Means

Buffy's Power Speech

BUFFY: 

Okay. Let's see What You Are. 

She removes the chain-mail mask to 

reveal an ordinary-looking human man 

with a symbol on his forehead. 

BUFFY: 

Or who you are. 

KNIGHT: 

One soldier in a vast army. 

BUFFY: 

What army? 

KNIGHT: 

The Knights of Byzantium, an ancient order. 

And now Your Enemy. 

BUFFY: 

(pushes the staff harder into his throat)

You work for Glory? 

KNIGHT: You think we align ourselves with the beast? You must be mad. 

BUFFY: 

You're the ones tried k*ll me.

 KNIGHT: 

No, we were fools, three alone. 

But if it takes a hundred men, 

we send a hundred men, and 

if it takes a thousand, 

we send a thousand. 

BUFFY: A thousand? 

KNIGHT: So long as you protect the key, 

the brotherhood will never stop until we destroy it and you. 

You are the Slayer, and we know what we must do. 

Now, be done with it. k*ll us, and let legions follow. 

Buffy shoves the staff into his throat again, 

then tosses it aside, gets up and picks up the sword.

 The knight gets to his feet, and 

she puts the sword to his throat. 

He turns his head away waiting for the k*ll stroke. 

BUFFY: Go. 

The knight looks surprised, edges around her 

and leaves. Buffy stares at the sword. 

Cut to: Buffy entering the magic shop, still holding the sword. 

Pan across all the Watchers standing there, 

the four Slayerettes still sitting on the upper level, 

and Travers sitting at the table with a pile of papers 

spread out in front of him. Giles sits on the stairs 

leading up to the balcony. 

TRAVERS: 

You're late. 

BUFFY: 

Yeah. 

GILES: (sees the sword, gets up) 

Was, was there an attack? 

BUFFY:

Yeah. 

TRAVERS: 

We can begin the review at last. We'll, 

uh, skip the more obvious questions... 

Buffy puts the sword down on his papers. 

BUFFY: 

There isn't gonna be a review. 

TRAVERS: 

Sorry? 

BUFFY: 

No review. No interrogation. 

No questions you know I can't answer. 

No hoops, no jumps - 

(Nigel starts to speak) 

and no interruptions. 

(Nigel shuts up.) 

Buffy looks around, 

begins to pace. 

BUFFY: 

See ... I've had a lot of people 

talking at me the last few days. 

Everyone just lining up to tell me 

how unimportant I am. 

And I've finally figured out why. 

(looks Travers in The Eye) 

Power. 

I have it. They don't. 

This bothers them. 

Buffy moves back to the 

table, removing her coat. 

BUFFY: 

Glory ... came to my home today. 

GILES: (alarmed) 

Buffy, are you- 

BUFFY: 

(puts her coat on a chair) 

Just to Talk. (resumes pacing) 

She told me I'm a bug, I'm a flea, 

She could squash me in a second. 

(stops, looks at Travers again) 

Only She didn't. 

She came into My Home, 

and We Talked.

 

We had, what in Her warped brain probably 

passes for a civilised conversation. Why? 

(pauses) Because She needs 

something from me. 

Because I have 

Power over her. 

Buffy looks around, hands on her hips. 

She walks the floor, looking from 

one Watcher to the next as she talks. 

BUFFY: 

You guys didn't come 

all the way from England 

to determine whether or not 

I was Good Enough 

to be let back in. 

You came to beg me 

to let you back in. 

To give Your Jobs, Your Lives 

some semblance of Meaning. 

NIGEL: 

This is beyond insolence- 

Buffy grabs The Sword from the table 

and throws it across the room 

in a single movement. 

It flies point-first into the wall 

directly in front of Nigel's nose. 

He jumps back looking shocked. 

BUFFY: (clears throat) I'm fairly certain I said no interruptions. 

XANDER: (whispers) That was excellent! Willow and Tara grin. 

BUFFY:

 You're Watchers. Without a Slayer, you're pretty much just watchin' Masterpiece Theater. 

You can't stop Glory. You can't do anything with the information you have except maybe publish it in the "Everyone Thinks We're Insane-O's Home Journal." 

(Pauses, addresses Travers again)

 So here's how it's gonna work. 

You're gonna tell me everything you know. 

Then you're gonna go away. (resumes pacing) 

You'll contact me if and when you have 

any further information about Glory. 

The magic shop will remain open. 

Mr. Giles will stay here as my official 

Watcher, reinstated at full salary... 

GILES: (coughing) Retroactive. 

BUFFY:

 ...to be paid retroactively from the month 

he was fired. I will continue my work 

with the help of my friends...

 WATCHER2: 

I, uh, I ... don't want a sword thrown at me, but, 

but, civilians, I - we're talking about children.

 BUFFY: (looks up at her friends on the balcony) 

We're talking about two very powerful witches 

and a thousand-year-old ex-demon. 

ANYA: Willow's a demon?! 

PHILIP: The boy? No power there. 

BUFFY: 

The boy has clocked more field time 

than all of you combined. 

He's part of the unit. 

WILLOW: (whispers to Xander) 

That's Riley-speak. 

XANDER: (whispers back, with a big grin) 

I've clocked field time. 

BUFFY: Now. (addresses the Watchers) You all may be very good at your jobs. 

The only way we're gonna find out is if you work with me. 

You can all take your time thinking about that. 

(turns back to Travers) But I want an answer 

right now from Quinton, 'cause 

I think he's understanding me. 

TRAVERS: 

(clears throat) Uh, your 

terms are acceptable. 

Giles smiles hugely. The Slayerettes burst into cheers 

and applause, but quickly stop, looking embarrassed. 

Buffy looks up at them, looks at Giles. She doesn't smile, 

but looks satisfied. She sits across from Travers. 

BUFFY: 

See? No Begging.

TRAVERS: (nods) 

Uh, Rupert. 

GILES: 

Quinton? 

TRAVERS: 

When we inventoried your shop, we found a bottle 

of single malt scotch behind the, uh, incense holders. 

GILES: 

Well, it's, it's not, you know, 

during working hours. 

TRAVERS: 

I think I could use a glass. 

GILES: 

Well, I suppose we could- 

(starts to move away) 

BUFFY: (gets up) 

Just a minute. (Giles stops) 

Glory. I wanna know. 

TRAVERS: 

Well, there's a lot to go through. 

BUFFY: 

Just tell me what kind 

of Demon I'm fighting. 

TRAVERS: 

Well, that's The Thing, you see. 

Glory isn't A Demon. 

BUFFY: 

What is She? 

TRAVERS: 

She's A God. 

BUFFY: 

(long pause, eyes widen) 

-- Oh. 

Blackout. 

Executive Producer : 

Joss Whedon.

That Makes Three Things

 

Cut to the street. Anya and Xander are on either side of Giles, all walking down the street. Anya and Xander both talking at once.

XANDER: 

It's a nightmare.

ANYA: 

It has to be stopped.

XANDER: 

It's a plague. It's 

like a nightmare 

about a plague.

ANYA:

 It was like we were 

being watched.

XANDER: 

It's like, I didn't wanna 

be saying things -

ANYA: 

Like there was 

a wall missing -

XANDER: - 

-- but they just kept pouring out.

ANYA: 

- in our apartment.

XANDER: 

And they rhymed and 

they were mean and --

ANYA: 

Like there were only three walls 

and not a fourth wall and --

XANDER: 

-- My eyes are not beady!

ANYA: 

-- My toes are not hairy! 

They stop talking 

over each other. 

XANDER: 

Giles, you've got to stop it.

GILES: 

Well, I am looking into 

some leads, and I -

ANYA: 

It's just, clearly our number 

is a retro pastiche that's never 

going to be a breakaway pop-hit.

XANDER: 

Work with me, British man. Give me an axe and show me where to point it. 

We hear a woman singing but we can't see her or make out the words yet. 

GILES: 

Well now, Xander, it's not quite that simple. 

But I have learned about some 

disturbing things. Basically - 

They continue talking in the background 

as we focus on a woman (BTVS executive 

producer Marti Noxon) who is standing 

by her car singing to a policeman. 

The cop is writing her a parking ticket 

and we see that her car is parked 

next to a fire hydrant. 

As she sings we can see Giles, Xander, and 

Anya standing and talking in background. 

MARTI:

I'm asking you please no

It isn't right, it isn't fair --

There was no parking anywhere

I think that hydrant wasn't there

[cop gives her the ticket] 

Why can't you let it go? 

I think I've paid more than my share... 

She continues singing in the background as

Xander, Anya, and Giles resume walking and talking. XANDER: 

As in burnt up? Somebody 

set people on fire? That's nuts!

ANYA: 

I don't know. One more verse of our little ditty and I would've been looking for a gas can.

GILES: 

Well, clearly emotions are running high. 

(We see people in background dancing together) 

But as far as I can tell these people burnt up from the inside, spontaneously combusted. 

(Three street sweeper men in background dancing with brooms) 

I've only seen the one. I was able to examine the body while the police were taking witness arias.

XANDER: 

Okay, but we're sure that the things are related : the singing and dancing, and burning and dying. 

They stop walking. The street sweepers continue their dance in background. 

GILES: 

We're not sure of much. Buffy's looking for leads at the local demon haunts, at least ... in theory she is, but ... she doesn't seem to-

XANDER: 

She's easing back into it. 

We pulled her out of an untold hell dimension. 

Ergo the weirdness. The important thing 

is to be there for her.

GILES: 

(shakes head) I'm helping her as much as I can, but, uh... 

Anya pats Giles awkwardly on the shoulder. 

It’s Nick’s World….

Loki rides into Battle, 

The Saviour of Asgard, to 

arrive Right in The Nick —

Thor :

You’re Late.

Loki : (wincing)

You’re missing An Eye —

“….The most efficient way for us to do this is for each one of us 

to try and attempt to imagine what it is like 

inside of the possessed mind. 

[holds up a joint] For example — a dope fiend 

refers to the reefer butt 

as a "roach". Because, 

it resembles — a cockroach. 

You will notice that I have distinguished FOUR, 

Four DISTINCT States of Being in the 

cannabis or marijuana society. 

They are : "cool", "groovy", "hip" and "square". 

Seldom, if ever, does one aspire to be "square".

If he figures out What is Happening, then 

he can rise one notch and become "hip";

and then if he can convince himself 

to approve of What is Happening, 

then he becomes "groovy".

[ominously] Groovy! 

And then after that he can actually 

raise himself to the rank of "cool". 

He can become one of 

those... "cool guys".

Cut to the cafeteria. Today it's kraut-dogs or spaghetti. 

The camera pans past the steam table as the kitchen staff doles out the food. 

It pans up to show Xander and Oz sitting at a table finishing their lunch.

Xander: 

But... It's just that it's buggin' me, this 'cool' thing. (cut to them) 

I mean, what is it? How do you get it? Who doesn't have it? 

And who decides who doesn't have it? What is the essence of cool?

Oz: 

Not sure. (reaches for a chip)

Xander: 

I mean, you yourself, Oz, are considered more or less cool. Why is that?

Oz: 

Am I? (eats a chip)

Xander: Is it about the talking? You know, the way 

you tend to express yourself in short, noncommittal phrases?

Oz: (considers) Could be.

Xander: (smiles) I know! You're in a band! That's like a business-class ticket to cool with complementary mojo after takeoff! I gotta learn an instrument. Is it hard to play guitar?

Oz: (shakes his head) Not the way I play it.

Xander: Okay, but on the other hand : eighth grade. 

I'm taking the flügelhorn and gettin' zero trim. 

So the whole instrument thing could be a mislead. (thinks) 

But You need A Thing,

one thing nobody else has. 

What do I have?

Oz: 

An exciting new obsession. Which I feel makes you very special.

Xander: 

Now, with The Mocking…. Which I can handle 

because I know I'm right about this — I'm on the track. 

I just need to find my thing. (gets lost in thought)

Oz: 

It seems like You're over-Thinking it. 

I mean, You got some Identity-issues. 

It's not...

Cut to the library that evening. 

Giles walks out of the cage past Buffy.

Giles: 

The End of The World?

Sheila Rosenberg

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.