Dead Man's Party
B=Buffy, G=Giles, X=Xander, W=Willow, C=Cordelia, O=OzA=Angel, J=Joyce, PS=Principal Snyder
J: I thought I'd hang a few pieces in here. It cheers up the room.
B: It's angry at the room, Mom. It wants the room to suffer.
J: You have no appreciation of primitive art.
B: I'd like to find Willow and Xander.
J: Will you be slaying?
B: Only if they give me lip.
J: Can I make you a sandwich or something before you go? You must be starving.
B: I was, until that four-course snack you served me after dinner.
B: Didn't anyone ever warn you about playing with pointy sticks? It's all fun and games until somebody loses an eye.
C: Come in, Nighthawk - everything okay?
B: Nighthawk??
B: What if he's mad?
X: Mad? Just because you ran away and abandoned your past and your friends and your Mom and made him lay awake every night worrying about you? Maybe we should wait out here.
X: Check it out. The Watcher's back on the clock. And just when you were thinking career change, maybe becoming a Looker or a Seer.
G: Thank you, Xander.
B: I got in a few hours ago, but I wanted to go see my Mom first.
G: Yes, yes, of course. How did you find her?
B: Well, I pretty much remembered the address.
O: Hey, so you're not wanted for murder anymore.
B: Good. That was such a drag.
X: So, where were you? Did you go to Belgium?
B: Why would I go to Belgium?
X: I think the relevant question here is why wouldn't you? Belgium!
C: So, were you living in a box, or what?
B: It's a long story.
X: So, skip the heartwarming stuff about kindly old people and saving the farm, and get right to the dirt.
G: Perhaps Buffy could use a little time to adjust before we grill her on her summer activities.
B: What he said.
B: You guys seem down with the slayage, all tricked out with your walkies and everything.
C: Yeah, but the outfits suck. This whole Rambo thing is so over. I'm thinking more sporty. Like Hilfiger, maybe.
W: Still, we were getting pretty good. We dusted 9 out of 10.
O: < whispering > 6 out of 10.
W: ...6 out of 10.
B: Thank you for the offer, but I think I just want to get back to my normal routine. You know, school, slaying - kid stuff. In fact, I'm jonesing for a little brainless fun.
X: I'm kind of tied up.
C: You wish.
B: Oh, come on. Friends don't let friends browse alone.
G: You know you'll have to talk to Principal Snyder before...
B: On it. Mom is making an appointment with His Ugliness. I know she can break him.
J: But you can't keep her out of school. You don't have the right.
PS: I have not only the right, but also a nearly physical sensation of pleasure at the thought of keeping her out of school. I'd describe myself as tingly.
J: Buffy was cleared of all those charges.
PS: Yes, and while she may live up to the not-a-murderer requirement for enrollment, she is a troublemaker, destructive to school property and the occasional student. And her grade point average is enough to... I'm sorry. Another tingle moment.
PS: I'm quite sure that a girl with the talents and abilities of Buffy will land on her feet. In fact, I noticed as I came in this morning, that Hotdog-On-a-Stick is hiring. You will look so cute in that hat.
J: Don't worry about school, honey. If we can't get you back into Sunnydale, maybe we can swing private school.
B: Private school? You mean like jackets and kilts? You want me to get field hockey knees?
B: What about home-schooling? You know, it's not just for scary religious people any more.
Pat: Between your situation, and reading "Deep End of the Ocean", she was, uh, just a wreck. You can imagine.
Pat: You go be with your Mom. You two need to rebond.
B: Mom, Willow and everybody aren't company-plate people. They're normal-plate people.
B: Next time, I get to pick the Mother-Daughter bonding activity.
J: Do you want to say something?
B: Like what? Thanks for stopping by and dying?
J: How about, good-bye stray cat, who lost its way, we hope you find it.
B: Am I dreaming?
A: I'm probably the wrong person to ask.
J: I've been on the phone with the superintendent of schools. At least he seems more reasonable than that nasty little horrid bigoted rodent man.
J: As for private schools, Miss Porter's accepts late admissions. I wrote the information down for you.
B: A girl's school? So now it's jackets, kilts, and no boys? Care to throw in a little foot-binding?
J: I just wish you didn't have to be so secretive about things. I mean, it's not your fault you have a special circumstance. They should make allowances for you.
B: Mom, I'm a Slayer. It's not like I need to ride in a little bus to school.
J: I would think they would be happy to have a... a superhero. Is that the right term?
B: Welcome to the Hellmouth petting zoo.
G: Oh, my god. What a stench.
B: You know, I wanted forest pine, or April fresh, but Mom wanted dead cat.
G: It's, uh, striking... and Nigerian.
B: You know, I love art talk as much as the next very dull person, but we have work to do, Giles.
O: it looks dead, it smells dead. Yet it's moving around. That's interesting.
C: Nice pet, Giles. Don't you like anything regular? Golf, USA Today, or anything?
O: Well, I like it. I think you should call it Patches.
W: What about Buffy's welcome home dinner tonight? I told her mom we'd help out, bring stuff.
C: I'm the dip.
X: You gotta admire the purity of it.
O: We should figure out what kind of deal this is. I mean, is it a gathering, a shindig, or a hootenanny?
C: What's the difference?
O: Well, a gathering is brie, mellow song stylings. Shindig: dip, less mellow song stylings, perhaps a large amount of malt beverage. And hootenanny, well, it's chock full of hoot, just a _little_ bit of nanny.
X: Well, I hate brie.
C: I know - it smells like Giles' cat.
X: Okay, so one vote from the old guy for smelly cheese night, and how many votes for actual fun, huh?
B: You seem to be avoiding me, in the one-on-one sense.
W: What? This isn't avoiding. See, here you are, here I am.
B: So we're cool?
W: Way! That's why, with the party, 'cause we're all glad you're back.
X: I guess a lot of people are glad to have you back.
B: It seems like people I didn't even know missed me.
Guy: You got the wrong casa, Mr. Belvedere.
B: I'm trying.
W: Wow, and it looks just like giving up.
G: Unbelievable. "Do you like my mask? Isn't it pretty? It raises the dead." Americans!
J: You put me through the ringer, Buffy. I mean it. And I've had schnapps.
X: You can't just bury stuff, Buffy. It'll come right back up to get you.
G: Oh, good show, Giles.
G: Like riding a bloody bicycle!
C: Put yourself in Buffy's shoes for just a minute, okay? I'm Buffy, freak of nature, right? naturally, I pick a freak for a boyfriend, and then he turns into Mr. Killing-spree, which is pretty much my fault...
B: Cordy! Get out of my shoes.
O: Okay, I'm gonna step in now, being referee-guy.
W: No, let them go, Oz. Talking about it isn't helping. We might as well try some violence. < Crash! > I was being sarcastic!
J: Are these vampires?
B: Uh, I don't think so. < stake > No, not vampires.
X: Man, this sucker wobbles, but he won't fall down!
J: What do we do if they get in?
X: I kind of think we die.
C: How do we know it's really you and not zombie-Giles?
C: Cordelia, do stop being tiresome.
C: It's him.
O: The think the dead man's party's moved upstairs.
O: What happens if they get the mask?
G: If one of them puts it on, they become the demon incarnate.
C: Worse than a zombie.
G: Yes, worse.
X: Generally speaking, when scary things get scared, not good.
B: Hey, Pat! Made you look.
O: Never mind.
J: So, is this a typical day at the office?
B: No, this was nothing.
PS: Do we have an appointment?
G: I'd like to have a word with you.
PS: If that word is "Buffy", then I have two words for you - "good" and "riddance".
G: You had no grounds for expelling her.
PS: I have grounds, I have precedent, and a tingly kind of feeling.
PS: Sorry, I'm not convinced.
G: Would you like me to convince you?
W: I tried to communicate with the spirit world, and I *so* wasn't ready for that. It's like being pulled apart inside.
B: I am sorry.
W: It's okay. I understand you having to bail, and I can forgive that. I have to make allowances for what you're going through, and be a grown-up about it.
B: You're really enjoying this whole moral-superiority thing, aren't you?
W: It's like a drug!
B: Fine. Okay. I'm the bad. I can take my lumps... for a while.
W: All right, I'll stop giving you a hard time... runaway.
B: Will!
W: I'm sorry! Quitter...
B: Whiner.
W: Bailer.
B: Harpy.
W: Delinquent.
B: Tramp.
W: Bad seed.
B: Witch.
W: Freak.