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Adaptability in the Workplace is Key

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Tuesday plan: Fake teensy headache. Send Angel to maybe-mission in a sewer far far away. Get Giles in at the Hyperion to look over Shanshu prophecy. Treat ourself to fabulous latté. Take evening off.

Result: Geekazoid ex-rogue demon hunter and decrepit ex-librarian glare politely, knock over latté. Angel is stinky and grumpy. Demon follows us home, slobbers all over us, dies goopy.

Wednesday morning plan: Drycleaning. Buy fresh new fabulous latté. Make testosteronal Englishmen behave.

Result: Wake up man. We’re talking actual man-parts, here.

Wednesday morning, plan B: Forget dry-cleaning; go straight to work. In panic, clutch hand of first ex-Watcher we see.

Result: Exchange body fluids, by which we mean sweat. We’re sweating. Gross. Also, no progress made on the removal of MAN-PARTS.

Thursday plan: Who the hell cares? Giles woke up female this morning. We’re still male. Our lives all suck.

(Giles is pretty good at sucking, it turns out. Who knew?)

Friday plan: Be a woman again.

Result: Woke up female this morning oh thank god OH MY GOD WE SLEPT WITH GILES. What the hell just happened? Oh god oh god.

(Giles is a guy again. Yay?)

Friday plan, part II: Research. We are so not even complaining about the research. Or any other reason not to look at Giles. Ever again. We slept with woman Giles. Does that make us lesbian?

Result: Demon identified: Drynox demon, reproduces via third parties (= us!), induces spontaneous temporary sexual transformation and extreme pheromone production (= SEX WITH GILES).

Friday afternoon plan: Oh my god we are not going through the demon pregnancy thing again. Morning-after pill, STAT.

Result: Not pregnant with demon spawn? Probably?

Two Fridays later plan: Pregnancy test. Oh god.

Result: Almost definitely not pregnant. Pretty sure. Do these sticks actually work for demon spawn?

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Six more Fridays later plan: Buy fancy-schmancy archival-quality pens for geekazoid English coworker. Treat ourself to fabulous mocha. Do nails.

Result: Giles calls. Oh. Huh. Turns out we were totally never in danger of carrying the demon spawn.

New plan: Research research research. Ask the Host about specialty demon surgeons. All those demons know each other, right? And hey, how come Hallmark doesn’t carry cards that say “Condolences on your demon pregnancy”?

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