Grant: Well. You can fool them, but you can’t fool me. You can’t even get drunk.

Xander: Why can you always find me? Don’t you ever wonder that?

Grant: Oh great. It talks. Hey! You realize that’s Vespasian Xander, our beloved Evil, Evil Overlord? Give us your best—what’re you drinking, Eugene?—

Xander: Rotgut.

Grant: —champagne for the special guest.

Bartender: He does kinda look like the Evil Overlord, if he was younger.

Grant: Champagne anyways.

Xander: So what miracle do you want from me today, Rhelan?

Grant: Oh that? Well…

Grant: Fewer riots. Fewer beheadings. Fewer people willing to kill anyone who talks with you because you’re this untouchable ogre who inspires religious rage. And fewer cannibal aunts. But that was only this afternoon’s visit to the hospital. Want to hear about the rest of my week?

Xander: I know about the rest of your week. You had better hope the Resistance doesn’t take the bait, or I will hold you accountable as an accomplice.

Grant: What makes you exempt from being an accomplice? You could stop all of it with no effort.

Grant: Turn everyone’s mind to better things, sort of like what you’re doing to everyone in this restaurant.

Xander: You have no idea what goes on in people’s minds.

Grant: It might be less awful if you were a less awful role model. Drowning your girlfriend in front of a crowd was one of your worst looks yet. Can you blame them for being terrified that Kore might be a telepath? Given how you act?

Xander: Rhelan, what must you think of me. She suggested it. She wanted to horrify the rioters into going home. Expedient. It horrified everyone, me most of all.

Grant: And none of it would ever have happened if you hadn’t kidnapped her in the first place. Your two pet telepaths. Stuck here on this island trying to get Shane home to proper hospital. With you being completely unreasonable about it. God, I feel sorry for Kore.

Xander: Shane is one seizure away from a telepathic nuclear meltdown. And Kore is a hairsbreadth away from…

Grant: This awful pity party. Why? Did that frigid stuck-up psycho girlfriend of yours say something mean about your utter moral bankruptcy?

Bartender: Hey! Hey!

Grant: Knew you couldn’t get drunk.

Xander: What is wrong with you? I’m a human being just like you. Of course I can get sauced. I’m a certifiable alcoholic.