Spiral
B=Buffy, G=Giles, X=Xander, W=Willow, S=Spike, A=Anya,D=Dawn, T=Tara, Gl=Glory, Bn=Ben, Mn=Minion
Gl: I really hate it when people touch my things.
Gl: Last words, Slay-runt?
B: Just one-- Truck.
D: And then whoosh! All of a sudden Glory's standing right there in front of us, all skanky and blonde and thinking she's all bad just 'cuz some bumpy heads kiss her stinky feet -- she does have nice feet -- and she's coming right at us and Buffy's just standing there, not even blinking, like "Bring it on!" and wham! Hell-Bitch in orbit.
X: Go, Buff!
G: I knew you'd best Glory eventually, I mean all our years of training...
B: A truck hit her.
G: Oh.
A: You threw it at her?
G: There must be something in the Book of Tarnis that we've missed. Something that we can use against Glory.
A: Piano!
X: Because that's what we used to kill that big demon that one time... no, wait, that was a rocket launcher. An, what are you talking about?
A: We should drop a piano on her. Well, it always works for that creepy cartoon rabbit when he's running from that nice man with the speech impediment.
G: Yes, or perhaps we could paint a convincing tunnel on the side of a mountain.
A: Run away? ... Finally, a sensible plan!
Mn: Oh yes, Inappropriate humor. Most amusing. Don't suppose you know what led to this sartorial tragedy?
Mn: I just thought maybe after her Magnificent Incandescence was returned to this manly and... painfully handsome assemblage you might have noticed something interesting?
Mn: No one can stand against Her Blindingly Scrumptious Luminescence!
Bn: Glory. Her name is Glory, and she's your God, you little scab, not mine!
Mn: With all due respect -- and fear of sharp objects-- you exist, sir, only because of Her Divine Greatness.
Bn: You mean Her Divine Failure, don't you?
Bn: You know why I wanted to become a doctor?
Mn: Flattering drawstring pants?
A: Anybody else feel that?
W: What?
A: Cold draft of paralyzing fear?
A: Overwhelming? How much more than 'whelming' would that be, exactly?
G: Look, everything will be all right. We just need to stay here. Calm. As soon as Buffy arrives...
<beat-up Winnebago from hell screeches up>
... we'll feel, oddly, worse.
S: Buckle-up, kids! Daddy's putting the hammer down!
S: We'd already be somewhere if Captain Slowpoke would give up the wheel. Hey, Gramps! Bloody step on it!
G: Step on what? I've driven tricycles with more power.
A: He doesn't travel well. He's like fine shrimp.
S: Or what? You're gonna toss your cookies on my shoes?
X: Or you can be Undead Man Walking. See how fast you can hitch a ride with a flaming... thumb...
S: Fine. Shrimp!
X: That guy is bloodsucking the last nerve right out of me!
D: Any luck?
W: If you define 'luck' as 'the absence of success', plenty.
T: <re: Dawn> So pretty! Can I have one?
A: Oooh, snacks! The secret to any successful migration. <pulls frying pan and Spam from her bag> Who's up for some tasty fried meat products?
S: No biggie. Look, the skin's already stopped smoking. You go ahead and play peek-a-boo with Mr. Sunshine all you like. Keeps the ride from getting boring.
Mn: It's coming. The signs are in alignment. Soon victory will be in our grasp. All we need do is seize the moment... and squeeze until it bleeds.
D: Hey, I think Anya's gonna try to cook. Want to come watch the tears and recriminations?
D: You're not fleeing, you're...moving at a brisk pace.
B: Quaintly referred to in some cultures as 'The Big Scairdy Run-Away'.
D: At least things can't get any crazier, right?
<crossbow bolt thunks into wall>
B: You know this is your fault for saying that.
T: <looking out window> Horsies!
W: Tara!
G: Weapons?
S: Hello! You're driving one!
W: Don't hit the horsies!
B: <to Willow> We won't! <to Giles> Aim for the horsies.
D: <bandaging his hands> Keep. The pressure. On.
S: Always do, Sweet Bit.
S: Florence Bloody Nightingale to the rescue.
A: You have another plan, right? One that doesn't involve pointy knives and a Winnebago?
X: We've got company! And they brought a crusade.
B: Will, how long will it hold?
W: Half a day, maybe? <sees clerics praying outside> Or until Heckle and Jeckle punch a hole through it.
S: So, what's the story with these role-playing rejects?
S: You sure Scarface here can habla the English?
G: What you did was necessary. What I've always admired.
B: Running away?
G: Being able to put your heart above all else. I'm so proud of you. You've come so far. You're everything a Watcher... you're everything I could have hoped for.
X: Whoa! Hey! This is war, isn't it? If there's one thing I've learned from Sergeant Rock is that in war there are rules... or at least there should be if you're as honorable as you think you are. Plus we do have your General Forehead guy.
W: <spellcasting> Discharge and bring light!
S: Handier than a Swiss knife. Oh, the door to my crypt's got this nasty squeak, maybe you could....
B: Look, I know this must seem extra-Outer Limits to you.
Bn: This? Nah, I've seen things you wouldn't believe. You know: Emergency room, full moon on a Saturday night.
X: You know those things will kill you. <off Spike's look> Oh, right. Have I mentioned today how much I don't like you?
S: You might have let it slip in once or twice.
X: How're your feelers?
S: Nothing compared to the little bits we're gonna be chopped into when the Renaissance Faire kicks the door in.
W: Come on, Tara! You have to eat something.
A: Want me to try?
W: I don't know. I'm getting used to picking fruit out of my hair.
Gl: Hey! It's Gregor! <hits him with flying hubcap> Now it's not.