"I'm going to ask you a number of questions that may seem confusing or alarming, and I'd like you to humor me for a few minutes."

"...all right."

"Have you noticed yourself developing any unnatural or inexplicable abilities?  Such as increased strength, speed, or reflexes, resistances to extreme temperatures or environmental conditions, a greatly reduced need for sleep or food, unnaturally quick healing, or seemingly prophetic dreams?"

"Some of those.  How'd you know?"

He sort of sighs, as if in anticipation of the absurdity of the thing he is about to say.

"Because of a prophecy."

She blinks.  It's the kind of slow, expressive blink you usually can't pull off unless you're a cartoon character.

"Well, yes," he says.

He clears his throat.  "I am part of a secret organization called the Watcher's Council.  It's our job to find and train magically-talented young women called Vampire Slayers.  There is one at any given time, and they tend to figure into prophecies of the end of the world."

"...Ahuh," she says.

"Can uh.  Can you gimmie anything like...... evidence?  Of this whole weird magic masquerade shit."

"I have video evidence of previous Slayers fighting vampires, including causing them to dissolve into dust when they die.  I have access to coroner's reports of people who were killed by exsanguination through barbecue-fork-shaped wounds, which I imagine you will find at least suggestive of the existence of vampires.  My colleague Watcher Quinn is authorized to perform minor magicks which could not easily be reproduced with sleight of hand.  Other than that - nothing which I imagine you would be willing to cooperate with without already trusting me."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, if you allowed Mr. Quinn and myself to train you and send you out on missions, you would encounter vampires in short order and find them easy to distinguish from ordinary humans."

She snorts.

"...Easy how."

"They catch fire in sunlight, turn to ash when they die, and - "

He produces from inside his jacket three photographs, one mugshot-style and two apparent candids, of people with oversized canines and inhumanly snarled faces, like someone turned their "frown" dials up two or three times as far as they were supposed to go.

" - do this when they're angry.  ...I also have these pictures, in the way of evidence."

She examines the pictures.

She sits back in her chair, lets out a breath.  "Barbecue forks are a thing in this town, huh."

"I can't guarantee there aren't any small time criminals also using them out of herd mentality, but - yes."

"...oh shit, and they catch fire in the sun - is that why Tag's so anal about the curfew being sunset - does he know about this, did he know about vampires and not fucking tell me - "

"It's more likely he knows about the Sunnydale crime statistics than about - anything supernatural.  Almost all random violence takes place after dark here, because almost all of it is committed by hungry vampires."

She sighs again.  Casts the photos back down onto the table.

"...Can I see those coroner's reports.  And the video, and the crime statistics if you've got them."

"Absolutely."  He takes the photos back.  "I'll be right back with them."

And he is, presently.  And those sure are some official-looking documents about people's blood getting sucked out through their necks.

And that sure is a videotape of a thirteen-year-old girl doing world class lifetime-of-training tier acrobatics.  And another video tape of her giggling and making a snow angel while dressed in a t-shirt and jogging shorts.  And another shaky-but-clear videotape of the same thirteen-year-old girl joint-locking an adult man and then shanking him through the chest.  And him dissolving into black smoke.

She exhales.

"She could hold her breath underwater for ten minutes," Giles says, a little distantly.  "I have that on tape too, if you like."

"I think I buy it," Sylvia says quietly.

"I'm glad."