The camera fades up on the Manor façade as shrill, stupid Phoebe shrieks out, "Anyone down here?" The shot cuts inside to the foyer to pan up Phoebe's denim-clad legs as she descends the final flight of stairs into the main hall clad in some sort of embroidered, pink-and-lamé jacket over a filmy, matching camisole top while toting an enormous cardboard box. "Big box in high heels!" she screams, and oh, my God, she's an asshole. Bad enough that she's moving out of the Manor again, some more, and we all know how well that turned out for everyone involved the last time her dumb hag-ass tried it four years ago, but give me a fucking break. Wearing heels to haul all of your shit to your new place? They're called "sneakers," you dim bitch. Look into them. Better yet, just get your spasmodic bastard of a half-sister to orb your fucking belongings to your new digs, IDIOT. Oh, whatever. We're not even two minutes into this damn thing yet, so let's just keep this moving. Piper, who'd been ignoring the caterwauling in favor of a little Book abuse at the dining room table, offers a distracted response before summoning Phoebe over for a bit of research assistance. Phoebe begs off, babbling something about signing the loan documents for her new condominium, which so surprises Piper that the latter rises to her feet to eyebrow, "I didn't realize this was all moving along so quickly." "But," she begins in a wasted attempt to guilt-trip the Feebs, "I've been so focused on getting [my enormous Doltsicle out of the deep freeze]." Selfish Phoebe barely rises to the bait, forcing Piper to reveal her Book abuse has identified a number of "seers and oracles and anyone that might be able to foresee who [the Glamorous Idiots] have to fight" in order to retrieve the Doltsicle from the Angel of Teasley's great big Sub-Zero walk-in in the sky. Good luck with that one, hon.