Cordelia: Well, it's not like my throne couldn't use a few extra cushions, but I'm not really gonna complain because, well -- throne.
 
Host: See there? She had a vision. That explains it. Well, see, there's this prophecy...
Angel: A prophecy. Great. Because those always go well...
 
Cordelia: In kind of a hurry to get back to the Cordelia's-not-a-princess-dimension, aren'tcha?
 
Angel: Okay. This is because of going through the portal, right?
Cordelia: Huh? No. It always looks like that.
 
Angel: No, I mean why didn't anyone tell me?
Cordelia: What? It looks good.
Angel: You're not just saying that?
 
Host: Ho, ho, ho! Back up! You want me to talk to my family? On purpose?
Wesley: It's that, or face the possibility of never getting back to our dimension.
Host: Come on, gorgeous. You can stare at yourself in my grandmother's glass eye. Oh, and while we're here, it's just "Lorne," okay? To the people of Pylea, a "host" is just one more thing to lay your eggs in.
Angel: Yeah, yeah, fine. Can we get my coat?
 
Angel: ... and then, WHACK! I chopped off the evil lawyer beast's hand and he screamed and screamed, and then I left.
Host: Well! You're a regular Hans Christian Tarantino, aren'tcha?
 
Cordelia: If you ever figure out how to get us out of here, I want you to find me a dimension where some demon doesn't want to impregnate me with its spawn! I mean, is that just too much to ask?
 
Cordelia: What is it about me, anyway? Do I put out some kind of Com-Shuk-me vibe? You'd tell me, right?
 
Angel: Oh, Cordelia! No, she's fine. They made her a princess.
Fred: They -- Really? Oh. When I got here they, they... didn't do that. Made me more of a, of a slave, really. Well that's... nice for her.
 
Host: Not as good as you, obviously... Should I call them back? You could borrow the cuffs.