Episode Report Card Demian: C | Grade It Now! YOU GRADE IT If Death Doesn't Become Her, Will It At Least Shut Her Up?
By Demian | Season 7 | Episode 5 | Aired on 10.09.2004
We return from the first set of commercials to fade up instantly on the Dolt's gargantuan gargoyle head as it telegraphs its shock over Chaplain Artie's gaping hole to the off-camera Ps with a pair of wildly wiggling eyebrows. No opening travelogue? Again? For the fourth time this season? The sense of foreboding and dread I feel at the moment is nearly crippling. The camera pans up past Artie's gaping hole to Artie's gaping maw as he bellows, "How did this happen?" The gals have somehow transported him back to the Manor parlor during the break, and Chaplain Artie stands there on the carpet, huffing his outrage while Phoebe and Raige casually arrange themselves on one of the nearby overstuffed armchairs. "Actually," Phoebe grins unhelpfully, "we're not really sure." Her ravaged hair's slicked back from her forehead and knotted into a bristly tuft masquerading as a ponytail, and she sports a red-and-black silk form-fitting halter that's suspended from one shoulder with a thick length of twisted black rope. No, I don't get it, either. Piper enters from the hallway with a jacket, which she offers to Chaplain Artie as politely as she can given the circumstances while wondering, "Would you mind covering up? It's a little unnerving." Not as unnerving as the dearth of Travelogue Ovaries thus far this season, hon. Piper turns to join the Dolt on another chair as Raige attempts to explain the situation. The explanation, however, is hijacked by the bickering that quickly erupts amongst the Glamorous Ladies over Phoebe's Sparklies situation, like, rude! Chaplain Artie too patiently tolerates far too much of this bullshit before he announces that he must find his wife and bolts for the back door. At Phoebe's prompting, Raige orbs out of the armchair to halt him. "Can't have him wandering around San Francisco like that with Agent Brody snooping around," Phoebe whispers conspiratorially to Piper. Um, why, Phoebe? The Amazing Incredible Heterosexual already knows you're witches, you dipshit. Why'd you even bother mentioning his name just now? Whatever. Like I really care. In any event, Raige orbs back into the room with the chaplain, who looks like he'd vomit were he still in possession of a functioning digestive tract. As it is, he collapses onto the sofa while Raige bitches some more about Not!warts and her to-do list and shut it, you lippy wench. If you didn't want the fucking job, you shouldn't have accepted it. Artie finally cuts through the crap to splutter, "Am I alive or dead?" The Dolt's forced to admit that they're not entirely certain. Suddenly, from behind them all, a vaguely familiar voice croons, "I may be able to answer that question."
Artie struggles to his feet as he and the Manor Morons direct their attention towards The Famous Original Angel Of Death now occupying the center parlor. The camera shudders in on Simon Templeman's face with such unnecessary and jolting speed that Chaplain Artie loses what's left of his tattered composure to drop once more to the sofa, senseless, with the force of his collapse toppling a priceless Tiffany lamp from the adjacent table. We hear the antique crash to the floor, and Grams is gonna be hella pissed when she finds out about that. The ladies barely acknowledge their grievously injured and now unconscious innocent -- like, go figure -- before refocusing their scattered attention on Death, who introduces himself by noting that he became well acquainted with their sister, mother, and grandmother back in the day. He pointedly neglects to include Raige's crispy adoptive parents in that little run-down, so I'm guessing Death called in sick that day. Long story short, he's there for Chaplain Artie, but for some reason cannot claim Artie's soul, despite Artie's decided lack of life at the moment. "It's fascinating, really," Death notes with a hint of a smile on lips, "I've never had this problem before." "Any ideas why?" he adds accusatorily, eyeing each of the Manor Morons in turn. Raige admits -- again -- to her fault in the matter, and Death orders her to reverse the protection spell immediately. Piper objects, for if Raige complies, the demon wins. "You don't understand," Death explains with preternatural calm as he conjures a smoking piece of parchment into his right hand. "People have to die in the order on my list. Otherwise, the cosmic balance is thrown off." Okay. We'll go with that for now. Even though, you know, Chaplain Artie's name fails to appear in either the "Dead" or the "To Die" column when we get a close-up of the list in question, but whatever. Who am I to question Death? Phoebe protests that they can't let Rotten Scott Farkus get away with murdering his family. The Angel Of Death reminds them that the ongoing battle between good and evil is none of his concern, as he's an entirely neutral entity charged with the singular task of escorting the freshly dead into the great beyond, thereby "maintaining the grand design." "In order to do that," he warns, "I must claim the soul of the chaplain soon." "I'll be back," he vows, before disappearing in a smoky twist of dark blue mojo that is entirely unlike his former method of transport. Interestingly, though, the new mojo for the briefest of instants transforms him into a transparent, blue-tinted, black-cowled skeleton the moment before he vanishes completely. Pretty cool effect, but I must admit I much prefer it when he suddenly, unexpectedly manifests himself behind people like some gigantic and wry Death-In-The-Box.
Phoebe immediately wheels around to proffer a hastily-arrived-at yet cunning plan. Raige just as immediately shouts her down, insisting they'll do nothing and like it until Phoebe sorts through her Sparklies issues. Because that makes total sense, you stupid bitch. The mechanism of death has ground to a halt because of your dumbass spell, but you're not going to do anything about it until Phoebe fucks her jackhole of a replacement again. That is so smart, Raige! S-M-R-T SMART! Piper, for some asinine reason, sides with the lippy half-sister, and the two browbeat Phoebe until the latter finally caves and exits for All The News That's Fit To Fuck Me. Raige, meanwhile, decides to orb back to Not!warts to work on a reversal while Piper remains in the Manor to whip up some sort of vanquishing potion for Rotten Scott Farkus. Once Phoebe and Raige have drifted from the room, Piper urges the Dolt to head up to Whitelighterland and fill his fellow ever-useless Elders in on the current Death sitch. The Dolt whines about it for all of three seconds before obediently orbing upwards, because he's whipped. During all of this, Chaplain Artie has snapped his eyelids open and exaggeratedly tiptoed out of the house through the sun porch doors, so that when Piper turns to check on him, she finds an empty couch. "Oh, great," she grits.