¨¨slightly mad¨¨ Lessons :

What is this, an intervention? Shouldn't all my demon friends be here?



Beneath You :

Anya: Bite me, Harris!



Same Time, Same Place :

What are you doing here? I thought you were with Giles, studying how to not kill people.

Just got back as in, you're all better, or just got back to bring a fiery apocalypse of death?

You feel really responsible? You are really responsible!

Here's something you should know about vengeance demons. We don't groove with the sorry. We prefer, "Oh god! Please stop hitting me with my own rib bones!"

Come in! Enjoy my personal space.

I'm surprisingly sensitive.

Is it difficult or time-consuming?
This isn't gonna get all sexy, is it?

Well, causing pain sounds really cool, I know, but... it turns out it's... really upsetting. Didn't used to be. But now it is.

It did get a little sexy, didn't it?

Wouldn't it be tragic if you were here being kind of silly with your comically paralyzed sister while Willow was dying?

Buffy is fighting the demon over there, see, but if they get too close, I'm gonna have to run.



Selfless :

The workers will overthrow absolutism and lead the proletariat to a victorious communist revolution, resulting in socio-economic paradise on earth. It's common sense, really.

Vengeance is what I do, Halfrek. I don't need anything else. Vengeance is what I am.

Everyone is so considerate today. I should have slaughtered people weeks ago.

Thank you! All better! Thank goodness you got here in time!

This is getting to be a pattern with you, Buffy. Are there any friends of yours left you haven't tried to kill?

Come on, Buffy. Don't you have a clever retort for me?

You're apologizing to me? What fight are you watching? Or is this like one of your little pop culture references I don't get?

Mrs. Anya lame-ass-made-up-maiden-name Harris.



Him:

Maybe I'm not even the right Anyanka, ever think about that? I mean, tons of Anyanka's out there. Maybe one of them pissed off this, uh, what did you say his name was? D'Hoffrynfeffer?

Well, thank you for the generous life-saving. Now please go away.

Willow's not very good with the practical strategizing... except when she's evil.

Even if you found the right one, guy would probably just do an anti-anti-love-spell spell... spell.

Anya: His physical presence has a penis!

Anya: Well, you're gonna have to do better that that. I'd kill for him.
Willow: You'd kill for a chocolate bar!

Oh, I wrote a poem. An epic poem. Comparing him to a daisy, and a tower, and a lake.



Sleeper:

Killers like to keep trophies sometimes. Scalps. Necklaces made from human teeth.

I better be. 'Cause if I get vamped, I'm gonna bite your ass.

Anya: Well, Spike... I'm here, obviously... for... um, sex.
Spike: Uh, beg pardon?
Anya: You and me. Here and now. Let's go! Let's get it on, you big, bad boy!
Spike: Wait, wait, Anya, just a minute, this is not exact-- Is that a stake?
Anya: Yes. Kinky.

It's not like I'm snooping around for proof that you're some sort of whacked-out serial killer. I don't know why I said that. Forget I said that. It's craziness talking, it's just nerves. Nerves. Nerves and horniness. Oh, just shut up, William, and take me. Take me now.

I got it. No problem, I understand. You think I'm fat!

Well, it's either that or the haircut.

You know, you were a lot more fun when you didn't have a soul!

All I'm saying is soulless Spike would have had me upside down and halfway to happy-land by now.

I used to tell the truth all the time when I was evil.



Never Leave Me:

I wasn't sure if I should slap him, but then he made me want to slap him, so I thought, okay, slap him!

The weasel wants to sing. He just needs a tune.

Now, you can talk, or I could keep hitting you. Believe me, I'd love to keep hitting you.



Bring On The Night:

Please, how many times have I heard that line in my demon days. "I'm so rotten they don't even have a name for it. I'm bad. Baddy, bad, bad, bad. Does it make you horny?" Or terrified. Whatever.

And you blew the Council up! See, this is what happens when you're all stuffy and repressed. You overreact.



Showtime:

Don't be so dramatic, Torg. You don't even have a heart. Six spleens, two stomachs, half a brain, maybe, but no heart.

One date. It wasn't even a date. We just happened to be invited to the same massacre, and you hit on me after I had a few.

Okay, Torg, look, you open this tiny, little gateway to the Beljoxa's Eye for me, and--and, I'll... you and I can go... I'll have sex with you again.

You're rejecting my offer of sexual bribery? What am I? A leper in this town? I can't even give it away.

It's the hair, right? Not attractive?



Potential:

Wow, it's like, one second you were this klutzy teenager with false memories and a history of kleptomania, and then suddenly you were a hero. A hero with a much abbreviated life span.

Well, it's a lot like being the Pope in that way, except you don't have to be some old Catholic.

We also have to protect you from the eyeless guys. The ones with the sharp, sharp knives.

That's because you're part of something larger. Like being swallowed... by something larger.

Well, it's a mixed bag, you know. If she gets to be the Slayer, then her life is short and brutal, and if she doesn't, then it smells of unfulfilled potential. My swallowed analogy looks pretty sweet right now, doesn't it?



The Killer In Me:

Rona won. You should probably let Molly out of the trunk. I never actually realized just how compact Molly really is.



First Date:

I don't think it's really a date, that's what I think.

I think it's part of a plan to make me jealous.

Are you nuts? Of course it's working! Observe my bitter ranting. Hear the shrill edge of hysteria in my voice.

Fine, go. Leave me here to stew in my impotent rage. All right, well, I'm also gonna pee, so you should probably go.

Yes, didn't you hear? Everybody has a date. Buffy has a date. Willow's been completely making out with this girl. Xander's out with some hardware store whore. It's Date-Fest 2003.



My feelings are changeable, but intense.

Anya: Is Xander all right?
Dawn: Looks okay.
Anya: Damn him.



Get it Done:

I'm a bright girl -- good education, quick on the uptake. So tell me, why in the name of almighty Grothnar would I let myself become human again?

You know, the only thing worse than being human is being trapped inside a house full of humans.

Spike: I like my plan better. Get up. Get out. Get drunk. Repeat as needed. It's just more elegant.
Anya: Tonight I plan to drink you under the table.
Spike: You're on, then.
Anya: Good. Of course, once you're down there, I could join you. Kidding. I like my sex on top of the table.
Spike: Would you let it go? You're like a dog with a bone.
Anya: So what?
Spike: It's my bone.

Where the hell have you been? This funnel cake is kicking my ass!

I provide much needed sarcasm.

You missed her 'everyone sucks but me' speech. If she's so superior, let her find her own way back.



Storyteller:

Buffy seems to think that this apocalypse is going to actually be, you know, apocalyptic.

And here's where we hop on the merry-go-round of rotating knives. I blame you, you blame me, and we both end up all cut to shreds.


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