly pursed in irritation as his charge answered back in a whiney voice, "But Giles," she said hitting the vampire around the face with the front of her first and then swinging it back around to strike him with the back of it. He sprawled to the floor with a grunt, "If I stake him now then what will you have to criticize when he's dust?"
"I will be able to criticize the next vampire you fight."
"The dust'll get in your tea." She warned, hitting the vamp in the back of the knees and pinning him to the ground with a sneaker to his chest.
"Just stake him please."
"Fine." She grumbled. A small wooden stake appeared in her fist and was soon buried in the vampire's chest; she pulled it back out just in time for the fiery wound to spread and the vampire to crumble under her foot. An unexpected light wind picked up the remains of the vampire in a flurry of dust, sprinkling it over the open green thermos flask in Giles's hand and littering his squeaky clean glasses.
Buffy gave an impish grin, "Don't tell me I didn't warn you."
"Yes." Giles turned the flask on it's end pouring tea onto the graveyard grass, he set it down beside him then pulled out a small cloth and began to clean his glasses. "I can see how your supernatural slayer abilities allow you to accurately predict wind patterns." He said dryly.
Buffy skipped over and set her tiny frame upon a headstone beside his, "I can't stay out much longer, I've got history to do."
"Buffy would you ever forgive yourself if the night you were 'doing history' were the night that some inexplicable evil came to town and killed hundreds right under you nose? In comparison to your extracurricular activities history should be rather meager, yes?"
"I'm right there with you Giles." She patted him on the shoulder; "Just try explaining that to my Mom."
"We still have two graveyards by the school and one outside the morgue to patrol."
"Don't worry Giles," She jumped down from the headstone and then began jogging off on her way home calling, "Angel does a sweep every night; he'll get the stragglers."
"The 'stragglers'? Buffy—oh, fine. Someday I will get a leash for that girl." Giles said to himself. He gathered his things and trudged on his own way.