"We gotta practice our banter," said Xander, "All the best bands have good banter."

"Practice?" said Buffy, "I'm a fountain of modern wit, I don't need to practice."

"It's true," said Willow, wrapping up her cables, "Punning is like her superpower."

"Plus punching people," said Xander, "She does that too."

"Look," said Buffy, "It's been a month since our first show, we've played four gigs—"

"—Three and a half," said Willow, "If you count that house show that got shut down halfway through our set."

"—Three and a half," Buffy continued, "And people are starting to notice us. Soon, the gigs will start rolling in, and we won't need banter or fancy merch. It'll just be about the music."

"What about money?" said Xander, "Will money start rolling in?"

"To be determined," said Buffy.

"Did someone say 'money'?" Anya poked her head through the studio door, "Come on, Xander. You said you were going to take me to lunch, and 12:30 is, traditionally, lunch time. And now it's 12:45 so… Hurry up and tell your loud friends goodbye."

"Just call it punk time, Ahn," said Xander. He turned to his band, "I better take the lady out. I'll see you guys later."

He left. Willow zipped her gig bag and said, "Hey Buff, is it cool if Tara comes over today? She's gonna teach me some guitar stuff. Says her neighbors get cranky if she's too loud in her apartment."

"You already play guitar," said Buffy.

"Not well! Tara's, like, classically trained. She can read music and play more than four chords and stuff."

"Cool," said Buffy, "You think about asking her if she wants to play lead? No one's responding to that flier we put up in the hall."

"I dunno," said Willow, "She's kinda shy, plus she works the bar, so scheduling. Y'know."

"Right. Well she can totally come over," said Buffy, "Giles asked me to go to Willy's to see if he'll let go of that busted old combo amp for cheap."

"You mean so I can fix it for free?" said Willow.

"So you can fix it for hours upon hours of free rehearsal time," said Buffy, "I shake them down for cheap gear, you fix it up brand new. It's a good hustle."

"Alright," Willow said, "Well, when you see Willy tell him to stop making a big show of carding me every time we're there. He knows how old I am and it's embarrassing in front of all those tough grisled biker-types."

"Some kinda power trip for him. You know Willy, he's a little weasel."

"Good luck," said Willow, "Hope you don't bump into any creeps. I mean, only weirdos go to Willy's at 1pm on a Sunday."

Buffy stood outside the run-down dive for a moment, sucking in a nice deep breath so she could avoid that putrid scent of sweat, blood, and booze for as long as possible. Steeling herself, she opened the door.

"Slayer," she heard, and she let out that breath in an exasperated sigh when she recognized the voice just before turning around.

"What did you just call me?" she said.

"You were wearing a Slayer shirt at the Bronze that first gig," Spike shrugged, "Weren't you?"

"You remember what I was wearing?"

"Well, you were sort of the center of attention there, luv."

"I guess that's the definition of being a 'front person', so yeah. Whatever. Anyway, I have a name."

"It's not very punk rock."

"Right," said Buffy, "Not like 'Spike'."

"What brings you here this fine day, Slayer? Fancy a mid-afternoon pint?"

"No, I'm not a freak like you. This where you hang out all day?" said Buffy, "I'm here to buy some gear off Willy."

"Good luck," said Spike, "Guy's a pack rat. He's got cables that haven't worked since '76."

"I can be very convincing." Buffy headed for the bar and greeted the shifty owner, "Hey Willy."

"Oh no," Willy said, "I'm gonna need to see some ID—"

"You've seen it, asshole," said Buffy, "And my redhead friend says to stop carding her too. You know we're in our twenties. Besides, I'm not here to drink. Giles over at the studio was wondering if he can take that old Marshall off your hands."

"What's he offering?" said Willy.

"Well, considering the tubes are smashed and it hasn't worked since before I could talk," said Buffy, "How's twenty-five bucks?"

"Nah, no deal," said Willy, "I'll get it fixed. One day, just gimme time."

"What do you want for it?"

"Fifty," said Willy.

"That's ridiculous," said Buffy, "I'll give you thirty. It'll cost you twice that to even start getting it fixed."

"No deal, kid," said Willy, "Fifty or bust."

"Twenty," Spike said as he stalked up to the bar, leaning on it with intimidating force, "Or I'll bust your teeth. Give the lady what she wants, Snitch. You damn well bloody know fifty's bollocks for that thing."

Willy looked a little frightened, eyes locking with Spike's. Then he turned to Buffy, "Twenty-five. Take it or leave it."

"Uh, deal," Buffy said.

Willy went to the back to get it, and Buffy slammed her hand down on Spike's finger. Spike drew his hand back with a feminine little yelp, waving it in the air to make the sting dissipate faster. "Oi! What was that for?" he cried.

"I know you think you're some knight in leather armor," said Buffy, "But I coulda handled that myself. Back off."

"Make me."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Maybe I would."

Willy returned, amp in hand, "Here she is." He looked up at the two musicians, each seeming ready to brawl. Willy scowled, "Hey. No fighting in my bar. Well, not until 6PM, anyway."

"Wow," said Willow, gripping her unplugged strat in awe, "You're really good."

"No," said Tara with a blush as she strummed a chord that Willow had never seen before on her Martin, "I've j-just been playing for a while. M-my mom taught me when I was little."

"So you, like, know lots of scales and chords and stuff?" said Willow, "Can you read sheet music and everything?"

"K-kinda," said Tara, "But you're really good too. You don't need any of that stuff for punk rock."

"You know," said Willow, "Me and Buffy were talking about maybe finding someone to play lead. Y'know, to, uh, round out our sound. Would you wanna?""

"Oh," said Tara, "Uh, n-n-no, I d-don't think I c-could do that…"

"Show me that chord you just did," said Willow, "It sounds so… I dunno, it's not like a power chord, it's got this angst to it."

Tara showed it to her, "It's like this."

Willow copied her, but her notes rang strange and strangled.

"I-it obviously takes practice," said Tara, "Y-your fingering is really good, though."

Willow widened her eyes slightly, "My what?"

Tara cocked her head. "Your fingering," she said, "You know, the way you position your fingers o-on the frets. It must come very natural to you."

"Oh, well," said Willow, "I do circuits and computers and stuff too, so I'm really, um… good with my fingers."

Now Tara blushed and looked away as Willow noodled obliviously on that A Minor Pentatonic scale. "Oh," Tara said, glancing (helplessly) at Willow's thin fingers, "T-try using your fourth finger for that C, so you don't have to move your hand."

Willow stared at her.

"Your pinky," she said, "Your ex didn't really teach you any of the t-terms, did he?"

"I don't think he knew them," said Willow, "No one's really trained like you around here." She played the scale again, "Hey! That's actually way easier."

Tara couldn't keep a crooked smile from her face, and she was so enamored with Willow that she almost didn't notice Buffy come through the door.

"Hi Buffy!" greeted Willow, "Tara was just teaching me how to finger."

Tara hid her reddening face in her hands as Buffy raised a bewildered eyebrow. "Not on my couch, she's not," Buffy said.

"On the guitar," Tara said, muffled behind her palms, "I'm teaching her to… nevermind."

"What'd I say?" said Willow, "Did I use the terms wrong?"

"Oh Will," said Buffy, "I think I see why Willy cards you all the time."

"How'd it go?" said Willow, "You get the thing?"

"Yep," said Buffy, "Dropped it off at Giles'. So whenever you guys are done fingering , I think there's a soldering iron over there with your name on it. Giles even said he'll give you fifteen bucks to get the amp up and running again."

"Wow," Willow said, "Paid real cash for my time and labor? I never woulda thunk!"

"I… I should p-probably get going," said Tara, stuffing her acoustic back in its case, "I have to be back at the Bronze to open for Happy Hour."

"Is anyone who goes to Happy Hour at the Bronze actually happy?" asked Buffy, "I think it's more Depressed Alcoholics Hour."

"Willow, I can drive you to the studio on my way to the bar," offered Tara, "I-if you want."

"That'd be great!" said Willow, standing, "Lemme just grab my tools." She scurried off to her room as Tara started gathering the zines that were sprawled across the coffee table. One caught Buffy's eye. She picked it up, and sure enough there on the cover was a poorly photocopied photo of Spike with two women and a man. ' The Whirlwind' it said across the top in crude font.

"Are these your zines?" Buffy asked, telling herself to be casual.

"Mine and Willow's, yeah," said Tara, "That one's from Britain, 1989 I think. I got it from someone in my zine group."

"Huh," said Buffy, "Hey, you mind if I borrow this?"

"Ask Willow," said Tara, "It's hers now, I traded her for an issue of Girl Germs ."

Buffy shrugged. "She borrowed my leather jacket last week so I think we're even," she explained, shoving the zine in her coat pocket.

"D-do you guys have any shows coming up?" asked Tara, "Sorry I missed you at the Espresso Pump last week, I had work."

"Don't worry about it, you can't really get loud in there and the crowd is all, y'know, yuppies looking for eclectic jazz or something. Anyway, Will says this guy she tutored in high school is having a party at the college, and she's trying to convince him to let us play. Other than that… nothing on the docket, there aren't enough bars in this town, and there's even less that wanna see someone like me singing punk."

"W-well Spike seemed to like you," said Tara, "I'll tell him to put in a good word w-with Snyder."

"Spike liked m–... us? What'd he say?"

Tara shrugged, "Um, he was j-just like, you know…" She put on a bad British accent, "'At least one band has got some bloody talent 'round here.' And then he took a drag from his cigarette and walked into a-an alley… like he does."

"What's his deal, anyway?" said Buffy, "Is he a creep or just socially maladjusted?"

"H-he thinks he's pretty cool, doesn't he?" said Tara, "He's nice to me, a-at least. He f-found me bar-backing at Willy's and convinced Snyder to hire m-me at the Bronze, because," she did that British accent again, "'You don't wanna know what guys like this'll do to a kitten like you, pet.'"

"And the Bronze, of course, is just a goldmine of upstanding citizens," said Buffy.

"Well, it's better than Willy's," said Tara, "And I get paid to stand around and listen to music."

"He really gets a kick outta protecting us damsels, doesn't he? That Spike guy." said Buffy, "I'd like to teach him a thing or two."

"About d-damsels?"

"Yeah," said Buffy.

"Willow said you're stronger than you look," said Tara.

Buffy shrugged, "I work out."

Willow skipped back into the room weighed down by a Jansport backpack filled, no doubt, with guitar repair tools, "Okay! Ready!"

"I'll see y-you later, Buffy," said Tara, "Come by the Bronze tonight, i-if you're around."

"Listen, Percy," said Willow. She sat cross-legged on the floor in the studio hallway beside the payphone, holding the receiver to her ear between her head and her shoulder as she worked on the amp, "Who else is gonna play your stupid party? … Dingoes? Who wants to hear Dingoes without Oz? Their new guitarist is worse than I am! … Okay, sure I was a nerd in high school but I'm… Well, now I'm a nerd in a band so—? … Really? H-E-double hockey stick-yeah! … Don't spell out words like that? Right. You got it. Thanks, Percy. We won't let ya down!"

She hung up the phone, and then dialed again.

"Buffy? It's Willow. Guess who has two thumbs and just got us a gig this weekend?"

On the other end, Buffy smirked in her kitchen, "Hmm, lemme guess… You?"

"Y—Ow!" Willow howled, "Sorry, sorry. Burned my thumb on hot solder. Make that one thumb and one lump of BBQ'd flesh."

"Be careful," said Buffy, "We need all your fingers fully functional. This is gonna be a great show."