Hag Manor, Parlor Subdivision. Phoebe, tail and all, is splayed across a sofa and the coffee table, guzzling water provided by the long-suffering Raige as the Dolt tries and fails to heal her gaping ass wound. Piper descends the stairs, overhears the conversation regarding Phoebe's gaping ass wound, and announces that she's more than ready to knock some demonic heads together. Raige and the Dolt both take note of Piper's wild mood swing, but neither comments on it directly -- Raige most likely out of righteous fear of her dangerously unstable sister (or not. Talking out my ass here, people) and the Dolt most likely out of sheer stupidity, as he's already made it abundantly clear he wouldn't put anything past a gal under the influence of icky pregnant-lady hormones (and that would be the God's honest truth. And you know it). Piper rather amusingly flicks her wrist at a hideous angel print of the Dolt's that she's always secretly despised, scorching the thing right off the parlor wall. She also grills Phoebe on Necron's particulars, then orders Raige to orb the Book of Shadows down from the attic, thereby directly contradicting all of her prohibitions against personal gain, particularly as they apply to the area of common household tasks. Such as fetching the Book from the attic. Phoebe, of course, remains self-servingly oblivious throughout this scene, occasionally peppering the conversation with demands that the Dolt orb her back into the ocean. If only. At one point, Phoebe natters, "All I need are little shiny objects and to lay on a rock and comb out my hair," like, we knew that already, Feebs. We've known it for four years. Piper lands on the entry for Necron at this moment, and the brief bit read by the Dolt defines the demon as "a skeletal being who hovers between life and death. He has the power to incinerate any living creature and feed on its life force." Raige deduces that should Necron suck the life force out of an immortal being, he'd no longer be hovering between worlds; thus, his jones for Phoebe and her gaping ass wound. Phoebe whines some more, so Raige hauls her upstairs and tosses her into the bathtub. No, seriously. This action, however, only serves to exacerbate the whining of the Feebs, who believes she's being held prisoner. Any moment now, she's going to start chanting, "Attica! Attica!" And that will be the moment I punch my fist through my television screen.
Casa Del Sole. Dammit! I mean, "Casa Del Cole," but that doesn't work for me. We're going to have to rename the penthouse, people. Cole has some cockblocker of an attorney on the speakerphone, trying to convince the cockblocker to accept faxed medical records rather than the originals in the matter of Raige's rapidly-imploding adoption assignment. The cockblocker is, um, blocking Cole's cock, I suppose, so Cole mojos the telephone, apparently shooting some sort of evil voodoo through the line that magically transforms the cockblocker into a cockenabler. "Yes, sir, Mr. Turner, sir. Those faxed medical records should be just fine" and that sort of thing.