Lorne (reading the flyer for the party): What is this? "Wolfram and Hart wants to be up your alley"? Sounds like a bus station pick-up line. Change it. Second thought, burn it.
Knox: And how do you know your spellcasters didn't screw up the payload?
Wesley: Because I went over the work, and I got that knowing feeling you get when you know something.
Spike: In my day, no self-respecting creature of the night went out on All Hallow's Eve. We left that to the posers, the blighters who had to dress up and try to be scary.
Lorne: And believe me, Milk Dud, speaking as the head of your P.R. Department, we need all the face we can get.
Angel: "Milk Dud"?
Lorne: Said with affection.
Angel: We don't know how many of them are holding grudges against us, or against each other. It's a perfect recipe for an out-of-control bloodbath.
Lorne: That's describing every good party I've ever been to.
Harmony: Good luck: the morale around here stinks.
Angel: What?
Harmony: Uh-huh. Everybody thinks you suck . . . Well, come on, boss. They're all out there, sweating through their Matsutas, worried if you're gonna axe them or, you know, axe them.
Angel: This really matters to you, doesn't it?
Lorne: Well, of course. The new Wolfram and Hart . . . I mean, we have to-
Angel: No. I mean, this really matters to you. Personally.
Lorne: Yeah. You know, Angel, I don't have superhuman strength, and I'm not a fighter. Quantum physics makes me nauseous, and I barely made a passing grade at mystical studies . . . but I'm on your team. This is something I can do. I believe it has a purpose - that it can help you - even if you don't.
Sebassis: So. This is the mighty Angel. I've been told many things about you. Bit of a restless frog, hmm? Making lots of waves in your little swamp.
Angel: Yeah, well, I'm just trying to keep the fly population down.
Artode: I still think it's a trap, my lordship.
Sebassis: Maybe, Artode, but I am in the mood for intrigue.
Wesley: I'm afraid this really isn't our element, Lorne.
Fred: Yeah. We're wallflowers.
Lorne: Oh, no, no, no, sweetie. You're the young, the beautiful, the ready-to— oh. Well, here's one problem. You're totally sober! It's Halloween: you should be three sheets to the wind already. Now, try and get into the spirit of things, okay?
Angel: Look, Lorne, I-I- I have things. I'm busy. I'm brooding.
Lorne (sees a television on): You're watching hockey!
Angel: Yeah, but my team is losing.
Angel: Yeah, Spike. I thought you hated these kind of things.
Spike: I would've thought the same of you.
Lorne: Oh, no, he's doing great. He's already not killed, like, a hundred guests.
Spike: He doesn't have to. Party's already dead.
Eve: You were bangin' it out to the cheap seats.
Angel: Funny, I was gonna say the same thing about that dress.
Fred (staggering): Wesley, I am totally drunk-faced.
Wesley: Because you can't hold your . . . what are you drinking?
Fred: Nothing.
Wesley: You can't hold that.
Knox: Well, the night is still young. Well, I mean, no, it's over, actually. But . . . did you want to get a cup of coffee?
Fred: Actually, I could use a drink.
Angel: So I guess we should, I don't know, talk?
Eve: About what?
Angel: About what happened back there with us.
Eve: Angel, it's not like this is the first time I've had sex under a mystical influence. I went to U.C. Santa Cruz.
Spike: You pissed in the big man's chair? That's fantastic!
Gunn: Spike, can you please turn off that warm fuzzy?
Spike: What, the Lorne thing? Wore off. I just think that's bloody fabulous.
