Hags 'R' Us. Oh, Lord. The Hateful Embodiment Of Everything That Is Wrong With This Show's Casting Process flickers back in behind Hagnes. This time, he's accompanied by Necron, who apparently is as necrotic as his name implies. Clever writers. Not. If you're keeping score at home, Necron here is also known as The Villain Of The Week, Part Two. Just so you know. And now, on with the backstory: Necron invaded Hags 'R' Us "six months ago" to suck the essence, or whatever, from Hagnes. She promised him the immortal essence of a mermaid in exchange for her life, and has yet to deliver. Apparently, once Necron feeds on the essence of an immortal being, he'll never be hungry again. No, nor any of his folk. As God is his witness -- if he has to lie, cheat, steal, even kill, he'll...wait a minute. Sorry. Wrong piece of cultural garbage. Hagnes pleads for her life as Necron conjures a ball of zigzagging blue electricity in the palm of his hand. Hagnes vows to unleash a storm on San Francisco the likes of which the city has never seen in her effort to trap Mylar for Necron's delectation. Necron considers Hagnes's offer, then fries that rotten actor with his electrical ball of death. After he absorbs the essence of The Hateful Embodiment, Necron returns his attention to Hagnes all, "Make it so, my watery wench."
Airport. Raige orbs discreetly into the ladies' room, then emerges onto the concourse to track down Craiggers. She nabs him just as he's about to board his flight, and after a bit of back and forth wherein Raige begs Craig to delay his trip and Craig tells Raige to go to hell, Raige finally manages to convince him to return with her to the Manor by claiming that Mylar's life hangs in the balance.
Divorce Court. Actually, Divorce Office, as it's a private hearing in chambers. After learning that Phoebe's met all of the statutory requirements for something called a "default divorce," and after hearing from Detective Darryl that the police "used every method at [their] disposal" to find the still-missing Cole, the judge forks over the final document for Phoebe's signature. Darryl's sporting some unfortunate facial hair in the form of a goatee, by the way. How International Male of him. He's got to stop hanging out with Danny Bonaduce. As Phoebe giggles with unseemly glee, Cole bellows from the hallway, "Is this the right office?" He brightly barges in as Phoebe's face falls and Darryl grinds his teeth.
Cut to a reception area outside the judge's chambers. Phoebe clomps through the room, bellowing, "You evil bastard!" as Cole follows hot on her heels. She calls him "a pit bull with a death grip," which is an unfortunate analogy given the recent dog mauling case that took place in San Francisco, but then, everything about this show is unfortunate, is it not? Darryl, meanwhile, joins them in the reception area to scream a little bit at Cole himself. Cole, irritated, waves a hand in Darryl's direction, and Darryl morphs into a water cooler. No, seriously. His body rays white and morphs down into water cooler form. "Glug!" offers the water cooler. Shut up, water cooler. Cole -- who's looking as tasty as ever, and damn him for that because I've been sick of this storyline for what seems like my entire adult life and I want so badly for it to go away -- reveals that he extended his stay in The Waste Land in order to accumulate enough powers to "execute [his] plan." Said plan involves Cole reclaiming his position at that white-shoe law firm of his and utilizing his purloined demonic powers to help people. "Glug, glug!" goes the water cooler. I'd toss a sullen glare in the direction of the water cooler, but I'm distracted by how awful Alyssa Milano looks this evening. Especially after having spent the summer recapping episodes from the first season, way back when she was, oh, I don't know -- healthy? In an unexpected change from last season, it's not the clothes that are so horribly offensive this time around, it's the bony figure inside the clothes that is going to give me nightmares. I once told the Polish Princess that Alyssa Milano was actually Andrew Keegan in drag. That no longer holds true, mainly because Andrew Keegan, to the best of my knowledge, has not embarked on the sort of hunger strike that would have made Bobby Sands say, "For fuck's sake, feed the poor bastard something, you heartless shites!" Mind you, she's not in Calista territory yet, but she doesn't have far to go. I mean, really. Are you telling me the friendly folk at craft services can't shove a couple of brownies down her throat every now and then?
Where was I? Oh, yeah. Cole gallantly promises to maintain a certain amount of distance from the Feebs, but he won't just walk away from her. He still loves her, after all. Phoebe orders Cole to give it up already, because she's Justin Timberlake's bitch now. Or Kerr Smith's. Or maybe she's gone back to Cinjun Tate after all these years. I can't keep track of these things anymore. To reinforce her point, Phoebe snatches up a letter opener from the receptionist's desk and shoves its business end towards Cole's face. He calls her bluff, wrapping his fist around the blade. She responds by violently flicking her wrist, gouging a three-inch gash into the palm of his hand. A few drops of his blood spatter a nearby tray of legal briefs. Cole blithely natters something about her unexpected and "extreme" reaction to his protestations of love and devotion, and mojos the wound on his palm away. As the gouge heals itself, the droplets of Cole's blood begin to eat away at the paper beneath them. Phoebe wigs and races from the room. Cole heaves a glum sigh and absently waves his healed hand in the water cooler's direction. The water cooler morphs back out into Darryl, who sneers a tart remark or two before exiting himself. Cole mopes.