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[Exterior of Asylum. Buffy is slowly walking to her car, her body shaking, and spots her vehicle. As she approaches the banged up Jeep, things begin to dim as we go back in her mind's eye.]
[We see a young Buffy, blonde pigtails and skipping shoes approach her father. He's a ruggedly handsome man, reminiscent of Almonzo Wilder from the television show. Young Buffy skips to him, not realizing he's on the phone. He turns around, pats her head, and pushes her out of the room. He goes back to his phone conversation and turns on the television. Buffy can see it is "Wheel of Fortune" through the French doors.]
[Buffy is standing at her car, arms over her face, weeping.]
Buffy: (mutters to herself) They...always bought that stupid Dalmatian statue. Oh, Daddy... Why?
[CUT TO: Training Exercises at the Watcher's Academy. Buffy is limbering up. We see various activities in the background: Watchers working the ribbon/floor exercise, Watchers-in-Training on beam... Buffy is chalking her hands.]
Nitro: Alright, little lady. Let's get you up here, and want to see you stick that landing. Watch that wobble on your third hold.
Buffy: I get why I'm doing the un-even parallel bars. I'll need to make swoopy cool moves to fight evil, I..I get that. (Gestures to a Watcher, in his 70s, sliding into the splits, gesturing in spirals with his ribbon overhead.) But I don't understand the "rhythmic gymnastics" portion of our training for the Council.
Nitro: You may need to create a diversion. Plus, it takes body movement back to dance, and I think we can all agree that there isn't enough fluid movement in gymnastics anymore.
(Nitro begins to roundelay and jazz hand, an intense look on his face. He finishes with a high kick, step forward, swivel, step out, arms out with Spirit Fingers. Buffy begins her routine.)
[CUT TO: The Watcher's Library. Buffy has a stack of books on The Mayor in front of her. She is asleep. Her best friend and roommate walks to her.]
Willow: Buffy- Buffy! Wake up. Phone call from Giles.
Buffy: (rubbing sleep out of her eyes) Thanks Willo- WILLOW!! What did you do to your ha- I mean, Hey! New hairdo. I wouldn't have thought dredlocks personally...
Willow: (clutching her red, wiry hair-snakes) What? Really? I don't know... I thought it looked kind of subversive. We are surrounded by the Old World Order. R-Really? You don't like?
Buffy: It's just that... You're a red head. And I can see your scalp. It's almost fluorescent. And puka shells? It - don't take this the wrong way - it isn't you.
Willow: You're right. My scalp really itches, too. Oh. Phone call.
(Buffy makes her way to the entrance and picks up the house phone)
Buffy: Mr. Giles?
Giles: (voice over) I read your memo on The Mayor. Are you sure that you've left nothing out?
Buffy: It's all there. Right down to the last snot molecule. Ew. Again.
Giles: He mentioned a bathroom stall. Wal-Mart. Do you think it is some kind of code? Perhaps a subterfuge?
Buffy: No, he'd admire something like Wal-Mart. Bargain prices... Convenient locations... Probably would be wigged by how dirty most of them are, but-. Did you need something else?
Giles: I'm wondering why you didn't go there and complete your report.
Buffy: But that's field work. I'm just a trainee. Uh, is there something you aren't telling me?
Giles: Angel/Angelus. He's... gone.
Buffy: I... How? He's dead?
Giles: He was dead long before you came. No, The Mayor had a good talking-to with him about manners and ladies and language, and Xander the Orderly got so tired of the speech that he moved Angel/Angelus to a different wing. The Mayor can be quite diabolical with his reminders of etiquette. Snyder is trying to blame you. (Pause) I want you to investigate this toilet. That's all. (Hangs up)
Buffy: Great. Snot and toilets. (Hangs up) I don't know where I got the idea this would be a glamorous job. Oh yeah. All the twirling ribbons.
[DISSOLVE TO: Exterior of Wal-Mart, downtown Sunnydale. Buffy gets out of her car, slings a case over her shoulder, and walks inside.]
[CUT TO: Interior of ladies restroom. Buffy is walking down the row of stalls, opening each one to check for customers. She is alone. She goes to the third stall and enters. She takes out her camera and snaps several shots of the stall. After placing a "For Your Protection" sanitary tissue over the seat, she sits down and studies the stall.]
Buffy: Okay, Mr. Mayor. What am I looking for....
(We see flashes of graffiti on the wall reading: "For a good time call Shania. For a GREAT time, call her sister!" And "Walmrt SUX!" Buffy continues to scan the stall when she sees a note written in perfect Copperplate Script to her left, outlined in scrolls.)
Buffy: (reading aloud) He has done it again. I have tried to teach him color charts to no avail. And Empire waists are foolish on his frame. But he has it in his head, and I can't change it. "He" is the man you are looking for, agent. I've airbrushed a picture of him, minus the face, in his latest outfit."
(Buffy looks downward and sees a drawing of a man with broad, strong shoulders, well-muscled, yet lean arms, narrow hips, firm abdomen. The drawing man is wearing a flowery baby-doll dress, wide necked with a broomstick mini-skirt. The drawing man has a hot-pink tank under the top with hot pink bicycle shorts underneath. He is wearing 18-hole Doc Martens. With a dress. She recoils in horror.)
[CUT TO: Buffy running into the Asylum, then shots of her running down the long, gated corridor, past Xander - asleep with an X-Men comic over his face - and down the row of cells to stop in front of The Mayor's cell. It is dark inside.]
Buffy: You did that drawing. You wanted me to see him. Why?
(A muffled noise from within the cell)
Buffy: Mr. Mayor, answer me!
The Mayor: (yawning) Well, gee whiz, kid. How's a fella supposed to get his required 9 hours of sleep with you coming in here yelling and waking him up? But, that shows you're ambitious, and I can respect that. Don't forget: early to bed, early to rise. Want to be healthy and wise, don't you?
Buffy: Mr. Mayor... (her voice rises with anger)
The Mayor: Didn't anyone teach you that you can catch more flies with sugar than vinegar? Oh, alright. I didn't DRAW that horrible thing, just made sure it was there. Gosh, those outfits weren't attractive even when they were in style. (Laughs sarcastically) Style. Every woman looks good in high-waist, full legged trousers with a button down shirt, and that's the truth. I mean, if it was good enough for Marlene Dietrich...
Buffy: That was no woman.
The Mayor: (coming closer) No. It wasn't. You can tell from the little Adam's apple the artist put in. And those shoulders. Good heavens. (He is up to the glass and we see him completely. His pajama top is buttoned to the top, and he is wrapping his robe tightly around his waist.)
The Mayor: Forgive my appearance. You didn't give me enough time to comb my hair... Why don't you ask me about the JC Penny's Killer.
Buffy: You know something?
The Mayor: I might if I could see the case file.
Buffy: Why don't you tell me about Wal-Mart. You wanted me to find that picture. Or do I have to wait for the lab results?
The Mayor: His name is William the Bloody, and I didn't draw that, I only hired someone to paint it per my instructions. I tried entering one of those "Draw Me" contests, but my turtles always looked like armadillos without ears. I learned to appreciate those who could draw well. Like that Thomas Kincaid, gosh, he's good! Now. Tell me. What did you think when you saw that picture? Tell me. I want to know.
Buffy: (taking a deep breath) Are you serious?
The Mayor: Well, you aren't being any fun. You come in here, wake me up from a perfectly lovely dream about tunnels and ice cream, and then you won't talk? I guess I should just go right back to-
Buffy: (rushed) I felt nauseous. Hot-pink? With that pale skin? And no one looks good in a floral bag hanging off their shoulders. I'm not even going to address those black boots.
The Mayor: Rupert Giles is helping your career, isn't he? Why is that, do you think? I mean, you're ambitious, to be sure, but you'll never make it far with that snippy attitude... Tell me: why do you think Mr. Giles has taken such an interest in you?
Buffy: Duh. It's his job.
The Mayor: No, no, you've been given a special assignment. You're his special little girl now, even if you can't see it. There isn't any after-hours shenanigans going on, are there? That's a quick way to lose your job and to lose face in the office. Strict professionalism. It's something to strive for.
Buffy: (staring with her mouth open)
The Mayor: Golly. Your mouth's open, but here I am without a penny. Guess that means I won't get my fortune, huh? (Chuckles, turns and walks to a light switch. We see that his room is completely bare - no television)
Buffy: They took your things.
The Mayor: I know. Got me more than a little peeved, I tell you what. Here I am trying to help that poor kid next door learn some manners, learn his place in the world, how to make something of himself, and no more "Wheel." Well, "College Week" is over anyway.
Buffy: Tell me who painted that picture. You know, don't you?
The Mayor: I've been in this cell for, my word, has it been five years? Gracious, how time flies. Seems like I'm going to be in here for good! (Laughs) It sure would be swell if I could get a, what are they called? TiVo? You kids and your abbreviations! Tell you what. You talk to old Giles for me and see what you can work out. Be a good girl.
Buffy: Tell me who painted that picture! Tell me who's wearing that! My god... How many more women have to be subjected to that kind of clothing on the whim of some... maniac? How many more??
[CUT TO: Town home in a middle-class neighborhood. Cordelia Chase is getting her bag out of the back of her car. She sees a man across the parking lot struggling with his tie. He is making frustrated, near-tears sounds.]
Cordelia: Hey! You alright over there?
Unidentified Man: I... I'm fine. (Heavy sigh) No, I'm not. I need to have a "Windsor Knot" whatever the hell THAT is, and I can't make it work. I'm all thumbs. (Man keeps his head down and sniffs noisily.)
Cordelia: (Walking towards him, appraising his cheap suit) Well, seeing that it looks like you're intimate with the softer side of Sears, I'd take you for a clip-on man, myself. But, I believe in acts of charity when it comes to helping people dress better. Let's see what you've got here.
(Cordelia stands in front of the medium-height man and reaches for his necktie. The man raises his head and she sees his face. He has killer cheekbones and shockingly blue eyes. He gives her a coy smile, and she relaxes.)
Man: Hang on. Let me take this off. Let's start over.
(Man takes the tie off his neck and quick as lightening, wraps it around Cordelia's throat. She begins to black out, and Man removes it, not wanting to kill her. He shoves her into the back of his waiting van and runs his fingers over the material of her Anne Klein, bias-cut silk skirt.)
Man: Oh, God. Baby pink. No one over 18 should wear a baby pink skirt... Ruffles? Doin' you a favor, love.
(He cuts the skirt off her body, then takes out a red marker and draws something. He gets in the front seat and drives away, leaving a fluttering piece of pink material behind - his calling card.)
TBC RIGHT HERE, IN FACT...