“I think it’d be helpful,” Scott explained, “if we all knew exactly what each of us brings to the table. If you haven’t noticed, I’m a werewolf. So, werewolf, vampire slayer, gunslinger, Jedi Master, and … Jesus, I feel bad asking, but what exactly can you do?”

“Nobody else had to audition,” Jesus observed, transforming water into wine.

Yoda snatched a glass, quaffing it in one gulp, “Mmm… Tasty, it is.”

“No offense, but,” Buffy said, “unless we’re planning on throwing a kegger, that won’t do us any good.”

Jesus multiplied the food on the table.

“I say he comes with us,” Roland remarked, reaching for a sandwich. “This popkin looks tasty.”

“Any other talents?” Scott asked.

“Well, I can’t be killed.”

“Technically, that isn’t true,” Buffy replied.

“Okay, fine.” Jesus said, a bit agitated, “if you wanna get into semantics, I can resurrect myself when I’m killed.”

The drunken Jedi Master admitted, “Razzing you, we were. Late again, do not be.”

“I knew that,” Jesus said, relieved.