"Where the hell have you been?"
Friday, Eron and Sheila looked up at the irate man who entered the room.
"Umm..." Shelia stammered.
"You're supposed to be patrolling!" he screamed at her. "We have a maniac on our hands and you haven't patrolled in four days!"
"I don't know if you've noticed," Friday said dryly. "But she has a broken arm."
The man stopped to look at her as if he'd only just noticed herself and Eron in the room.
"And who are you?"
"Friday Black-Hart," Friday replied glibly. "Slayer."
"Well I don't know if you've noticed, Friday, if that's even your real name, slayer heal fast. Broken arm is nothing."
"Broken arm is a hinderance and an obvious weakness in any battle. It also won't heal if it keeps breaking."
"We have a crisis on our hands!"
"An injured slayer is a bigger danger."
"What are you even doing here?"
"Patrolling," Friday replied.
"Umm, Friday," Shelia cut in. "Eron, this is my watcher, Douglas."
"And what gives you the right," Douglas said, turning on Eron, "to interfere with another slayer?"
"Excuse me?" Eron asked, blinking with confusion.
"One watcher! One slayer!"
"Ahh," Eron nodded. "I'm not Day's watcher. I'm her husband."
Douglas looked between the two.
"Anyway, as we were saying before we were so rudely interupted," Friday said, waving a dismissing hand at Douglas and turning to Shelia. "I believe we were marking out likely locations of -"
"We're not finished!" Douglas screamed at her.
Friday glanced at at him briefly, then looked down at the map.
"Do you want help with this crisis or do you just want to shriek at people, Douglass."
"Oh that's very orig-" Douglas (or Douglass) clamped her hand over her mouth at the sound of the feminine voice emerging from it.
"I'm sorry, did I forgot to mention I'm half alien? Run along now. Maybe if you apologise to me in the morning I'll change you back."