“Hands off the Prada, cretin of the night!”
Whoomph! Suddenly the vamp crumbles, and Cordelia’s horizontal on the boutique carpet, sneezing dust, with Buffy sprawled in her lap. Feels kinda soft and zingy and…but Cordelia’s so not going there. “Graceful,” she remarks.
“Thanks,” Buffy mutters helping Cordelia up. “You okay?”
Cordelia straightens her dress. “Please -- I’ve had more life threatening manicures.”
Buffy’s smile turns pouty. “Speaking of -- I broke a nail.”
“Now that’s serious.” Cordelia ignores the stupid tremble as she takes Buffy’s hand, inspects the damage, tsks, rolls her eyes. “Come on,” she says, “sometimes I can work miracles.”