"No, Michael Jackson videos are the zombies and really advanced sidewalks. Fog is general fair game."

What is this ridiculous debate anyway? Buffy is trying (and failing) not to beam at the tablet, and she's already on her feet and halfway out of the front door before that last sentence is finished. Oh, now she's running. Dawn might be able to tell from the general air of out-of-breathness she's projecting.

"Oh, I'm coming. Not around the mountain, just the regular way. I'll explain everything after the hugging."