Oh MAN, am I loving this stuff.

BWAH!

KAT!!!

"Wolfram and Hart Los Angeles ... how can we help you?" No one was ever put on hold at this switchboard.

"You have an ancient texts division, am I correct?"

"Our 'Ancient Prophecies Division' should be able to help you, sir."

"Yes ... ancient prophecies ... that's what I need."

"I'll need some details before I transfer you, sir. Have you done business with Wolfram and Hart before?"

"My last organization was a client of yours. But I will need to engage your services independently now."

"And we are more than happy to help you, Mr ..."

"Sloane. Arvin Sloane."

Yeah, they are all so great. A little bit more, cause I missed our old friend Bitch!Cordy. The parking lot of Sunnydale High was teeming with activity, even at 11:20, as students scrambled to the local fast-food joint to have lunch off-campus, mostly at the local Doublemeat Palace. Pembleton was disgusted at the thought. Maybe he’d seen too many internal organs. He probably ate like that when he was their age. It seemed awfully long ago now.
“Look,” Bayliss bellyached, “that one’s car is nicer than mine.”
A black Mercedes,almost new, license plate “Queen C.”
“Using the law of averages, it’d have to be. I’ve seen your ride, Bayliss. Pretty sad. Sorry, in fact.”
“Hey, at least it’s paid for.Whoever she is, I’m glad not to be her. High school, what a nightmare.”
“For some, yes.”
“Now we’re all formal again. I thought I’d die before I’d hear you say ‘ride’.Let me amend, for those of us not born at age forty, high school was a trying experience.”
The library seemed dim after the intense glare in the parking lot. The two detectives watched for a moment as Giles located some books for a talkative brunette.. They waited a few more minutes, but the brunette was deep in some hard-luck story about an overdue philosophy book and showed no signs of wanting to leave. Bayliss thought he looked like Mr. Chips, or something. Definitely not the kind of person who could snap his girlfriend’s neck like a twig.
“Excuse me,” Pembleton said, “Frank Pembleton, Sunnydale Homicide. Are you Rupert Giles? I’d like to ask you some questions.”
“Excuse me,” the brunette said. “But there is such a thing as a line!”
Was she deaf? Bayliss tried his aw-shucks approach. “Sorry, miss, my friend’s just trying to connect the dots in the Calendar investigation.”
“Oh, that, yes it was totally sad. I still think about it all the time.”
“Well, if you think of anything that might be useful, here’s my card.” It wasn’t likely, but worth a shot.
To his surprise, the girl blushed, giggled, and said “I’m sure things will get better with you on the case, Detective...”
“I’m Tim. And I’m a million years too old for you.”
Giles cleared his throat. “Yes, well, Cordelia, now that you’ve...exercised your civic duty, perhaps you’d better go to study hall now.”
“But...”
“We. Will. Talk. About. It. Later. Just go.” And all of a sudden, a steely look came into the man’s eyes. Mr. Chips was a tough customer after all.

Kat, if you could get that to 100 words, you should definitely post it.

And Anne -- you CSI shipper, you.

I shall try to get it to 100 words, wouldn't have a clue about where to post it other than here, though.

I sooo wanna be Karen when I grow up.

"Sloane. Arvin Sloane."

Ooooh.

It was for you, Dana.

You're so sweet. Want one in return? Gimme a fandom.

And Anne -- you CSI shipper, you.

Heh. More like an anti-shipper, I fear.