Prue practiced her forms while Doyle pretended to read a magazine though instead he was watching her over top of it.
Angel walked up behind Doyle. Leaning over the back of the couch he whispered, “It might help to turn the page. You’ve been on the same one for ten minutes.”
“What?” said Doyle his Irish accent lilting gently, “Oh.” he tuned the page.
Prue looked over and smiled, “What’s up Angel?” she asked.
“Krevlar demon at the corner of Smith and … and Westminster,” he faltered as the door swung open. He looked over at the person who stepped through. “May we help you?”
“I hope so,” said the man, “I’m looking for my daughter, Prudence Melinda Turner.”
Doyle saw Prue stiffen. “I told you I never wanted to see you again, my liege,” she spat out though she inclined her head respectively.
“Father,” he said lovingly, stepping closer to her. “I was never my liege to you.”
“Wait a minute,” Doyle cut in, “My liege? You’re…you’re…a…a…”
“I’m the Source,” the man said, “of All Evil.” turning back to Prue he grabbed her arm, “I need to talk with you.”
Doyle watched as Prue wrenched her arm free of the mans grip and started to back up, eyes wide. Suddenly she turned and bolted heading toward Angel’s downstairs apartment. “I got her,” said Doyle jumping off the couch and running after her.
“She’s heading for the sewers!” Angel yelled at Doyle’s retreating back. Turning back he asked, “Would you like some tea?”
“Sure,” said Prue’s father, “Thanks.”
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