Back in Sunnydale -- or even in Scotland -- if Buffy had ever been told she would one day quite willingly embrace a life of denim shorts and sail-mending...? Why, she would have laughed the teller out of the room. For one thing, Daisy Dukes were always tacky. And for another, the task of tending and mending sailcloth was hardly a glamourous one. Then again, neither was battling the undead and she'd long ago taken to that habit.

But here Buffy sat bent over a corner of cloth. Her legs -- tanning nicely beyond a dark denim hem -- were crossed. She occupied a portion of Luceti's dock next to small two-person sailboat: the Sineya. It was her practice boat, built over a year by a pirate who had been eager to see the Slayer learn the trade. And she was out this afternoon giving her some love and care.

She left Sokka to his own devices for an hour or so -- allowing them both to seep in the solitude and the sun. But eventually she pushed to her feet, stuck her marlinspike into the bun of blonde hair at the back of her head, and meandered over to the Ocean Spirit.

"If you ever need extra hands to scrape her bottom...?" Buffy trailed off. "Wow, there's nothing about that that doesn't sound dirty. Sailors -- pigs, all of them."