Wesley Wyndam-Pryce ([info]_wes_pryce_) wrote in [info]wes_hamilton,
@ 2005-07-10 16:54:00
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Current mood: crazy


"Two and two is one and one is three." Nodding at that I look at my shoes in the corner of my office. They look nice there and they won't get dirty. I put them on a paper so they won't get dirty from the betrayers floor. Oh yes.

"There's a thin line between black and white, good and evil."

"Yeah. Funny thing about black and white though. If you mix them together you get gray. And no matter how much white you add, you still end up with nothing but grey."

"True, so true. Grey, cross the line." Nodding, I giggle and sit back in my chair. "You are my sunshine my only sunshine. You make me happy when life is blue." Humming under my breath I pad through my office. The door is closed. Haven't seen anyone in days. "Good good." Nodding several times I look at all the books that are thrown around.

"Bad Wesley. What would father say. Sacrilege!"

"Really? I beat almost the entire council exploding and everyone dying as most embarrassing moment?"

"Friends died during that explosion, Wesley. Show a little respect"

"Right, sorry."

Picking up one of the older books I hug it to my chest. "It's okay. You're safe here," I tell it. "I know what you are and who. No mix up here. No no, everything is a-okay." Giggling I sway with the book for a moment before tenderly placing it back on it's proper spot on on the floor.

"Gunn, Angel, Cordy, Fred, Illyria, Fred, Illyria. Confusing, Confusing."

"Wesley? Why can't I stay?"

"This will do"

Whispering under my breath I walk over to the other side of the room and look out the window. Angel took over the firm for and Fred died. Cordelia died. "Who's next? Gunn? Lorne? Me?" Do I care? Rubbing my temples I put my head against the cool glass for a moment. "You are my sunshine my daily sunshine...you make me....happy?" Snorting I turn around again, checking the lock on the door.

"Locked in, safe here. Confusing, confusing." Lorne! He might know. But I haven't seen Lorne in a long time. Nor Gunn or Angel. Or...Fred...Illyria....FredIllyriaFred. Confusing. Sighing I sink down on the floor and pick up another book. Caressing it lightly I smile sweetly at it. Books are good, books are safe, books don't confuse...books don't lie. "Books, books, books." Books are my world. No Fred, Fred's gone. And no Cordelia. She died too. Everyone I love dies. Or is dead, like Angel. Lilah too, in a way.

Glancing around the office again I giggle. "Many, many books." I miss Fred. I miss Cordelia. I miss Gunn a bit, even though he partly killed Fred. I miss Angel too. I wonder if there's really gold at the end of the rainbow. Or if the grass is really greener on the other side of the fence. Maybe it's in these books. Yes, I'll look it up in these books.

Right after I check the prophecy on rainbows and kittens. Yes. Giggling I open the template and start to look through


[Open for Anyone]


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[info]deviludontknow
2005-07-12 05:33 am UTC (link)
Serving as liaison between the single most powerful evil force in countless dimensions...and the hapless vampire/white-hat hybrid they, in their infinite wisdom, decided to put in charge of the L.A. office... Isn't quite as thrilling an assignment as one might expect it to be.

Which isn't to say that I've become "bored" with my duties. No. Boredom is the mark of the unimaginative, and the easily distracted.

But I must admit to a growing...dissatisfaction with simply sitting back and watching Angel's crew and their somewhat pathetic exploits.

There was never a lack for things to do before the vampire began his play for a place within the Circle of the Black Thorn. Schemes to plot. Traps to set. The usual humdrum that is the company's current policy for seducing potential allies over to the home team.

Now that Angel's working on a shiny new pass to play with the big boys on the Senior Partners' side, all bets are off. And so are many of my previous extracurricular activities. Corporate policy (it always comes back to that) is to loosen the leash a bit, when a potential playmate begins seeing things the Senior Partners' way.

I, for one, am unconvinced as to the validity of that determination. But... I don't "get paid the big bucks", as they say, to make such judgements.

And while Angel is currently off-limits... I do retain carte blanch where keeping tabs on the rest of Angel's crew is concerned.

The only problem there, of course, is there's so little of it left. Unfortunately.

The insta-attorney is making nice with the Wrath about now, I'd imagine. Spike is off doing...whatever needless thing Spike's chosen to do with his day. If he's not doing it in my building, it's not my problem. The Old One is not my problem, period. And I'd prefer to keep it that way.

So who does that leave me...

Ah.

I stop at Wyndam-Pryce's office, the decision decided for me.

The door to the office is closed. And locked, apparently. Which doesn't account for anything. If Pryce is out, his office locked while he's away... Well, that would be a perfectly logical state for things to be in. But Pryce rarely ventures out of his own little territory, these days. And I've a feeling that the man, and logic, parted ways some time before Eve signed her duties over to me.

I wrap my knuckles against the office door, wondering if I'm wasting my time. For all I know, Angel's remaining human senior staff member may just have drank himself to death in the privacy of his executive office.

"Still alive in there, Mr. Wyndam-Pryce?" I ask. "Or should I alert Personnel that there's an executive position that needs filling?"

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[info]_wes_pryce_
2005-07-12 09:18 am UTC (link)
They're talking to me. Those voices. They keep talking to me and I don't know how to make them shut up. Perhaps I've died and this is my hell. Books everywhere, ancient texts at the tips of my fingers, but unable to use them. Because the voice keep telling me that I can't use them. I'm not worthy of using them.

But I did manage to get one book from them. They're not taking away that one no matter what they say. They can't make me give it up. Softly, I caressed the spine of the book and then carefully laid it down next to my shoes. It would be safe there. No one could touch that particular spot. It was my spot, I'd created it to hide things from the voices. Too bad it wasn't big enough to hide me.

"Who knows you better then I do?"

"Shut up, Lilah."

"Make me.

I scowled up in the air, up at the voice. I could practically hear the smugness in it. Bitch. But she'd been right. She'd known me better then anyone. Better then...Fred.

"You think you could have love me?"

"I did love you," I whispered, glancing around for her ghost. Of course she wasn't there. Would never be there. All that was left was her body. Taken over by some blue goddess who never heard of the word 'inferior complex'.

"You will help me?"

Hanging my head, I nodded. "Yes."

"Because I look like her?"

"Yes," I whispered. Shame surged through me at that. Had I betrayed Fred by doing that?

"They chose you, 'couse you're the strong one, Wes. You make all the hard decisions."

"Liar."

Padding over to the window, I looked outside, pressing my forehead against the cool glass. Why does the sun keep on shining? Why do the birds keep on singing? Don't they know that the world has ended? If only I knew when exactly it ended. So many choices for that.

"Maybe I should so some research."

Closing my eyes, I tried to ignore the whispering voices when suddenly a louder voice filtered through. I looked up startled, turing my head to glance at the door. The knock startled me. When was the last time someone knocked on my door?

Hesitantly, I padded over. My hand hovered over the doorknob before before dropping it again, letting it dangle next to my body. Licking my lips, I wiped them on my jeans, eyes going wide at the unfamiliar voice. Curiously, I reached out several times before finally managing to get my hand around the knob.

Just a crack, that's all I need to peer thought. Blinking at the very large man looming in front of my bloody door, I frown. Who the hell is that? "Who are you?" I ask, my voice sounding rather hoarse. My eyes flick toward his hands. Big hands. Empty hands.

"Where is my tea?"

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[info]deviludontknow
2005-07-13 12:08 am UTC (link)
Just when I think I may have gotten it right, and prepare to make that call to Personnel...and, possibly, Custodial...I hear a sign of life come from the other side of the closed door.

There's a pause...then the door opens. A crack. Just wide enough for Angel's head of Research to stick his head out and look at me.

I raise an eyebrow. I knew what Pryce looked like, of course. It's my job to know every salient detail there is to know about the important people in this building.

But I didn't know the man was more than a head shorter than me. This isn't surprising, exactly. I'm no lightweight. But it does make many of the complaints and comments I've heard bandied about the Wolfram & Hart watercoolers lately decidedly amusing. Word is there's been difficulty getting employees from other departments to deal directly with Wyndam-Pryce. He doesn't look all that terribly frightening to me. But then, I suppose a good aim makes up for a slight stature when it comes to intimidating co-workers.

The disheveled hair, stubbled jaw and wild eyes probably don't hurt either. And Pryce's frown is impressively scornful as he asks about his tea.

His-

What was that again?

I smile politely. "My name is Marcus Hamilton. I'm Angel's new liaison to the Senior Partners. I'm afraid tea-brewing doesn't fall under the standard obligations of a corporate liaison. But I'm sure I could locate your secretary, if you'd like me to have her fetch you some."

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[info]_wes_pryce_
2005-07-13 05:42 am UTC (link)
My frown deepened at his words. I shifted a little, leaning against the wall as I gave him a once over. Odd saying that, 'a once over'. A once over what? Exactly? I need to make a note to figure that out. It's about as vague as a prophecy. One never knows it might be one in disguise. "You're whom?" I asked, staring at him in disbelieve.

"Let's go have a talk, Lilah lite!".

"I don't know, Cordy," I muttered, shifting a little again as I kept staring. "He doesn't strike me as a Lilah lite." Tilting my head, I narrowed my eyes and wrinkled my nose. "At least they'd have gotten me some tea. They understood the importance of tea." Whomever 'they' might be. Didn't matter, I was quite certain of it.

"Look man. I didn't know! I didn't know it was going to be one of us. Was going to be Fred!"

"Shut up, Charles." Nodding at that, I stepped back into my office, nearly stumbling over a book. Dammit! What idiot put those so carelessly on the floor?! If it was damaged, heads were going to roll. Quiet literally. They shouldn't be touching the books.

"Does Angel know you're his new whatever? Mister Marcus Hamilton?" An idea suddenly occurred to me, and I slowly turned around to look at him, standing there darkening my door. "What is it Eve, and now you I guess," I wove at him, "*Do*, Exactly." Wrinkling my nose, I folded my arms over my chest and sighed.

"You're not going to shag Angel behind the sofa too, are you?" Now there's an image that...oddly enough far more appealing then the one Angel made with Eve. As Cordelia would've said...Ewww. "Well, at least you're better looking," I sighed, turning back to my books after dropping my arms.

"Are you quite certain you don't have my tea?" I called over my shoulder, humming 'you are my sunshine', under my breath. Singing of sunshine, I wondered where Illyria went off to.

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[info]deviludontknow
2005-07-13 07:39 am UTC (link)
If my curiosity wasn't already piqued, I dare say the way Pryce's eyes drop as he shifts slightly away from the door would have done the trick. Not that the look in them as they travel over me, from what I can tell, speaks of anything but suspicion.

And confusion, undoubtedly. Considering the state Pryce is in, I'm uncertain he even sees me as he begins speaking to himself. Or, more accurately, to persons only he believes to be present in the room with us. He wanders away from the door, almost stumbling over something in his path. I follow after, just a few steps into the office. Noticing, as I glance down at the book that tripped him, that Pryce isn't wearing any shoes.

I'm preoccupied with this discovery...and an appreciation for the anarchy that went into making this office the disaster area it is currently...when Pryce asks me if Angel knows of my assignment. Before I respond, he goes on to question my duties - and Eve's before me.

"As liaison, my job is to keep communications open between Angel and the Senior Partners. And to assist in rectifying any...miscommunications," I say. 'Of the kind that led to my landing this assignment,' I think. When I was offered the opportunity to step in, in Eve's wake, one thing was made very clear to me. There are a number of interpretations that can be made of a liaison's integral duties. My primary duty is to remember that allowing personal agendas to interfere with the Senior Partners' own plans...isn't one of them.

And neither is seducing Angel to the Senior Partners' side literally. Holland Manners tried that trick when he resurrected Angel's dusted sire. The resulting drop in headcount was an embarrassment to the firm that the Senior Partners are not likely to forget.

As if reading my mind, Pryce brings up the infamous sofa incident.

"Not anytime soon," I say.

Pryce's next comment nearly surprises the smirk off my face.

But then he's going on about tea again, leaving me no time to linger on the subject.

"I'm certain I don't have your tea. But I believe I did offer to find your secretary for you, if you need her to bring some to you. And if she isn't...indisposed, of course."

Pryce is humming a jaunty tune I can't help but think carries a somewhat less than cheerful connotation for him.

"You didn't shoot her, did you?" I ask, simply to see what he will say. The gossips have mentioned that Pryce's taken to shooting subordinates who displease him. I doubt that could have happened without my having heard about it by now. But it isn't impossible. Secretaries are hardly high enough up on the corporate food chain to make waves by getting shot at by their bosses.

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[info]_wes_pryce_
2005-07-13 08:09 am UTC (link)
Why can't he get me my tea? Seriously, is that to much to ask for? We British communicate via our tea, isn't that his job? I think this is a rather big case of miscommunication. "Barbarian," I muttered under my breath, tossing him a glare. He's making light of my tea, just like Angel used to do.

Just because they're big, broody, hulk like, looming types they think they can just get away with anything. I don't think so. No way, no how and all that. Then I paused when I some of his natterings filtered through my mind.

"Not any time soon?" Frowning, I blinked at her, wondering for a moment how soon this soon was going to be. "I don't think Angel is going to fall for that twice, my dear fellow," I informed him. Then I waved my hand up and down his form. "No matter how good you look. Right, where was I?"

Turning back to my desk, I shoved a load of scrolls off it to get my pen. Wearily, I stared as the ancient papers hit the floor. There was something wrong with what I'd just done, I had no idea what though. I'm sure it'll come to me soon enough, it usually does. After a time. A week, a day, an hour, a minute.

And why would I shoot my secretary?

Whirling around, I pinned him down with a glare. "Why the hell would I want to shoot my secretary?" "Jennifer? Send anyone who's not on the Burkle case my way. Would you?" "I don't think she did," I muttered thoughtfully. "I ought to fire her." And she's not bringing me my tea either. How very incompetent.

"Why in the bloody blazes," I started, poking my pen into his chest. Small blue stains appearing on a crisp white shirt. "Would I want to shoot Jennifer? Where do you get such a ridiculous notion, Mister Marcus Hamilton? I most...Oops."

Slapping my hand in front of my mouth, I giggled as a large blue ink-stain appeared on his shirt from my leaking pen. "Terribly sorry about that," I said, not sounding very sorry at all. "Let me clean that up for you." Getting my handkerchief out of my pocket, I started to swipe it over the stain.

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[info]deviludontknow
2005-07-13 09:21 am UTC (link)
An accusation of barbarism was not, perhaps, the response I expected to my question. He's no longer demanding tea from me, however, so I assume we're making progress.

A miscommunication is definitely in the works, as he fails to interpret my meaning of 'not too soon'. I imagine the word "soon" does carry an entirely different connotation for the average mortal. I see no need to clarify this matter...which is fortunate, as he's speaking again before I would have had the chance.

Once... I could overlook. Twice I could overlook as well, I suppose. But while it does not escape my notice that this is not the most mentally stable of Angel's little band of do-gooders... Pryce is still a member of the do-gooding team. I have to wonder if the man would be as comfortable referring to how "good" I look - twice in one conversation, no less - if he were having somewhat of a less schizophrenic day. Or week. Or, possibly, year.

I don't have long to consider the matter before Pryce is turning. Having made short work of the no doubt delicate, and irreplaceable, scrolls that had been lying on his desk... He advances, wielding an ink pen like a miniature sword.

It isn't often I've met someone who's dared to initiate a physical confrontation with me. Even more rarely have I been unauthorized to kill the someone initiating said confrontation. I've certainly never been confronted with an ink pen as my opponent's weapon of choice. So I'm undecided as to how I should react when Pryce begins poking me in the chest with his pen.

Little splotches of blue ink appear on my shirtfront everywhere Pryce's pen tip touches. He's apparently unsettled by the casual accusation that he's shot his secretary. As if it would be the first time an executive in this building took such... uncompromising measures of dealing with an unsatisfactory assistant. It wouldn't even be the first time in this department.

I'm less concerned by Pryce's irritation, and the irreparable damage he is doing to an expensive shirt, than I am about the sudden change his mood takes.

A large stain - large enough to make the others looks like small spots - forms thanks to Pryce's leaking pen. And Pryce begins to giggle. He covers his mouth and begins babbling an insincere apology before fishing a handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbing at the stain. Spreading it out more than anything else.

My hand closes around his without a conscious decision on my part, and I take a step closer. Ready to catch him should the movement cause him to stumble on his already unsteady feet. If he fell and cracked his head open on the corner of his desk, while I was in the room, there's no way Angel would accept a simple 'It was an accident' from me. And I'm hardly going to jeopardize my position with Angel, and thereby the Senior Partners, over an inkstain.

"Tell me, Mr. Wyndam-Pryce," I say, "Do you do anything in this office besides not shoot your secretary and flirt with visitors you then attack with writing utensils?"

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[info]_wes_pryce_
2005-07-13 09:47 am UTC (link)
Oh dear god. Cordelia would've skinned me alive if she'd caugth me spoiling an expensive looking shirt like that. Is that silk? Leaning in, I peered at the fabric, running a hand over it. No, not silk. Well thank god! Not all is los then. Still. cordelia would've really tore my head off. Several times over, in fact.

I blink when there's suddenly a hand closing around my wrist. Stumbling back a bit, I look up at this chap confused. Why did he do that. I wasn't done cleaning! Well, if it doesn't come out, it's his own fault. He can't blame me for it. End of story. I've a battery of lawyers at my disposal, this is a lawfirm after all. Hell, I'd call Gunn. Unless he's still mad at me for stabbing him.

Naw, I don't think so.

"Kindly unhand me," I say coldly, ripping my wrist out of his grasp. "I do not approve of getting manhandled in my office." A small frown appears as I run that sentence over in my head. "Or anywhere else for that matter,: I add quickly. Strange follow this Hamilton.

Sighing, I walk over to my desk, staring down at the scrolls on the floor puzzled. "How'd that happen?" I wonder. Quickly I squat down and carefully start to pick them up. Really, good personnel is so hard to find these days. Quite annoying. And if he starts about me shooting my secretary again, I'm going to do something nasty.

"Flirting?" Snorting at that, I burst out laughing for a moment. "Mu dear fellow. I don't even know how to flirt."

"What did I tell you about those dirty looks, Wes?"

"Lilah, will you please shut up? Can't you go haunt someone else?" Christ. If it's not her, it's Cordelia. Or Fr-... I suppose I should count my lucky stars Cordy didn't show up when I stained the man's shirt.

Putting the scrolls back on the desk, carefully, I turn back to this chap. "Where was I?" I asked brightly. "Oh! Right. Flirting." Nodding at that I cross my arms over my chest and lean against my desk. "I'm not at all good at that," I tell him conspiracionaly. "After all, were I any good at it. It wouldn't have taken me five years to get...to get..."

Fred.

But I never really had her did I? We had about two weeks before they tore her away from me. Two weeks of happiness before she died painfully. Her body taken over by some former goddess who refers to Fred as her shell. And now I'm doomed to watch the body of the woman I love but died, day in day out. Taking a shaky breath, I swallow hard, as I look up to find a man in my office. Startled I look at him.

Oh right. Marcus Hamilton. The new Liaison.

"Why, if I may ask, are you in my office? Was there anything specific you wanted?"

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[info]deviludontknow
2005-07-13 02:57 pm UTC (link)
He stumbles in my grasp before pulling away. He talks of 'manhandling' now and I find myself smiling. If a little hand-holding gets this reaction I think it's safe to say that Pryce doesn't know the meaning of the word.

If it were anyone else - well anyone not currently cleaning up the mess they'd just made and grumbling to ghosts about who made it - I might make this mention.

Instead one of the names he keeps using finally catches my interest, and I realize 'Lilah' is Lilah Morgan. Wolfram & Hart's CEO at the time of the Beast. Immediately before Angel's appointment.

At the same time, Pryce is claiming an inability to flirt.

I slip my hands into my pockets, ignoring the inkstains beginning to feel sticky through the fabric of my shirts, and watch Pryce fold in on himself as he speaks to his ghosts. He almost seems to have forgotten that I'm here.

"Hmm. Well. There's no accounting for taste, I suppose." I'd have thought he'd have no trouble getting the little girls around here to play house with him, if that's what he's after. He's certainly no trouble to look at. I can name one reason, if none other, that Angel keeps him handy - employee-shooting tendencies and manic mood swings aside.

"I was just passing by. Thought I'd drop in and see what Angel's Head of Research has been doing with his valuable time."

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[info]_wes_pryce_
2005-07-14 04:21 am UTC (link)
Taste? Taste? What is he going on about now then? Hopefully my tea, which he still hasn't gotten me. I'm going to have to have a word about that with Angel. Come on now, I've asked him several times over if he'd fetch my tea. Did he? No. I'm still standing here empty handed, and very tealess.

Sacrilege, that's what it is.

Humming, I glanced at my watch. Funny, it seemed to have moved since the last time I checked. Was it supposed to do that? Was time supposed to move on when the world around you had stopped moving? I don't think that's entirely fair. Frowning, I shook the watch and held it up to my ear. Maybe it was some technical fault, one never knew.

"Tick tock, time is slipping," I mumbled, shaking the wrist with my watch again. Valuable time. Wait, that was an echo wasn't it? I now have an echo in my room?

Confused I looked up from my watch and noticed this fellow was still here. The one who'd not brought me my tea. Even though I'd asked nicely. Sort off. Oh wait, he was the one who mentioned time.

"Well," I said, shaking my watch again confused as it kept on moving, "As head of research, I've been doing just that. Research." Crossing my arms over my chest, I leaned back against the desk and rolled my eyes at him. "What do you think I'm doing here? Have tea?"

I paused at that, giving him a small glare. "Which I could've had, if you hadn't been so stubborn in your refusal of getting me as such. Mister Hamilton, Marcus." Git, how much trouble would it be to get some tea? I'd have invited him to have some with me. He seems like a....erm....interesting sort of fellow.

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[info]deviludontknow
2005-07-14 10:00 am UTC (link)
Research.

"Hmm. Yes. That does narrow the possibilities, doesn't it? Of course, it would be nice to have some less vague account of what you've been doing on company time." I say this simply to unsettle him. Although he hardly needs the help unsettling. The little show I've just watched him put on with his wrist watch is proof enough of that alone.

There's just something about the man that is fascinating unsettled. It could be the misery emanating from him like gloom from a dark cloud. Or the little glint in his eye when he glares, like he's glaring at me right now.

Or the haughty way he carries himself. As if I couldn't snap him in two if I had the inclination.

And the Senior Partners' approval, of course.

I can't say the mixed signals don't have anything to do with it. 'Marcus' he calls me. And not in the snide tone Angel always uses when he informalizes my name.

"You know, there are other methods of obtaining the tea you seem to be fixated upon. Such as stepping out of the office and getting some for yourself. Though perhaps it's been some time since you've ventured out on your own. I can accompany you. If the thought of 'changing the scenery' alone is overwhelming."

There are certainly worse ways to wile away the time. And something tells me that this could be one worth my attention.

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[info]_wes_pryce_
2005-07-14 05:40 pm UTC (link)
"Research," I say, giving him an incredulous stare. Hasn't he been listening? I just told him so! Christ, that's what's wrong with this firm. People aren't listening, least of all ti me it seems. When I said everyone should work on the F-Fred's case, they didn't listen either. But...I took care of that.

Sighing, I push myself away from the desk and put my hands on my hips. Staring at the floor, I frown as I look at the books thrown about here and there. Good lord, what a mess, it's a small wonder I can find anything in here. I really must speak to Angel about that and see if I can find out who keeps making this mess.

"If you must know, Marcus," I start, lifting up my head to look at him. Bouncing a bit on the balls of my feet, I tilt my head as I look at him. "I've been researching Illryia." Or rather, a way to get rid of her and get Fred back. But...I've not been getting far. The books are convinced there is no way to do so. Lairs. There *has* to be a way.

I frown when he mentions my tea again. Why on earth does he keep doing that? Does the man have a tea fixation? If I didn't know better, I'd say he was British. Then again, I *don't* know better, do I?

"Are you English?" I ask, and then look startled as he mentions going out there. Nervously, I stare at the door, shifting a little on my feet. Go out? There? Through my door? I'm not sure about that. Not at all. That would mean... Moving on again. I don't want to move on.

"Oh suck it up, boy. You're such a disappointment to everyone."

Bringing up my hand, I glare at the ghost of my father as I bite the nail of my thumb. Or what's left of it anyway. I'm not disappointing anyone dammit. If that were the case, Angel would be here berating myself right? And-and Spike loves to point out things like that.

"I'm not a child," I say, lifting up my chin. "I do not require for you to hold my hand while I venture out of my office." Right. And that's why you're still in here, aren't you? Hiding away again, diving into research. Not like you've never done that before, is it?

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[info]deviludontknow
2005-07-14 06:18 pm UTC (link)
I'm beginning to think he's only going to parrot my question about his "research" back at me. Then he bounces around a bit and mentions Illyria.

"Ah, yes. The Old One. The Senior Partners will be pleased to know you've been looking into that disaster. They've no desire to see It become an issue again." As I understand, things did not fare well for the Senior Partners the last time Illyria spent any amount of time in one dimension.

I watch Pryce fidget and stare at his door as if it's going to bite him, at my suggestion that he step out. I find myself stepping closer to him, arms crossing over my chest. From this vantage, I can see his chest rise and fall with each nervous breath more clearly.

"English?" I repeat as he questions my nationality. As if I have one. I raise a brow. For all the things that Eve "neglected" to tell the Senior Partners...she must have been just as closed-lipped with Angel and his crew.

Well. With his crew, in any case.

"No. My...origins aren't quite so nouveau." Which is one way, I suppose, of saying that I was created from a mystical powersource more ancient than the humans of this dimension themselves.

Pryce tilts his chin, which - alone - causes me to smile. Then he defends his maturity.

'I'm not a child.' Hmm. Spoken like a true mortal.

"I don't recall putting hand-holding on the table." I lean forward slightly. "Of course, I am always open to negotiation."

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[info]_wes_pryce_
2005-07-14 07:08 pm UTC (link)
Nouveau?

Nouveau? What kind of way is that to refer to ones origins? And beside that, 'origins' sounds a tad clinical. Who is this fellow? Where to those bloody Senior Partners find them? He's not as annoying as Eve, I'll grand him that. But he's getting very close with those odd answers.

And why is he smiling like that? Rather unsettling.

"Putting hand-holding on the tab-.. It's a figure of speech." You daft creature. His 'origins' certainly aren't very 'nouveau', if he doesn't even know that. Unless he's mocking me. I don't like being mocked. And now look who's flirting.

"You're a strange fellow," I say quite seriously, tiling my head and narrowing my eyes at him. Which is the point when his words from before sink in.

They don't wish for Illyria to become an issue *again*? Interesting. That would mean they've dealt with her before. He might know more. There's a bit of hope fluttering up in my chest. It tightens almost to the point that I can't breath for a few seconds as my hope flares up.

"Again?" I say quietly. "Did you say they've dealt with her before?"

Can he tell me more about her? God, I hope so.

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[info]deviludontknow
2005-07-14 09:18 pm UTC (link)
Oh, yes - fascinating is the word. He gets flustered at the very mention of physical contact. Interesting, as he was the one running a hand over my chest, earlier - in an exploration of the fabric he'd ruined with his pen.

His head tilts and his eyes narrow suspiciously - a good look for him. Not that men tossing books around in their office, in their bare feet, should be calling anyone else strange.

An even better look comes over him when something I said about the Old One catches his notice. His eyes take on a peculiar light I haven't seen before. He looks almost...hopeful.

"Yes. The Senior Partners go way back with Illyria. They were less than thrilled when she made her somewhat grand appearance." I run a hand down my tie to straighten it, careful not to shift it into one of the ink stains on my shirtfront. Even if Pryce has put down roots in this office, I am going to have to venture out again soon. Work does go on, and all of that. And I can hardly represent the Senior Partners - or even Angel, for that matter, for all the bungling he does representing himself - looking like someone's tried painting a dot-to-dot on my chest. Speaking of which-

"And I'm sensing you're less than thrilled with the thought of walking out that door. All figures of speech aside."

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[info]_wes_pryce_
2005-07-15 04:49 am UTC (link)
Leaning a bit forward, I tilt my head to the side as though that would make it easier for me to hear him. Ignoring everything else he does, I only focus on his voice. My mind already racing to match his words with books. There have to be books. Books are my life. There have to be books about this. About what he's telling me.

"That's all?" I say, after he said they were less then thrilled by her..it...his,appearence. They've not even made that much clear. But that cannot be all he has to say about her. He has to know some weakpoint! He *has* to know for some way to rid of her.

Narrowing my eyes, I give him a dangerous look. "That can't be all you have," I say in a low voice, inching toward the door. "There has to be more. The way you said it, the way that look came into your eyes. You *must* have more to tell about her. Something I can use." I yank the door open, my eye quickly darting through the less then crowded halls.

She's not here. Good. Very good. He should be able to tell me how to get Fred back then.

"Pardon?" Blinking, I turned around when he spoke. And once again it wasn't about Illyria. Which is rather annoying. I stared back at the door, pulling my hand away from the doorknob as though it were on fire.

"No, I'm not," I say a little to fast, taking a step away from the door. Out there lies destruction, and death, and betrayal and...life that just goes on when it shouldn't.

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[info]deviludontknow
2005-07-15 05:32 am UTC (link)
I'm somewhat impressed by the reaction Pryce has to my mention of the Senior Partners' dislike of Illyria.

While he's hardly become the model of sanity and reason, as we've talked the voices he seemed to be speaking to - arguing with - when I first arrived have made fewer interruptions into our conversation.

An expression of resolution crosses his face as he demands more information on the subject, though I wonder if he's aware of me now at all. He stomps across the room and pulls the office door open, scanning the hallway outside.

Then, when I address his fear of going out, he snaps out of whatever daze had overtaken him. He pulls his hand away from his doorknob as if the metal was suddenly burning hot. Not an impossibility, in this building, but highly doubtful, as the floors have not - likewise - gained a hightened surface temperature.

Pryce immediately offers up a denial - much too immediately to be believable. He steps back from the door, staring at it as if waiting for it to mutate horribly in front of him. I cross over to him, wondering what he sees when he looks at a thing that way. It's almost a pity we cant have the Psy department do a workup on him. They just love getting their hands on the ones they don't have to break themselves. And if they weren't much better at breaking people than putting them back together...

'That can't be all you have,' Pryce had said. I wonder how much further he would fracture if I actually gave him what he wanted. He really has no idea of the things I could tell him.

I keep the turn of our talk where I prefer it, instead. On Pryce's reason for having fixed upon this office as being his sanctuary. The terror of leaving it is perhaps the one concept distracting enough to take the man's mind off his connection to the Old One.

"So you've said," I say. "You'd be much more convincing if you weren't backing away from your door right now as though it's going to bite you."

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[info]_wes_pryce_
2005-07-15 08:44 am UTC (link)
The fellow is doing rather a lot of thinking. Intriguing. Reminds me of a certain someone in that aspect. He doesn't appear to be the kind that would brood a lot. If ever even. And he seems to smile a lot too. Overly confident smile. Which is both annoying and very beautiful to see. Confusing. I'm not going to think about it.

And what's even more annoying, if not infuriating, is that he's still not yielding any information about Illyria. Bastard. Barges into my office, refuses to get me tea, flirts with me and then refuses to even give me a inch. Rotten arsehole. I don't even know him, but I really don't like this course of action.

I wonder is Angel know what he knows about Illyria and that I know that he knows and am wondering if Angel knows.

Uh...

"You're changing the subject," I point out, jabbing an accusing finger at him. "I'm not crazy you know. Nor am I stupid. I do realize it when you're changing the subject. Or avoiding it in this case. I'm not pleased with that at all."

Crossing my arms over my chest I huffed and then blinked when he mentioned the door. The door again. What about the bloody door? Narrowing my eyes, I glared at him again before turning to scowl at the door. "I'm not afraid of inanimate objects," I muttered.

Taking a deep breath, I took a step closer to the door. My hand hovered over the doorknob for a few moments before I resolutely grabbed on, yanked the door open and stepped out.

Which was the point panic set in as I stood out side my office. I couldn't seem to breath and a feeling of cold-hot-cold surged through my body. The worse part however was that I couldn't wasn't able to move. Not forward and not backward. Trapped. Trapped in the here and now.

A place I really did not want to be.

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[info]deviludontknow
2005-07-15 04:09 pm UTC (link)
I could have pegged him as the type to jump into the fire, just to spite the frying pan.

But I either underestimated this aspect of his character, or overestimated the fear I'd seen in his eyes as he'd considered stepping out of the office before.

Pryce hesitates in front of his door a moment, and just when I think he's going to turn back...he pulls the door open once again, and takes a step out.

Then freezes.

He absolutely freezes. Some of the employees passing by through the hallway cast curious glances in our direction, and I realize that this could easily develop into a very...unfortunate situation. There is already a wariness in the eyes that land on Pryce then quickly dart away. Common knowledge of Pryce's cheery disposition, and literally hair-trigger temper, makes any erratic behavior on his part potentially provocative with witnesses present.

I step up to Pryce's side and wrap a steadying hand around his arm. He looks ready to sway on his feet.

"Just breathe," I tell him, my voice neutral and pitched so that only he can hear it.

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[info]_wes_pryce_
2005-07-16 10:54 am UTC (link)
The only thing I seem to be able to do is stare at the people as they rush by. I'm sure some of them are staring back, but I don't really care. I wanted to move. I wanted to be back in my safe office. And just when an office within Evil Inc itself became my bloody safe haven, I've no idea. All I know is that I want to get back in there.

My eyes are darting around frantically as I try to force my body to move. There are no familiar faces. No Angel. No Gunn. No Lorne. No Spike. No...Fred. I'll never see Fred's face again. Not her real face. Not the soft smile, the little giggles, the stern look, the sheepish one. Never. Again.

And I can't move. Can't seem to breathe either it would seem

My lungs are burning as I struggle to breathe, and everything looks as though it’s far away. As though I'm walking in a dream. The sounds are blurry and unclear. My vision is swimming and unfocused. But when there's suddenly a hand wrapped around my arm, I look up alarmed.

Frowning, I blink at the fellow. Hamilton. Marcus. Right. I can only nod dumbly as I shift my gaze toward the floor and try to even my breathing. Where is Angel? Why isn't he here? Why doesn't he come see me?

"I'm fine," I manage to mutter, wanting to shake off that hand angrily. But I've not the energy, and for some reason, I still can't move. "I'm fine...I-I just...just..." What? Need time? Meant to stand here like an idiot? "I'll just go and fetch some tea."

Pressing my lips into a thin line, I push away any and all fear. Just put one foot in front of the other, Pryce. It's not that hard. Just put one foot in front of the other. That's all it takes.

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[info]deviludontknow
2005-07-17 02:42 pm UTC (link)
The look of blind determination on his face doesn't seem quite as blind. Pryce has a destination. Or, in any case, a purpose - if tea-fetching can be called that.

I can feel the muscles beneath my hand tensing, and am surprised Pryce hasn't pulled away from me already. Not that, as a minute passes, he seems entirely capable of doing so. His eyes are on the floor, on his feet, as if willing them to move. Or the floor to move for him.

I loosen my grip on his arm, but don't remove it. I imagine we make quite the sight. It wouldn't do for Angel or one of his people to wander upon our two-man procession and think I'd 'manhandled' - as Pryce likes to say - him out of his office.

Manipulated is a better word. Or perhaps goaded. Much more satisfying, and ultimately less messy, than using physical force to achieve an objective.

Of course, getting Pryce out of the dark little room he's been withering away in is less an objective than an experiment.

I move my hand from his bicep down to his elbow, to appear more as though I'm guiding him, and less as though I'm leading him away.

"And do you know where you'll go to do that?" I lean down slightly and say in his ear, softly. We do still have an audience, after all.

Considering the fact that the man had expected me to be delivering his tea, when I first arrived at his door, I'm not convinced he does.

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[info]_wes_pryce_
2005-07-17 05:54 pm UTC (link)
The moment his leans in, his breath tickling my ear makes me close my eyes and shiver. But the moment his hand moves and that voice is in my ear, something inside me snap.

My head wipes around so fast I'm surprised I don't have a whiplash. The glare I aim at him is so dark and, alright, slightly crazy perhaps. I don't really notice that I'm glaring at him until my face starts to hurt in the way it indicates to me that I'm actually giving the man a death glare.

I don't say anything as I narrow my eyes and slowly remove is hand from around my arm. Perhaps the squeeze I give his wrist is a little hard, but the way he looks, those muscles jumping under my hand, I doubt he'll actually feel it. Still, it gives me a small amount of satisfaction.

Slowly I take a step away from him, pointing an accusing finger at his chest. How dare he? How dare he talk to me as though I'm a small child? How dare he talk to me as though I was some instable lunatic? How-how.... Why am I still here?

My eyes go wide as I back away from him, holding my hands up protectively in front of myself. I need to get way here. I need.... I need to move. Can't go back to me office.

"Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide," I mutter, jabbing a finger at Hamilton. A laugh escapes, which may have been a little hysterical. Then I look around again, eyes darting from human to demon to vampire, as they seem to close into me.

Can't breathe!

Turning around as quick as I can, I run away from him. Frantically, I try to find a place to hide, but I've nowhere to go. Until I spot Angel's office. Harmony calls out something, but I ignore her as I run into the office, slamming the door shut behind me.

Catching my breath, I narrow my eyes, and take in the office. No one around. But Angel should be back soon. Right? Right. I'll just find a place to hide until then. Maybe-maybe under the desk. Or behind the sofa. Or-or in his penthouse.

"Who are you kidding woolyboy. He didn't even come to see you in your little insane asylum. Sorry...office."

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[info]deviludontknow
2005-07-17 09:11 pm UTC (link)
And this...might be why Angel and his crew decided to leave Pryce to his withering.

He shivers nicely as I speak to him, then straightens suddenly and turns, removing my hand from his arm purposefully. He is giving me the death glare of all his death glares, I can tell, and there was possibly a bit more pressure on my wrist than there needed to be as he'd squeezed it to get me to release him.

Then he's pointing and backing away, and I frown.

"Mr. Wyndam-Prcye-"

He holds up his hands as if to ward me away, muttering and giggling, and looks at the other employees walking through the hall now as if they're out to get him.

A stern glance gets most of them to move along, but when I turn back to Pryce...he's no longer there. He's taking off in the direction of Angel's office. Running. Still shoeless, down the hallway.

"Mr. Wyndam-Pryce." He doesn't look back.

A noise to the right catches my attention. It seems that Pryce's secretary is returning to her desk. Her wide eyes travel from Pryce's receding back, to me, to the styrofoam cups of tea in the tray she's just set down on her desk.

Internally, I sigh. Then check my wrist watch. I calculate the time it will take me to change my inkstained shirt. I might as well make myself presentable before Angel comes looking for an explanation as to why his Head of Research just fled my side as though his life depended on it.

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[info]deviludontknow
2005-07-20 04:11 am UTC (link)
Continued here.

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