The stone circle looked like all the others Buffy had seen.
This weekend, it was Giles's turn to decide what happened, and Xander's turn to relax and be done to.
Friday night was the night Giles and Xander had off, from their jobs, from their vocations, from their friends.
Giles knew he was dreaming.
Sunnydale had exactly one "authentic" English pub.
Giles was whittling stakes, seated on a stool with a box to catch the shavings between his feet.
Giles sat on the bonnet of the battered Honda, once again taking the passive role in an evening's hunting.
Giles was coolly pleased: a routine fight, and no injuries to anybody.
It rained more in Cleveland than in Los Angeles.
The new-made Slayers were celebrating.
Giles pushed himself up to a sitting position.
Ethan was waiting in the coven's ritual room when Giles arrived.
The apartment hallway was dark save for the glow from Giles's skin.
I swear to you that every word you’re about to read is true.
Giles and Jenny had a little boy, right at the end of September.
Something crashed in the room upstairs.
Giles slammed the office door shut and shot the bolt.
Bitter day, all wind and rain and the last discontented kicks from departing winter.
"Thanks, Rupert, but I'll skip the champagne."
Champagne twice, both times in dialog! One instance of the first person. A few cases where the point of view is not immediately evident. One blatant Shakespearean reference. Only one sentence I'd call a good hook.