We can come by between classes. Usually I use that time to copy over my class notes with a system of different colored pens. But it's been pointed out to me that that's, you know, insane.
No more talk of gloomy Angel, though. Only happy thoughts. Sunshine, picnic, that spell we did last night. With the oil?
Hey, clothes. Better not get used to 'em.
Questions. Great. W-we can answer questions. Good. I need to know a little bit more about the Slayer, and about the both of you. Your relationship, whatever you can tell me. O-o-our relationship? We're friends. Good friends. Girlfriends, actually. Yes, we're girlfriends. We're in love. W-we're lovers. We're lesbian, gay-type lovers. I meant your relationship with the Slayer.
Sweetie, you wouldn't blow off a class if your head was on fire.
I had a muscle cramp. Buffy was, uh, helping. A muscle cramp... in your pants? What? It's a thing.
Don't worry, we're sure to spot Faith first. She's like this cleavagey slutbomb walking around going, "Ooh, check me out, I'm wicked cool, I'm five by five." "Five by five?" Five what by five what? See, that's the thing. No one knows.
I don't think anything lives up to what you envisioned.
It doesn't matter who you sleep with, it's how you treat other people in this world.