Back at the Manor, Piper storms into the garage that they've never had before tonight because this show is ass and I want to die to berate at the Dolt for working on his antique truck. "What if it fell?" she ululates, dragging him out from beneath the thing on his little dolly. "You could be crushed! You could get killed!" "Don't be silly," he protests. "It's up on jacks!" "So?" Piper flails. "You never know!" And you, dear lady, never provide relevant information when it's most necessary. Example? This entire, pointless scene. Does Piper tell the husband that The Angel Of Death was apparently stalking her that morning? Of course not, because that would make sense, and we can't be having any of that on this stupid show. No, instead she just waffles around the garage, nattering on about one goddamned unimportant thing or another, while the Dolt just stands there looking sympathetic and supportive and doomed. Idiots. Eventually, Piper ends the scene by abruptly pulling the Dolt into a kiss before whispering, "I love you," and racing out of that garage they've never had before tonight. The Dolt watches her go, all, "Buh?"
"All right, mister!" Piper calls out up in the nonexistent attic. She places a couple of determined fists on her hips as she continues, "I know you're lurking somewhere, and if you want something, you need to get your grim-reaping ass down here or stop bugging me!" Death has rather amusingly materialized silently off-screen, as is his wont, so that by the time the camera finishes circling around Piper in the foreground of the shot, we can see him in the blurry background, testily folding his arms at that whole "grim-reaping ass" bit of her little tirade. Heh. "There's no need to be rude," he huffs. Piper's eyes widen a bit at his stealth appearance behind her as he continues, "I was only trying to do you a favor." "Favor?" Piper ices as she turns slowly to face him. "Well, I don't want any favors from you." "Oh, you'll want this one," he assures her. Piper's eyes narrow slightly at this and a small, troubled line appears between her brows. "You know," Death sighs, "my job was so much easier before I met you and your sisters -- it was so much less...complicated." "For what it's worth," Piper foolishly snots, "I don't think taking people's lives should be all that easy to do." Hey, dumbass? Yeah, over here. First off, he doesn't take lives; he simply escorts those who have passed on to their next level of existence -- which you should know because you had the same goddamned job for an entire day last year. And secondly? Well, there is no secondly, actually. Just shut up, Piper. And then Death agrees with her, because Death has become a moron, too. "It never is," he replies. "Still, it's inevitable." "You're not taking me," Piper insists, her tone challenging him to try. "You're right," he replies, mildly enough, "I'm not." Piper frowns, and almost seems ready to deploy the Mighty Hands Of Discontent in a fit of pique. Death carefully advances upon her and finally drops the bomb: "I'm taking [the Dolt]." "What?" Piper spits. Death, sort of self-centered about the whole thing, which is pretty damn funny, brushes past Piper's outrage to puzzle, "It's curious -- I actually feel bad about it." "No doubt a reflection of my knowing you," he continues, nodding in her direction before reminding her, "I don't normally get to know people long in my line of work, obviously."