[Hyperion lobby. Giles with Angel, Cordy and Connor]

GILES: Glad to see you two are well. Now if you will excuse me, I have an apocalypse to prevent. [walks to door. stops. looks out window.] Is it raining fire?

CORDY: It does that every Wednesday afternoon.

ANGEL: It'll pass in 15 minutes. Then you can be off on whatever important business you have to conduct.

GILES: Why are you people acting so blase?

CONNOR: It's scary the first time. But then you get used to it.

GILES: This happens a lot?

CORDY: Every Wednesday afternoon. I told you that already.

GILES: I thought you were joking. Just like all the other jokes you told me.

ANGEL: We haven't told you any jokes.

GILES: Is this what happens when smog gets really, really bad? Or is God actually punishing this city? Has water turned to blood? When does he kill all the first-born males?

ANGEL: He doesn't. [Angel grabs Connor and hugs him] It's not God. It's The Beast. Ever since he came all Hell's broken loose.

GILES: What beast?

CORDY: THE Beast. Big, red, anatomically-incorrect demon with horns on his head and hoofs for feet. Kills hundreds at a time.

ANGEL: Like a tank, except much more agile.

GILES: That sounds . . . formidable. But I'm sure you're exaggerating. [looks out the window] Or maybe you're not.

CONNOR: You said you were here to protect us from The Beast.

GILES: I was going to protect you from the First Evil. The thing that actually IS trying end the world. I assume your fellow is just an extreme nuisance. [looks out the window again] Why wasn't this on the news?!

[Lorne comes down the stairs in a bathrobe, martini in hand]

LORNE: "I've seen fire, and I've seen rain/ I've seen sunny days that I thought would never end/ I've seen lonely times when I could not find a friend/ But I always thought that I'd see you again." [looks at Giles] Haven't seen you before.

GILES: You're a Pylean. I've never seen one domesticated. Assimilated, I mean. I thought your race was tone deaf and incapable of musical expression.

LORNE: They are. I'm not. Guess that's your fancy English way of saying you liked my singing.

GILES: I'd call it crooning. Singing is more like what I do.

LORNE: You want to demonstrate? I'd be more than happy to listen, amateur.

GILES: Amateur? How dare you. Like you're a professional.

LORNE: I am. Sold out Vegas 14 weeks straight.

GILES: Lounge singing doesn't count.

CORDY: [to Angel] Why are Giles and Lorne reminding me of how Buffy and I acted when we were in high school?

LORNE: And where would I have seen your name on a marquee?

GILES: If my name hasn't appeared in lights, it's certainly not for lack of talent. I'll have you know I was nearly a member of Pink Floyd. I was good friends with Roger Waters and Rick Wright. Sometimes we'd jam. When Syd Barrett left the band after a Plugary Demon sucked out his sanity, they asked me to join. Alas, my sacred duties as a Watcher prevented me from accepting their offer, and they took Dave Gilmour instead. In fairness, his guitar playing was superior to mine, though his singing was decidedly inferior. But Roger said that wouldn't matter, since he'd be doing most of the singing.

ANGEL: I though Syd Barrett was attacked by a Dromedaron demon?

GILES: No, that's what stole Peter Green's sanity.

LORNE: Back up a bit. I thought both of them lost their marbles cause they took too much acid?

GILES: Don't be so naive.

CORDY: Did this whole rockstar wannabe thing happen at the same time when you raised that demon which killed a bunch of people?

GILES: Thank you for the reminder. I see you haven't changed.

ANGEL: You'd be wrong about that one, Rupert. Very wrong.

GILES: Yes, well, I'm sure she's matured, as we all have.

LORNE: You'd be wrong about that one too, Rupert. Say cupcake, why don't you show me those golden pipes you've been bragging about and sing me a bit of something?

GILES: Hold on. You're Pylean. With shallow red tusks. As a member of the Messenian class of the Laconian order of demons, you must possess certain cognitive powers. You're a thought stealer. That's why you want to hear me sing. To steal my thoughts.

LORNE: I prefer the term empath. I don't STEAL thoughts. I READ them. To help the person. And people are usually happy to have me take their reading. Even if they are wretched singers. I was just hoping I could hear something tuneful for a change around here.

CORDY: Enough with the snide remarks about my singing.

LORNE: Relax sweetie. You're not even the worst singer in this room.

ANGEL: I didn't know you had heard Connor sing.

LORNE: I haven't.

ANGEL: HEY!! Come on now! I'm worse than Cordy?

CORDY: You're a real gentleman today.

LORNE: I would rather watch you slaughter children than hear you sing. Listen to me, going all Simon Cowell on you. [walks over to Giles] However, I don't have to hear you sing to pick up a few vibes. You have the weight of the world on your shoulders. Everyone is counting on you to hold it together, to be the adult. And for whatever reason, you think you're like Churchill in 1940, the last line of defense against some great evil.

GILES: I certainly do not have delusions that I am Winston Churchill!

LORNE: All I said was that you identified with him. I'm going to freshen my drink. Anyone want anything?

GILES: Do you have a single-malted scotch?

LORNE: Liquor before noon. Guess that's one way you're like Winston.