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 Laugh Lines, Love Lines

In the Dark  

Spike: (girly voice) "How can I thank you, you mysterious black-clad-hunk-of-a-knight-thing?"
(manly voice) "No need little lady. Your tears of gratitude are enough for me. You see, I was once a bad-ass vampire. But love, and a pesky curse, defanged me. And now, I'm just a big fluffy puppy with bad teeth. No! Not the hair! Never the hair."
(girly voice) "But there must be some way I can show my appreciation."
(manly voice) "No, helping those in need's my job. And working up a load of sexual tension and prancing away like a magnificent poof is truly thanks enough."
(girly voice) "I understand. I have a nephew who's gay, so..."
(manly voice) "Say no more. Evil's still afoot. And I'm almost out of that Nancy-boy hair gel I like so much. Quickly! To the Angel-mobile! Away!"

Spike: Go on with you. Play the big strapping hero while you can. You have a few surprises coming your way: the Ring of Amarra, a visit from your old pal Spike, and--oh yeah--your gruesome, horrible death.

Radio: It's 11:05. Do you know what your karma is?

Cordelia: This is so awesome! Our first walk-in client. Everything is going according to plan! See girl in distress. See Angel save girl from druggie stalker boyfriend. See boyfriend go to jail. And see... invoice! Ta-Da!

Cordelia: So, why are you not rejoicing at our first paying client?
Doyle: Cuz that's not money in your hand darlin'. That's mail.

Cordelia: But, she has to pay. Invoice! That's the rule of our whole, like, society!
Doyle: Defaulting? It's another popular rule in society. Especially with the down-and-outs. Not that I've perpetrated said heinousness myself.

Doyle: All I'm saying is, if you and I ever hope to take that cruise to the Bahamas together, we're going to need a lot more clients with means.
Cordelia: And an alternate reality in which you're Matthew McConaughey.

Oz: Hello, L.A.
Cordelia: Oz? Oh my god. Oz! I am so happy to see you! Good old Oz! Oz. Oz!
Doyle: Let me just take a stab at this, but... you'd be Oz?
Oz: Good guess.

Cordelia: This is so cool! I mean, here you are, in L.A., and you're the total embodiment of all things Sunnydale!
Oz: Well, it's a burden, but I manage.
Cordelia: Okay, we have serious catching up to do. How's everything? How's... how's the Bronze?
Oz: The same.
Cordelia: And the gang?
Oz: They're good.
Cordelia: Good? Good. Good.
Oz: We done?
Cordelia: Completely.

Cordelia: This is Doyle. He, air quote, works here.

Oz: You guys are, like, detectives?
Cordelia: No. I'm an actress.
Doyle: And quite a captivating one at that.
Cordelia: And between my many gigs, I sometimes choose to help Angel.
Doyle: He's the detective.
Oz: Does he have a hat and gun?
Cordelia: Just fangs.
Oz: Well, that works.

Angel: Oz.
Oz: Angel.
Angel: Nice surprise.
Oz: Thanks.
Angel: Staying long?
Oz: Few days.
Doyle: They always like this?
Oz: No, we're usually laconic.

Cordelia: Hey, Buffy. How is good old Buffy anyway?
Oz: She's...
Cordelia: What? Still the brave little Slayer? Or is she moping around in the dark like... nobody around here. Hmm-mmm.

Cordelia: Okay, you're getting weird with this ring. Since when did you get all Versace about accessorizing?

Doyle: Just think of it, man: pool-side tanning, bargain matinees, plus there are several strip clubs I know of that have a fabulous luncheon buffet that's really quite tasty... I've heard.

Oz: Your old buddy Spike dug up Sunnydale looking for it and got a fistful of Buffy and left it behind. She wanted to be sure it was in good hands.
Angel: So she sent you.
Oz: I was heading this way.
Cordelia: And she didn't even send a note? Wow, that's really... this is one of those times when I should shy away from the topic, isn't it?

Doyle: I got something that'll boost your spirits. Why don't you put it on, and here, I'll stake ya. It'll be fun!

Doyle: Okay, you have it your way, but I'm still going to celebrate with a drink down at the pub.
Cordelia: He'd celebrate the opening of a mailbox with a drink down at the pub.

Doyle: You know what'd feel really good right now? One of those mind-numbing, head-cracking visions that I get from time to time. Because that'd really kill me. What, is there some kind of trick to this?
Cordelia: I think the trick is laying off the ale before you start quoting Angela's Ashes and weeping like a baby man.
Doyle: Hey, that's a good book.
Cordelia: So I've heard. But I doubt very much that the main characters are Betty and Barney Rubble, as you so vehemently insisted last night. Also, I don't think Oz appreciated being called My Little Bam Bam all night.

Angel: Might as well go home, Spike. The Gem of Amarra stays with me.
Spike: Why? Cuz you're Angel, Vamp Detective now? Ooo. I'm so scared. What's next? Vampire cowboy? Vampire fireman? Oh! Vampire ballerina!
Angel: I do like to work with my legs.

Angel: So, you and I duke it out, huh. This your big strategy for getting the ring back?
Spike: I had a plan.
Angel: You? A plan?
Spike: A good plan. Smart. Carefully laid out. But I got bored. All that watching, waiting. My legs started to cramp. I hate to quip. Just tell me where the damn ring is.
Angel: It wouldn't go with your outfit.

Spike: Cordelia. You look smashing. You lose weight?
Cordelia: Yes! You know, there's this great gym on... hey!

Cordelia: Please, I couldn't get comfortable here if the floor was lined with mink. I mean, how can you live like this?
Doyle: Well, I didn't until last week, and I saw what you did with your place? I just had to call my decorator.

Cordelia: It smells like bong water in here.

Doyle: So what about this Spike? Is he as bad as all that? Should I be sweating?
Cordelia: No, he's not so... < sigh > Sweat.

Cordelia: Oh! And this one time, he and Dru raised this demon that burned people alive from the inside. It was this whole weird thing with an arm in a box.
Doyle: An arm in a box?

Spike: Did anyone ever tell you you're a hell of a buzz kill, mate?

Spike: You caught me fair and square, white hat. Guess there's nothing to do now but go along quietly and pay my debt to society.
Angel: You think you can come to my town and pull this crap? You never learn Spike.
Spike: I may be a slow learner, but eventually I catch on.

Doyle: Maybe not. Maybe he did away with Spike in short order and decided to give a go at surfin'.

Doyle: I bet you he's hanging ten off the sandy shores of Malibu right about now - wind in his hair, bikini babes a whistlin'.

Spike: Marcus is an expert. Some say artist, but I've never been comfortable with labels. He's a bloody king of torture, he is. Humans, demons, politicians -- makes no difference. Some say he invented several of the classics, but he won't tell me which ones.

Marcus: His skin.
Spike: Annoying isn't it? Still attached.
Marcus: Over 200 years of living and so little external damage. What about internal?
Spike: Do you two need to be alone? Or can we get on with the ouchie part?

Marcus: He's known love.
Spike: Yeah, with a Slayer no less. How's that for perversion?
Marcus: And he has a soul.
Spike: Right. Vampire with a soul. Cursey cursed to walk the earth, trying to do good. That's not going to be a problem is it?
Marcus: On the contrary, creatures with souls have something to lose.
Spike: Souls, fingers, toes -- let's get chopping shall we? I want my damn ring.

Angel: Are you going to torture me, or just bore me to death?

Spike: Someone's having shish kabob.

Marcus: What do you want, Angel?
Angel: House in the country. A good pair of running shoes you can also wear out to dinner.

Spike: Why do you keep playing that bleeding Brahms?
Marcus: Actually it's Mozart. Symphony 41. I find it very effective.
Spike: Yeah, well, personally I prefer his older, funnier symphonies myself.

Angel: You hired a vampire. What do you think he's going to do with the ring when he finds it, huh? Hand it over to you?
Spike: Oh! Good lord! Why didn't I think of ... oh, half a mo... I did!

Spike: It's called addiction, Angel. We all have them. I believe yours is named Slutty the Vampire Slayer.

Spike: Speaking of little Buff. I ran into her recently. Your name didn't come up. Although, she has been awful busy jumping the bones of the very first lunkhead who came long. Good looking fellow. Used her shamelessly. She is *cute* when she's hurting, isn't she?
Angel: She's cuter when she's kicking your ass.

Cordelia: When you're through giving the place the full Johnny Depp-over, I hope you have the cash to pay for all this.
Spike: Cordelia. Love the hair.
Cordelia: Wish I could say the same to you.

Spike: What is it with you good guys running in packs? Who's this one then?
Doyle: More than meets the eye, blondie.
Spike: Oooo, the Mick's got spine. Maybe I'll snap it in two.

Doyle: Where's Angel?
Spike: Um, tall, brooding guy? Cave Man brow? He's having the living hell tortured out of him.

Cordelia: I don't trust you.
Spike: To coin a popular Sunnydale phrase: Duh!

Spike: Now, now. Staking the torturer's strictly prohibited.

Spike: Now you made him mad. Wouldn't want to be in your chains.

Cordelia: It's not in the freezer, and it's not in the toilet tank. In the movies, it's always in one of those places.

Cordelia: This is not a needle in a haystack. This is a needle in Kansas.

Cordelia: How did you do that?
Doyle: Well, you gotta get lucky sometimes.
Cordelia: I could hug you! Not that lucky.

Spike: I do the work. I do the digging. I fight off a Slayer. Drive to L.A. Hire the help. And what do I get? Royally screwed is what! Well that cinches it. No more partners. From now on, I'm my own man. Lone wolf. Sole survivor. Look out! Here comes Spike! The biggest, baddest mother... aaagh!

Cordelia: We need to get him to a hospital.
Oz: I hear you, but which one? They all tend to specialize in humans.

Cordelia: It's daylight, and you're ringless. Unless you're changing the act to Human Torch, I don't think so!

Marcus: What are you planning to do? Kill me?
Angel: Well, after all, I promised.

Angel: You never cracked me, Marcus. You tried, but you failed. Now that... that's gotta be torture.

Angel: Thanks for the help, man. You were key.
Oz: You're... incredibly pale.

Oz: He's very pale. Paler than most people.

Doyle: So, how long's it been between sunsets?
Angel: 200 years, give or take.

Doyle: It is spectacular, I know, but I do promise there will be another one just like it again tomorrow.
Angel: Not for me.
Doyle: What are you saying, that the city's going to get hit by a meteor before tomorrow night? No, no, it's too horrible to say. I can't even bring myself to say the other...
Angel: I'm not gonna wear the ring.
Doyle: That was the other.

Doyle: You got a real addiction to the brooding part of life, anyone ever tell ya that?
Angel: Once or twice.

Doyle: So what, you don't get the ring because your period of self-flagellation isn't over yet?

Doyle: And who'd look out for all the insomniacs?

Angel: I was brought back for a reason, Doyle. And as much as I'd like to kid myself, I don't think it was for 18 holes at Rancho.

Angel: I don't know about you, but I had a nice day. You know, except for the bulk of it where I was nearly tortured to death.
Doyle: Aye, you stood up.
Angel: Oh God. I was this close to tellin' him everything. One more hot poker and I was givin' him the ring, your mom, everything. How is your mom?


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