Cut to Willow's House that night.
She opens the door and goes in.
In the living room she finds Her Mother looking over
a bunch of her things taken from Her Room.
Her Mother notices her come in.
Sheila:
Oh, sit down, honey.
Willow: (goes to the couch)
Principal Snyder talk to you?
(takes off her pack and sits)
Sheila:
Yes. He's quite concerned.
(looks at an old picture)
Willow:
Mom, I know what this looks
like, and I can totally...
Sheila: (interrupts)
Oh, you don't have to explain, honey.
This isn't exactly a surprise.
(turns over the picture)
Willow:
(fidgets, confused)
Why not?
Sheila:
(shrugs) Oh, well, identification
with mythical icons is perfectly
typical of your age group.
It's a, a classic adolescent response to
the pressures of incipient adulthood.
(set the picture down)
Willow:
Oh. Is that what it is?
Sheila:
(picks up a bag of herbs) Of course,
I wish you could've identified with
something a little less icky, (shrugs)
but developmentally speaking...
Willow:
Mom, I'm not an age group.
I'm Me. Willow-group.
Sheila:
Oh, honey...
She puts down the bag and gets up
to go over to her daughter.
Sheila:
I understand.
(sits next to her)
Willow:
No, you don't. (faces her) Mom, this may be hard
for you to accept, but I can do stuff.
Nothing bad or dangerous,
but I can do spells.
Sheila:
You think you can, and that's what
concerns me. The delusions.
Willow:
Mom, how would you know what I can do? I mean,
the last time we had a conversation over three minutes,
it was about the patriarchal bias of
the Mr. Rogers Show.
Sheila:
Well, (makes finger quotes) with “King” Friday
lording it over all the lesser puppets...
Willow:
Mom, you're not
paying attention.
Sheila:
And this is your way of trying to get it.
Now, I have consulted with
some of my colleagues,
and they agree that this
is a cry for discipline.
You're grounded.
Willow: (surprised)
Grounded? This is the first time *ever*
I've done something you don't like and I'm grounded?
I'm supposed to mess up.
I'm a teenager, remember?
Sheila:
You're upset, I hear you...
Willow: (stands up)
No, Ma, hear this!
I'm A Rebel! I'm having
A Rebellion!
Sheila: (smiling)
Willow, honey, you don't need to act out
like this to prove your specialness.
Willow:
Mom, I'm not acting out. I'm A Witch!
I-I can make pencils float.
And I can summon the four elements.
Okay, two, but four soon.
(her mother doesn't react) A-and
I'm dating A Musician.
Sheila: (disgusted now)
Oh, Willow!
She gets up and goes back to the table
of Willow's things. Willow follows her.
Willow: (thickly sarcastic)
I worship Beelzebub. I do his biddings.
Do you see any goats around?
No, because I sacrificed them.
Sheila: (tired of it)
Willow, please!
Willow:
All bow before Satan!
Sheila:
(leaves the room)
I'm not listening to this.
Willow: (follows her)
(heavy on the sarcasm)
Prince of Night, I summon you. Come fill me
with your black, naughty evil.
Sheila: (loudly)
That's enough! Is that clear?
Now, you will go to your room and stay there
until I say otherwise. And we're gonna
make some changes. (shakes her head)
I don't want you hanging out with those friends of yours.
It's clear where this little obsession came from.
You will not speak to Bunny Summers again.
Cut to Buffy's house.
Joyce is at the dining room table surrounded by posters
of the two children. She has a MOO button pinned to her blouse.
Her laptop is open and a phone and fax sit nearby.
The place is set up like a command center. Behind her
is a whiteboard full of statistics.
She speaks sternly to Buffy.
Joyce:
I don't want you seeing that Willow anymore.
I've spoken with Her Mother. I had no idea
her forays into the occult had gone so far.
Buffy: (in disbelief)
You're the one who ordered
the raid on the school today.
Joyce: (makes light off it)
Honey, they opened a few lockers.
Buffy:
Lockers. First syllable, 'lock'.
They're supposed to be private.
And they took all of Giles' books away.
Joyce:
He'll get most of them back. MOO just wants
to weed-out the offensive material.
Everything else will be returned
to Mr. Giles soon.
Buffy:
If we're gonna solve this,
we need those books now.
Joyce: (very seriously)
Sweetie, those books have no place
in a public school library.
Especially now. Any student can waltz
in there and get all sorts of ideas.
(gets up and steps over to Buffy)
Do you understand how
that terrifies me?
Buffy:
Mom, I hate that these people scared you so much.
And I-I know that you're just trying to help,
but you have to let me handle this.
It's What I Do.
Joyce:
But is it really? I mean, you patrol, you slay...
Evil pops up, you undo it. A-a-and that's great!
But is Sunnydale getting any better?
Are they running out of vampires?
Buffy:
I don't think that you run out of...
Joyce:
It's not your fault. You don't
have a plan. You just react to things.
I-i-it's bound to be kind of fruitless.
Buffy: (taken aback)
Okay, maybe I don't have a plan.
Lord knows I don't have lapel buttons...
Joyce: (exasperated) Buffy.
Buffy:
...and maybe next time that The World
is getting sucked into Hell,
I won't be able to stop it
because the Anti-Hell-Sucking Book
isn't on the approved reading list!
Joyce:
I'm sorry. I didn't mean to put down...
Buffy:
Yeah, well, you did. (shakes her head)
It doesn't matter. I have to go. I have to go
on one of my pointless patrols
and react to some vampires.
If that's alright with MOO.
She turns around and heads for the door.
Joyce just watches her go.
Buffy steps back into the room.
Buffy:
And nice acronym, Mom. (leaves)
Joyce turns around and goes back to her chair, shaking her head.
Joyce:
Just trying to make things better.
As she walks past the table the dead boy and girl
are suddenly sitting there looking up at her.
Boy:
You are.
Girl:
There's bad people out there.
Joyce looks at them sadly.
Boy:
And we can't sleep.
Girl:
Not until you hurt them.
Boy:
The way they hurt us.
Joyce nods, knowing what she has to do.
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