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Doyle (about Angel's apartment): I like the place. I mean, it's not much with the view, but it has a nice bat-cave sort of an air to it.
Angel: Who are you?
Doyle: Doyle.
Angel: You don't smell human.
Doyle: Now that's a bit rude. So happens that I am very much
human. [he sneezes and blue spikes pop out all over his face] On my
mother's side.
Angel: Why would a woman I've never met even talk to me?
Doyle: Have you looked into a mirror lately? [hesitates] No,
I guess you really haven't, no.
Angel: So, you're, are you—happy?
Tina: What?
Angel: Well, you look sort of down.
Tina: You've been watching me?
Angel: No! I was looking towards there—and you kind of walked
through—there...
Tina: You don't hit on girls very often, do you?
Angel: Where's home?
Tina: Missoula, Montana. [sees Angel's expression] You've
been to Missoula?
Angel: During the depression....Uh, my depression. I-I was
depressed there. It's pretty country, though.
Cordelia: So are you still [holds up her hands like claws and
makes a face] —grrr?
Angel: Yeah, there's not actually—a cure for that.
Cordelia: Right. But you're not evil, I mean you're not here to
bite people?
Angel: No, I'm here with a friend.
Cordelia: Oh, good. Well, it was nice seeing you, but I've got to
get mingly. I really should be talking to people that are
somebody. [walks away]
Angel: It's nice that she's grown as a person.
Doyle: Wow, you're really going to war here. I guess
you—ah—you've seen a few in your time, yeah?
Angel: Fourteen, not including Vietnam. They never declared it.
Cordelia: Oh, god. I'm sorry! I'm getting all weepy in front of
you. I probably look really scary. I finally get invited to a nice
place...with no mirrors...and lots of curtains...hey, you're a
vampire!
Russell: What? No, I'm not.
Cordelia: Are too!
Russell: I don't know what you're talking about.
Cordelia: Hey, I'm from Sunnydale. We had our own Hellmouth! I
think I know a vampire when I'm...alone with him...in his fortress-like
home. And you know, I think I'm just feeling a little light-headed from
hunger. I'm just wacky. And kidding! Ha, ha.
Angel: Russell Winters.
Cordelia: Angel?
Angel: I have a message for you—from Tina.
Russell: You made a very big mistake coming here.
Cordelia: You don't know who he is, do you? Oh, boy! You are about
to get your ass kicked!
Cordelia: So I was just saying, if we're going to help people, maybe a small charge. You know, something to help pay the rent, and my salary. You need somebody to organize things, and you're not exactly rolling in it, Mr. I-was-alive-for-200-years-and-never-developed-an-investment-portfolio.
Doyle: Hey, you know, maybe we should go over this thing again of
you getting out in the world and involving yourself with people. It's
Friday night. It's the most social night of the week! A couple of lookers
like us should be out there enjoying the nightlife. Not sitting here in
the dark like some kind of...
Angel: ...some kind of vampire?
Doyle: Well, yeah—I was going to say slacker, but, yeah, to
you, Mr. Obvious....You got to come out, man!
Angel: Why?
Doyle: Because we deserve a night of fun, don't you think? I mean,
it breaks up those nights of death and mayhem.
Angel: Doyle, if you want to ask Cordelia out, just do it
yourself.
Doyle: I don't even know if she likes me, man—unless you put a
word in for me—you know, just tell her what a great guy I am!
Angel: I barely know you.
Doyle: Perfect. That should make it easier for you then.
Doyle: You need to chat people up a little more casual like. You know, hi, what's your name? How's life treatin' ye? What's that you say? Minions from hell gettin' you down?
Kate: Are you okay?
Angel: What?
Kate: No, no, nothing. Sorry.
Angel: No. Am I okay?
Kate: Well you just looked—bad. —Not that you look bad,
you look very nice. I think I'm just going to have my drink.
Angel: Thanks.
Kate: For thinking you look bad, or thinking you look good?
Angel: You choose.
Angel: What are you looking for?
Kate: Depends on how many daiquiris I've had. Oh, god, way to come
off like a drunken slut. Slut's better then a hypocrite though, right? I'm
moving up.
Angel: Kind of hard on yourself.
Kate: That's me—a self-flagellating hypocrite-slut.
Doyle: Everyone just simmer down here, okay? Violence isn't going to solve a thing here. [he steps forward and head-butts the blond guy] On the other hand it is kind of festive.
Angel: This socializing thing is brutal. I mean, I was young
once—I used to go to bars. It wasn't anything like this.
Doyle: I used to go to taverns. Small towns, where everybody used
to know each other.
Cordelia: Yeah, like high school. It was easy to date there. We all
had so much in common. Being monster food every other week, for instance.
Cordelia: It's a parasite. It moves from body to body. And when it
leaves one for the next, not going to gag here, but the first one goes
kaplooey pretty fast.
Doyle: Yep, curdles like cream on a hot day.
Cordelia: I believe I covered that with non-dairy kaplooey?
Spike (in a high voice, looking down at Angel, who has just saved a girl from her nasty boyfriend): How can I thank you, you mysterious, black-clad hunk of a night thing? [low voice] No need, little lady, your tears of gratitude are enough for me. You see, I was once a badass vampire, but love and a pesky curse defanged me. Now I'm just a big, fluffy puppy with bad teeth. [Rachel steps closer to Angel, and Angel steps back warding her off with his hands] No, not the hair! Never the hair! [high voice] But there must be some way I can show my appreciation. [low voice] No, helping those in need's my job—and working up a load of sexual tension, and prancing away like a magnificent poof is truly thanks enough! [high voice] I understand. I have a nephew who is gay, so... [low voice] Say no more. Evil's still afoot! And I'm almost out of that Nancy-boy hair-gel that I like so much. Quickly, to the Angel-mobile, away!
Oz: So, I heard the rumors, but you guys can fill me in on the real
deal here. So you guys are—like detectives?
Cordelia: No, I'm an actress!
Doyle: And quite a captivating one at that
Cordelia: And between my many gigs, I sometimes choose to help
Angel.
Doyle: He's the detective.
Oz: Does he have a hat and gun?
Cordelia: Just fangs.
Oz: Well, that works.
Angel: Oz.
Oz: Hey.
Angel: Nice surprise.
Oz: Thanks.
Angel: Staying long?
Oz: Few days.
Doyle: Are they always like this?
Oz: No, we're usually laconic.
Doyle (looking at a picture): Is that you?
Melissa: Ah, yeah. Bungee jumping.
Doyle: I've always meant to do that, but I intensely don't want to,
so I haven't gotten around to it yet.
Cordelia: See, you can save damsels and make decent money. Is this
a great country or what?!
Doyle: Let's march down to the bank and deposit this beauty.
Angel: You guys go ahead. I think I'll stay here and not burst into
flames.
Doyle: Oh, right, you're pretty much the night deposit guy. Still,
cause to celebrate.
Cordelia: You think everything's a cause to celebrate. We could use
more of these.
Doyle: And we'll have more of these soon.
Cordelia: We need more of these now. Have a vision.
Doyle: I can't just perform on demand.
Cordelia: We need the clients. Have a vision.
Doyle: That money has corrupted you.
Cordelia: If I hit you on the head, will you have a vision?
Doyle: Get away from me. You're insane.
Cordelia: Am not. Now will you have a vision?
Angel: I think—uh—I think she is one of Cordelia's group. People called them the Cordettes—a bunch of girls from wealthy families. They ruled the high school. Decided what was in, who was popular. It was like the Soviet secret police if they cared a lot about shoes.
Doyle: No, no, no, no, no. Angel, man, how could you?
Angel: How what?
Doyle: Man, you know I was crazy about her, and I was wearing her
down, too. But no, handsome, brooding vampire guy has to swoop in, all
sensitive mouth and overhanging forehead ... [Angel feels his forehead
with a frown] How about leaving some scraps for the homely-looking
fellas who don't turn evil when they get some?
Angel: Cordelia stayed over because something's wrong with her
place. I was on the sofa.
Doyle: Oh. That's okay, I suppose.
Angel (to Cordelia, holding up one hand): You got peanut
butter on the bed.
Cordelia: Really? I don't think so. [Angel shows her his
hand] I'll look. [goes to check; walks back in] Angel, at some
point in the recent history you got peanut butter on your bed, and
it's gross. I think you're gonna have to change the sheets.
Angel: I don't eat.
Cordelia: Well then, I don't even want to know how it got there.
Kate: I wish I could be more help.
Angel: It's okay. Just knowing the kind of things that
didn't happen is a help. You know, eliminating the possibilities.
Kate: Now you're talking like a detective.
Angel: I am a detective.
Kate: Well, you see the thing about detectives is that they have
resumes and business licenses and last names. Pop stars and popes, those
are the one-name guys.
Angel: You got me. I'm a pope.
Cordelia: Being that it is possible to brood and show
a little interest in the feeling of others...
Doyle (to Angel): Well, she thinks that you're insensitive,
and not to bring up the irony, but consider the source.
Angel: So I'm a little reserved. That doesn't mean I don't
care.
Cordelia: It's like you don't have a pulse.
Angel: I don't.
Cordelia: Yeah...but all of a sudden rich and handsome isn't enough for me. Now I expect a guy to be all brave and interesting. And it's your fault! Both of you.
Harry: Sometimes it felt like I was one of his students.
Cordelia: That's funny, for a moment I thought you said one of
Doyle's students?
Harry: It wasn't fun being treated like a third grader, believe
me.
Cordelia: Grade third taught Doy....Doyle taught third grade? The
kind with children?
Harry: Yeah.
Cordelia: Are you sure he wasn't just held back and used that as
his cover story?
Dad: Nick, what's this?
Nick: You said, get a utensil.
Dad: This is a shrimp fork. He's going to eat the guy's brains with
a shrimp fork?
Nick: Well, pardon me if our ancient ancestors didn't leave behind
any former-husband-brain-eating forks.
Doyle: Look, Richard, as much as I like your family, and they're
great, honest, I'd really prefer if they didn't cannibalize me.
Richard: Oh, no! You misunderstand.
Doyle: I do?
Richard: Yeah. It'll just be me
Doyle: Why don't I just give you that hug and we can call it
even?
Richard: You're not trying to back out, are you? Not after you gave
your blessing.
Doyle: Yeah, yeah. I take it back!
Richard: Oh. Well. I see. Now I'm not so sure I even want to
eat your brains!
Dad: Don't be petulant, Richard. You'll eat his brains. He can't
take back a blessing. Now, apologize to your friend.
Richard: He's right. That was rude. I'd be honored to eat your
brains.
Cordelia: Hi, Doyle. Are you going to become loser pining guy, like, full-time now? Because you know, we already have one of those around the office.
Angel (with his mouth full): I love chocolate! [drinks out of a yogurt container and makes a face] Uh, but not, as it turns out, yogurt. Urgh!
Cordelia: Oh god, what am I going to do? I'm good for exactly two things: international superstardom, or helping a vampire with a soul to rid the world of evil. That makes for a short but...colorful resume.
Cordelia: Look, I know a little something about self-promotion, Angel, and I'm telling you one commercial like this could get us out of the red—or the black—or whichever one means we're broke, because that's us.
Cordelia: Excuse me? This is not a negotiation. This is a
necessity. Our boss is in a funk. You know that he's only happy
when he's fighting evil. Now let's drum up some!
Doyle: I don't know what we need evil for when we got you right
here.
Cordelia: I heard that!
Cordelia: Maybe if we get him a costume!
Doyle: A costume?
Cordelia: Well, the guy is a bona fide hero. Would it kill him to
put on some tights and a cape and garner us some free publicity?
Doyle: I don't see Angel putting on some tights... [takes a deep
breath and shakes his head] Ah, now I do, and it's really disturbing.
Cordelia: Why didn't you tell me that you were half demon? I
thought we agreed that secrets are bad!
Doyle: I wanted to tell you. I was afraid. I thought if I did,
you'd reject me.
Cordelia: I've rejected you way before now! So, you're half
demon. Big whoop! I can't believe you'd think I'd care about that. I mean,
I work for a vampire! Hello?
Doyle: It's true. I just...
Cordelia: What do you think I am, superficial? So you're half
demon. That's so far down the list, way under "short" and "poor"! Is there
anything else I should know?
Doyle: The half demon thing is pretty much my big secret.
Cordelia: Good. That's out. It's done. Would you ask me out to
dinner already?
Barney: Break a leg.
Cordelia: Excuse me?
Barney: I'm sensing a little performance anxiety here. Little
trick, picture everybody...
Cordelia: In their underwear.
Barney: I was going to say dead, but hey, if that underwear thing
works for you...
Angel: In my experience, when one is being pursued that
tenaciously, it's generally because the pursuer has a strong grievance
against the pursued.
Barney: Uh, hey, man, I never said I was a Boy Scout. I'm an empath
demon. I can read emotions. It gives me a slight advantage at cards. You
know, blackjack, poker. Oh, it's also good for the fights.
Angel: So you're a cheat.
Barney: I choose to think of it as going with my strengths. Look,
whatever. I'm a demon. I'm evil. But I'm not, you know, Evil!
Cordelia: Wesley? What are you doing here? Are you working with
Angel?
Wesley: A lone wolf, such as myself, never works with anyone. I'm
merely allowing Angel to assist me.
Cordelia: Oh, wow.
Wesley: I'm a rogue demon hunter now.
Cordelia: Oh, wow. What's a rogue demon?
Cordelia: No go. The BMV is totally stalker-phobic. And wow! You look half-dead. [Angel looks at her] Which for someone who's completely dead would be—kind of neat?
Cordelia: Okay, you get to leave now. You're not gonna come in here
and accuse Angel like this.
Wesley: Cordelia.
Cordelia: No! I don't care how many files you have on all the
horrible things he did back in the powdered wig days! He is good now. And
he's my friend. And nothing you or anyone else can say will make me turn
on a friend!
Angel: Cordelia. He's right.
Cordelia (to Wesley): You stake him and I'll cut his head
off.
Penn: I'm trying to remember her name. What—what was it? She
is about yea tall, attractive, natural blonde?
Cordelia: Oh yeah, Kate! Detective Lockley.
Penn: Lockley. Yes, that's it.
Cordelia: Yeah, she and Angel are totally tight.
Penn: So, she is more than just a professional relationship
then. He cares for her.
Cordelia: Oh, yeah. More than he knows. But that's our Angel, dour,
sure, but not afraid to get personally involved in his work. And you're
totally pumping me for information, aren't you?
Penn: Yeah.
Cordelia: Oh crap. You're him. He. The guy. Apt pupil boy.
Penn: You realize you'll never make it to the exit before I...
Cordelia (pulling up the blinds, forcing Penn to dodge away from
the direct sunlight streaming in): Go up like a match?
Angel: Speaking of accidents. I'm a friend of Cordelia Chase.
Wilson: This is a private club. Featured word: "private."
Angel: You don't talk to me, I'll kick your ass. Featured
word: "ass."
Cordelia: Guys, I appreciate all the concern, but I'm okay. I mean,
it was an ordeal, but I got through it—and I'm a lot stronger than
those loser demon surrogates thought.
Angel: I'm starting to learn that.
Cordelia: I learned something, too. I learned, um—men are
evil? Oh, wait—I knew that. I learned that LA is full of self-serving
phonies. No—had that one down, too. Uh...sex is bad?
Angel: We all knew that.
Cordelia: Okay. I learned that I have two people I trust absolutely
with my life. And that part's new.
Wesley (taking a deep breath, then dabbing his handkerchief at
his eye): Uh, some, uh—allergies.
[Cordelia smiles at Angel, who looks back at her, trying not to
laugh]
Cordelia (at her party): Hi! Are you having fun?
Angel: Sure. This is, ah...
Cordelia: Your idea of hell?
Angel: Actually, in hell you tend to know a lot of the people.
Angel: Hi, Dennis. How are you doing? Hmm, still dead? I know the feeling.
Cordelia (to Angel): I'm so glad you came. You know how parties are. You're always worried that no one is going to suck the energy out of the room like a giant black hole of boring despair. But there you were—in the clinch!
Angel (pretending to be a museum guide, pointing at a painting while watching the security guards searching for him): On the left one spies the painter himself. In the middle distance is the French poet and critic Baudelaire, a friend of the artist. Now, Baudelaire—interesting fellow. In his poem "Le Vampire" he wrote, "Thou who abruptly as a knife didst come into my heart." He, ah, strongly believed that evil forces surrounded mankind. And some even speculated that the poem was about a real vampire. [laughs] Oh and, ah, Baudelaire was actually a little taller and a lot drunker than he is depicted here.
Wesley: That's it? They seemed....There were quite a few of
them. Perhaps we need a plan.
Angel: Here is the plan: we go in, I start hitting people hard in
the face—see where it takes us.
Cordelia: I mean, I know that you have this unflappable vibe
working for you, but...you don't have to do that for me.
Angel: I'm not unflappable.
Cordelia: Great. So—flap.
[Cordelia is checking out a new computer program]
Cordelia: "Demons, Demons, Demons." Wow! They put a lot of thought
into that title.
Wesley: It's a demon database. What would you call it?
Cordelia: I don't know. How about—Demon Database?
Wesley: Ahh! A name rife with single entendre.
Angel: I'm not what you think.
Rebecca: You're not? Because—no reflection...dark, private
office, instantly knowing those letters weren't written in blood, I guess
what I would think is—vampire.
Angel: Then again...
Rebecca: Which is impossible. Bela Lugosi, Gary Oldman, they're
vampires.
Angel: Frank Langella was the only performance I believed, but...
Angel: Cordelia—you're here—and you brought a cross.
Cordelia (carefully staying in the sunlight): Along with
three double half-caf, non-fat, skinny lattes.
Angel: And a cross.
Cordelia: Well, judging by the outfit, I guess it's safe to come
in. Evil Angel never would have worn those pants.
Cordelia: I think I may have done something terrible. I went
shopping with Rebecca.
Wesley: And that was terrible.
Cordelia: Huh? No! That was fantastic! You know they close off
stores for her? Oh, and lunch at Mirabelle's. I had the most to-die-for
veal filet with a light truffle marinade, and...
Wesley: Cordelia.
Cordelia: Sorry. Anyway the whole time Rebecca is real gabby,
asking questions about Angel.
Wesley: Well, what sort of questions?
Cordelia: Oh, you know, where does Angel hail from, what's his
favorite color, what kind of after-shave he wears, the exact specific
details on how someone could make themselves into a vampire.
Wesley: Surely you don't think...
Cordelia: What? That she'd try to maneuver Angel into an exchange
of bodily fluids in order to make herself eternally young and beautiful,
thus saving her failing career? Gee, now that you mention it.
Angel: I used to be, uh, a long time ago. I hurt a lot of
people.
Rebecca: I don't believe that.
Angel: No, it's true. I was bad. Which is why I have to help people
now. I'm trying to atone.
Rebecca: Cordelia says you've saved the world.
Angel: Couple times I helped. But I almost had it sucked into hell
once, too.
Cordelia: Wesley, you don't change a guy like that. In
fact—generally speaking—you don't change a guy. What you see is
what you get. Scratch the surface and what do you find? More surface.
Wesley: One could have said that about Angel.
Cordelia: Oh, please! He was cursed by gypsies. What's Angel gonna
do? Drag a bunch of them in here to shove a soul down this guy's throat?
Angel: You don't even know what you're up against, do you? You're
gonna have to face your demons sometime.
Marquez: What if I don't want to face my demons?
Angel: Then you'll have to face mine.
Cordelia (to Angel): So, are you happy with the way things turned out? [to Wesley] You can always tell when he's happy. His scowl...is slightly less scowly.
Angel: Help me track her down. I want you two to check police
reports—beatings, killings—anything within the last week,
possibly near bus stations and bars. And then you make yourselves
scarce. I don't want to give her any free targets.
Wesley: You've been targeted by a psychotic! I'm certainly not
going to run and hide.
Cordelia: I like the plan where I'm scarce.
Wesley: We've got to band together. Strength in numbers.
Cordelia: Two is a number.
Angel: She's coming for me. I've got a fight coming up. I don't
want you to get in the way.
Wesley: I thought we were a team.
Angel: We're not a team. I'm your boss. You go where I tell you and
I tell you to lay low.
Wesley: Seems you're taking this personally.
Angel: Well, you know, she tried to shoot my own personal back, so
yeah.
Angel: Nice office. Good view. Where is Faith?
Lindsey: Should I know what you're talking about?
Angel: Your new employee.
Lindsey: It's a big firm. Tell you what I can do. I can give you
the number for Personnel, though. I'm sure they'd be glad to handle your
problem.
Angel: You'd remember this one. Pretty, dark hair, kills
things?
Wesley (to Angel): It's because I trust you. Well, more than three gun-toting maniacs at any rate.
Angel: For a taciturn, shadowy guy—I've got a big mouth.
Nabbit: Are you familiar with Dungeons and Dragons?
Angel: Yeah. I've seen a few.
Wesley: You mean the—ah, role playing game.
Angel: Oh—game. Right.
Gunn: What are you doing here?
Angel: Skulking—professionally.
Angel (to Lindsey, who has been telling his life story): I'm sorry. I nodded off. Did you get to the part where you're evil?
Lindsey: If I get myself killed, that'll convince you that I've
changed.
Angel: It's a start.
Gunn (walking into the lobby of Wolfram and Hart): Whoo-whoo! My god! They told me it was true, but I didn't believe them. Damn, here it is! Evil white folks really do have a Mecca.
Cordelia: Are you still trying to figure out that word? What's
taking so long?
Wesley: Gee, I don't know, Cordelia. The prophecies of Aberjian
were only written over the last 4000 years, in a dozen different
languages, some of which aren't even human! Why don't we just get a
Falanjoid demon in here, suck the brain out of my skull. Maybe that would
speed things up.
Cordelia: He sure gets testy when he's translating.
Wesley: This word is pivotal to what it prophesies about the
vampire with a soul.
Cordelia: Well, hurry up and figure out what it says about Angel,
because—I wanna know what it says about me. If there is torrid
romance in my future—massive wealth? If I have to I'll settle for
enviable fame.
Wesley: This is an ancient sacred text, not a magic eight ball.
Cordelia: Nobody gets my humor.
Angel: I thought it was funny.
Cordelia: Hmm.
Wesley: What connects us to life?
Cordelia: Right now? I'm going with doughnuts.
Lilah: Aren't we going to be late?
Holland: You never want to be on time for a ritual. The chanting,
the blood rites—they go on forever.
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