The first thing Buffy Summers did was turn away from the board -- fondling the darts between two palms. Rolling their metal barrels between her fingers and listening to the soft whistle of the flights. She had done this trick dozens of times for Jack; easy peasy.

Deep breath. She reacquainted herself with the layout of the room, half-meditating as she relaxed her shoulders and picked one dart out of the three. Tapped it once against her chin and then -- all at once -- stillness became action. Imagining a more dangerous target than a bullseye, she snapped about to face the game proper and loosed the first dart.

It buried itself deep in the centre of the board. The second and third soon followed; the second was close but not quite in the bullseye. The third shared that goal with the first. Her serene and Slayer-earned expression cracked into a nervous smirk.

Without removing the blindfold: "Well?"