Manor. Aftermath. Raige's Moustache, shockingly, is finally doing some work around the house, in this case toting a trashcan of battered bits of furniture down the main stairs from the Boudoir above. She's met in the main hall by the running-on-empty Feebs, who barrels in from the front porch with a surprising amount of energy for someone two pounds above organ failure to gripe and moan and whine and yodel and kvetch and swoon over SL@mp!EcE spARKL!es and the possible impact he might have on her uterus. Yawn. Raige's Moustache evidently shares my disinterest in Phoebe's reproductive system, for she bluntly informs her half-sister that Barbas just attacked Tiny Gay Chris. Of course, Shakti Piper wants them both to keep news of the attack from the Dolt, because -- say it with me, gang -- Withholding Vital Information From Each Other Has Always Worked So Well For Them In The Past. And of course -- of course -- the Dolt blunders into the foyer at that very moment in search of his ex-wife, with whom he wishes to inflict Dolt Sex upon the unsuspecting audience. Or something like that. I need a nap. Phoebe and Raige's Moustache hem and haw and doof and natter for a very long stretch of time before the Dolt sidles past them and up the stairs. Phoebe and Raige's Moustache exchange worried looks. Well, Phoebe shoots a worried look at Raige's Moustache. Raige's Moustache just puckers in dismay.
Bridal Boudoir. The Dolt takes one look at the shattered furniture and begins to rage around the room. Phoebe and Raige's Moustache tiptoe uneasily into the doorway. "What happened here?" the Dolt demands. "You're not gonna like it," shrugs Raige's Moustache.
Meanwhile, down in the foy...oh, this is just fucking ridiculous. Sheridan and the Doormat use a motherfucking crowbar to crack open the never-ever-ever-locked front door, and to what end? To present the Manor Morons with a search warrant. With no backup. And no crime lab technicians. Not that the latter would be of any use at this point, because the alleged crime took place TWO FUCKING MONTHS AGO. God, the cops on this show are idiots. Sheridan goes all Pepper Anderson with her brassy attitude and her pistol cocking and that you're-either-with-me-or-against-me tirade she delivers to the Doormat, but please. Give it a rest, honey. You just used a crowbar to open an unlocked door. The Doormat flusters as Police Woman hits the stairs.
Up in the Boudoir, the Dolt's launched himself into a pissy little rant while Phoebe and Raige's Moustache stand helplessly by. Police Woman picks this moment to barge into the Boudoir and order the gals to place their hands in the air. The Dolt, not having it, telekinetically hoists Pepper off the floor and flings her headfirst across the room, where she brains herself on one of the antique gaslights suspended from the wall before crashing, unconscious, to the floor. Ow. That actually looked like it hurt. The Doormat comes thisclose to howling, "What do you think you're doing? She's a cop!" but instead chooses at the last minute to go with that old standby, "Are you out of your mind?" The Dolt whatevers and sporks out of there with his jockeys in a wad. Piper and her Many Crappy Arm-Like Digital Inserts Of Demian's Discontent arrive too late for the action, but just in time to bitch at everybody for making so much goddamned noise. Once Shakti Piper spots the quite possibly dead woman on her bedroom floor, though, her eyes widen as she breathes, "Where's [the Dolt]?" Phoebe goggles and rolls her eyes around while shifting tensely from foot to foot. Raige's Moustache -- whose pancake makeup is so dark, thick, and unnatural in this shot that it's turned her into a dead ringer for Natalie Wood in West Side Story, and this is not a good thing -- simply gapes.