Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips

There are so many things I remember.
This is a family thing. We should deal with this.
- Can't hear it, can't hear it, can't hear it... - Tell me!
Is she mad about the whole fire thing?
I think you're freakin' out cos you have to fight someone prettier. That's the case, right?
Made it human and sent it to you.
- Anya... - Like, there's a fireman, or a shepherd...
particularly those of canine or serpent construct."
If he wakes up, tell your boyfriend to watch his mouth.
She's tough, but no bolts of lightning, no blasts of fire.
- It's not real, none of this. They made it. - Dawn...
Just relax.
I was standin' about. It's a whole different vibe.
Me talking.
It's time to set old animosities aside.
Sorry, Buff.
Hey, don't I know you?
You make a very pretty little girl.
Listening to Buffy complain about her. Mostly that last one.
- How old am I now? - You're 14, sweetheart. You know that.
Sweetheart.
You were right.
But being in human form must be severely limiting her powers.
Like bugs under my skin.
Who's been using the Urn of Ishtar as an ashtray?
- Well, the bigger they are... - The faster they stomp you into nothing.
- Byzantium. - Yes, they've arrived.
- Do you know how to do that or not? - Give us a sec.
I put the shells on it myself. We picked them off the beach.
Wait. Here's something. "Tarnis, 12th century."
OK, let's see who you are.
Your fate is directly linked to Her Magnificently-Scented Glorificus.
Good Lord, Giles writes as dull as he talks, doesn't he?
I'm fairly certain I wasn't. I've got one just like it.
- About the weird girl that came to the house? - Glory. And no, it's not.
Brown-robe types always protect something.
OK. Good.
I'm not sick!
Glory is evil and powerful. And in no way prettier than me.
I kinda wanna hear me talking right now.
And say... I'm feeling a little...
Mom, I need to be out there...
Shouldn't you be tucked away in your beddy-bye?
He is not my boyfriend.
It's just so lovely! Oh, I wish it was mine!
"One of the founders of the Monks of the Order of Dagon."
the idea of a bright 14-year-old actually being living energy thousands of years old.
But then those monks pulled an abracadabra, so it could be anything. See my predicament?
Glory and two fellow Hell gods
- Sorry. - Maybe it's time to start a new tradition:
- I don't know, I... - ..in the break room.
This isn't about her. It's about Dawn.
the idea of a bright 14-year-old actually being living energy thousands of years old.
- Well, the bigger they are... - The faster they stomp you into nothing.
We can't just let her sit up there all alone.