"What gives?" Faith asked, yawning at the early morning wake up call and still slightly jetlagged from the flight.
Giles stood in a banquet hall, with a table set in front of him. "The party is not for a few days yet, and I need to get you ready."
"No offense, Professor Turtleneck," Faith said, in a tone that suggested he was about to be offended. "But I kinda doubt there's much you can teach me about the wonderful world of wetworks."
"Faith, were this a garden variety assassination, I would have used a rifle and done the deed myself. But, my intelligence suggests that along with being one of the wealthiest, and thus most-protected heiresses in the British Isles, Lady Genevieve Savidge has somehow found a way to mystically defend her estate from conventional attack."
Faith nodded, looking over at him.
"The only chance you have at finishing this slayer is by getting close to her through subterfuge and cunning," Giles told her.
"Hey, I like kinks as much as the next girl, but if you think I'm going downtown on this chick, you chose the wrong Chosen One," Faith replied.
Giles sighed softly. "This is about infiltrating her world. I'm going to help you fit into high society in time for you to attend the fancy dress party that Lady Genevieve is throwing for her nineteenth birthday."
Faith raised an eyebrow. "They seriously call their fancy dress parties 'fancy dress parties'? You limeys are even uptight when you're getting down."
She rolled her eyes.
"But whatev, I think I've banged enough bankers to know how to fit in with higher tax brackets."
"I assure you, the British class system is about much more than wealth. You're going to have to become intimiately familiar with peerage, diction, etiquette, classical - "
"Dude, how high are you? There must be a billion girls better suited than me for this My Fair Lady crap," Faith shrugged.
"Better suited than I," Giles corrected gently. "And yes, there are. But the reason I came to you is because - "
He had grabbed her arm lightly, and Faith blanched, a half memory from her past bubbling to the surface.
"You're just like her, a worthless whore..."
"Don't touch me!" Faith exclaimed, stabbing a fork into his forearm.
Giles recoiled, holding his arm as the blood seeped out through his suit jacket.
"Oh man, are you...?" Faith held a hand over her mouth.
"I've survived worse," Giles assured her.
"Sorry," she said softly. "I don't like getting pawed at... not unless I'm pawing first."
"Duly noted," he replied dryly.
"How bad did I get you?"
Giles rolled his sleeve up, revealing his tattoo as he examined the wound. "It's fine, you hardly broke the - "
"When did you get your ink?" she asked suddenly.
"Faith, do you honestly think you're the first young person to have stumbled upon the notion of rebellion?" Giles asked kindly. "Do you think you're the first who ever let an innocent person get hurt because of your own stupidity?"
Faith looked down sadly.
"You and I aren't so unalike," he said, and she raised her eyes to meet his. "But those of us who refused to pay the piper during our adolescence have a responsibility to shoulder the most unpleasant costs of adulthood."
Faith was silent for a long moment.
"It was a salad fork, right?"
"I beg your pardon?" Giles asked.
"The thing I stabbed you with? It was a salad fork?"
"Oh... no, actually, the salad fork has a shorter handle and a wider tine base... but that's as good a place to start as any."