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"What's with our lady author?" Spike whispered. "Seems rather frantic, what with the muttering and the making of to-do lists."
Giles removed his glasses, placed them on his open book. "It's end of term. I expect she's terribly busy."
Spike waved a hand. "Piffle! Academia. Where are her priorities? You know what's actually hard work? Being this sarcastic and perceptive."
"I'm sure she'll liberate your latest torrent of insults just as soon as she's able."
Spike looked somewhat mollified. "I guess that's all right then." He brightened. "In the meantime, I can introduce you to Dawson's Creek."
"Oh, dear Lord."
*
"Wait, is that it? Is she finally done now?" Spike asked hopefully.
"Yes, I believe so," Giles replied, smiling.
"Thank God!" Spike exclaimed. "Those plague essays wasn't too bad, what with the death and terror and all. And the Henry VIII papers were all right. All of those wives and executions and rebellions? Henry and Cromwell were a couple of tossers, eh? But if I had to be inside her head while she graded another bleeding essay on Charlemagne, I would have staked myself!"
Giles looked thoughtful. "Hmmm. I wonder if she can unearth just one more blue book, then."