The Watcher's word
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She was, uh, kicked out by the Council a couple of years ago for misuses of dark power. They swear there was a memo.
Buffy: I told you. I said end of the world. And you're like, "Pooh-pooh, Southern California, pooh-pooh."
Giles: I'm so very sorry. My contrition completely dwarfs the impending apocalypse.
That's very annoying. Now, go on out there, lie like dogs and have a wonderful time. If we can stay in focus, keep our heads, and if Willow can stop stepping on everyones cues, I know this will be the best production of 'Death of a Salesman' we've ever done.
Come on, put your back into it. A Watcher scoffs at gravity.
It's strange / It's not like anything / We've faced before. It seems familiar / somehow / of course. The spell we cast with Buffy / Must have released / Some primal evil / That's come back seeking / I'm not sure what / Willow / Look through the Chronicles for some reference / To a warrior beast / I've got to warn Buffy / There's every chance she might be next. And Xander / Help Willow / And try not to bleed / On my couch / I've just had it steam cleaned. No wait...
I have to say, I really feel Apocalypse Now is overrated.
Clearly it doesn't matter how long you were gone. You were physically dead, thus causing the activation of the-the next slayer.
Oh, right. This is me having fun. Watching clown hair prance about is hardly my idea of a party. I'd much rather be home with a cup Bovril and a good book.
Dig a bit in the history of this place and you'll find a-a-a steady stream of fairly odd occurrences. I believe this whole area is the center of mystical energy, that things gravitate towards it that-that you might not find elsewhere.
Giles: A slayer should be able to see them anyway. Without looking, without thinking. Can you tell me if there's a vampire in this building?
Giles: You should know. Even through this mass and this... din, you should be able to sense them. Well, try. Reach out with your mind. You have to hone your senses. Focus till the energy washes over you. Till you-you feel every particle of-of...
Buffy: There's one.
Buffy: Right there, talking to that girl.
Giles: You don't know...
Buffy: Oh, please! Look at his jacket. He's got the sleeves rolled up. And the shirt - Deal with that outfit for a moment.
Giles: It's dated.
Buffy: It's carbon-dated. Trust me, only someone living underground for ten years would think *that* was still the look.
Giles: Bay City Rollers. Now, that's music.
Buffy: I didn't hear that.
Giles: I know music. Music has notes. This is noise.
I know. Smell is the most powerful trigger to the memory there is. A certain flower, or a-a whiff of smoke can bring up experiences long forgotten. Books smell musty and-and-and rich. The knowledge gained from a computer is a - it, uh, it has no-no texture, no-no context. It's-it's there and then it's gone. If it's to last, then-then the getting of knowledge should be, uh, tangible, it should be, um, smelly.