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 Laugh Lines, Love Lines

The Cautionary Tale of Numero Cinco  

Gunn: Look, I know legal weasels and business deals aren't as heroic to you as rescuing young honeys from tumescent trolls, but I love what we do.
Angel: Tumescent...trolls?
Gunn: Went a little Johnnie Cochran on ya.

Gunn: I know you hate working here, what with the bureaucracy and the fact that most of our employees want us dead. But in-house attacks are down 30% this week. And we've done more good here in a month than
Angel: investigations did in a year.
Angel: I know, I'm just... I don't know, just feeling a bit...
Spike: Squishy?
Angel: Disconnected.

Spike: You want to feel disconnected, try being a bloody ghost for a bit. Try bobbin' around with no touch or taste or smell. Not many fates worse than that, I'd wager. (He sees the masked mailman walk by.) Okay, maybe that.

Wesley: The police are on it, but my sense is it's more demonic than some murderous nut job.
Spike: So we're ruling out demonic nut jobs, then are we?

Lorne: Oh, this must've been one major smackdown.
Angel: There was no smacking!

Lorne: Don't sweat it, sweetie pie. I've got my flakcatcher spinning this into P.R. gold. Once the word spreads you beat up an innocent old man, well, the truly terrible will think twice before going toe-to-toe with our avenging Angel.
Spike: Yes. The geriatric community will be soiling their nappies when they hear you're on the case.

Angel: "All Souls"?
Wesley: Prayers for the departed.
Spike (to Angel): You should know that, being departed and all.

Gunn: Still not sure why blondie-ghost tagged along.
Spike: Not much choice really, is there? Can't drink, smoke, diddle my willy. Doesn't leave much to do other than watch you blokes stumble around playing Agatha Christie.
Wesley: Yeah. Remind me again how you ended up in the front seat.
Spike: Called shotgun, mate.
Wesley (looks at his shotgun): Oh. I thought we were doing a weapons check.

Wesley: The text isn't specific about the battle.
Spike: But it's specific about the name of the vampire with a soul.
Wesley: No, I imagine it could be any vampire with a soul - who isn't a ghost.

Number Five: I'm sorry. In case you haven't noticed, I have retired from that life.
Angel: Wearing that mask doesn't exactly hide your past.
Number Five: It reminds me that only a fool would want to be a champion.

Number Five: Never disrespect the memory of my brothers. They were honorable men - luchadores. Mexican wrestlers. The greatest that ever lived. Together we were known as Los Hermanos Numeros.
Angel: "The Number Brothers"?

Number Five: The five of us were always joined, always connected. And when necessary, we came together as a fist. We fought monsters and gangsters. Vampiros. We were heroes. We protected the weak... and we helped the helpless.
Angel: I know a little something about that.

Number Five: My brothers are dead, and Terzcatcatl is back to kill again. Why did we bother? What difference did we make?
Angel: You made a difference in the lives you saved. And you did it because it was the right thing to do.

Wesley: I'd forgotten that Aztec culture was so violent.
Gunn: Yeah, 'cause our culture's so at peace.

Wesley: I understand you're feeling rejected. But this Aztec warrior, it wants the hearts for sustenance. It wants it for the meat, not the metaphor.
Angel: What are you saying?
Gunn: As meat goes, your heart's a dried-up hunk of gnarly-ass beef jerky.

Angel: Look, we're getting the work done. As long as I keep doing what I do, doesn't matter if I believe in the Shanshu or any other prophecy.
Wesley: I'm sorry, Angel, but nothing matters more. Hope: it's the only thing that will sustain you, that will keep you from ending up like Number Five.

Number Five: But still the demon did not want my heart.
Angel: He didn't want mine, either.
Number Five: Of course not, amigo. Who would want that dried-up walnut of a dead thing?


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