Los Angelus - The Big Time
I remember that I couldn't so much hear what the big cat was tryin' to tell me as I could feel it.
And the cat's 'voice' was like this real low rumble goin' through me, like its growl was gettin' piped through those Kenwood subwoofers I always wanted to install in the back of my truck. Even as me and it stalked around a circle, there was somethin' that gave me no doubt I wasn't gonna get pounced on. I'd walk outta that White Room safe and sound, no matter what happened, but the cat wanted me to stay and listen.
So I 'listened'. I listened to the cat tell me it was me-- that I was a hunter, a man born and raised to throw down with the dark things in the alleys and under the bridges. The cat told me I was caged, held in and kept away from the things I shoulda been doin' by Angel; by his morals and honor and shit.
"I ain't caged by nothin'," I growled right back at it. "You can tell that to every creepy-crawlie ever met the shiny side of my axe."
The big cat couldn't laugh, not for reals, but the base vibe changed its feel, and that was close enough.
That's when I got the feeling. Like the big cat had other ideas, and those ideas kinda felt like power and heat and this just kinda sense that you really were all the shit you ever talked. I knew then what it was like to be the cat, to have all that strength and speed all calm and still one minute underneath the slick coat, knowing that at any second, CRACK, it'd be let out.
I'd be lyin' if I didn't say I liked the feel. Didn't wanna say the big cat smiled at me, either, but it knew its message had gotten across, even if I didn't really know what that message was. Was sure I'd learn soon enough.
So there I was, Charles Gunn, late of the Hyperion Hotel and Angel Investigations, previously of various dark and rough parts of L.A. and the crew I'd started before I started shavin', now employee of Wolfram & Hart, Attorneys at Law, Los Angeles branch. I had an office. Didn't know a damn thing about what the hell I was supposed to be doin'.
I had an office, but no title, not like Fred or Lorne or Wes. Me, I didn't exactly fit the profile for the type who'd get a swank office and a pad like the one W&H had set up for me. I was more like the guy who'd come to this building to deliver the pizzas for the big lunch meeting. But, I was part of the AI crew, and so I was part of the package.
But what part was I?
Big desk with nothin' on it. Fancy phone and intercom with nobody to call. Computer, but I figured it and the phone probably had every kinda bug in the zoo on 'em. So, that's why I got out of my cushy leather chair and left my big, empty office and started walkin' down the hall. At least there, I found a familiar face.
"Yo, Fred--"
((Open to Fred))
And the cat's 'voice' was like this real low rumble goin' through me, like its growl was gettin' piped through those Kenwood subwoofers I always wanted to install in the back of my truck. Even as me and it stalked around a circle, there was somethin' that gave me no doubt I wasn't gonna get pounced on. I'd walk outta that White Room safe and sound, no matter what happened, but the cat wanted me to stay and listen.
So I 'listened'. I listened to the cat tell me it was me-- that I was a hunter, a man born and raised to throw down with the dark things in the alleys and under the bridges. The cat told me I was caged, held in and kept away from the things I shoulda been doin' by Angel; by his morals and honor and shit.
"I ain't caged by nothin'," I growled right back at it. "You can tell that to every creepy-crawlie ever met the shiny side of my axe."
The big cat couldn't laugh, not for reals, but the base vibe changed its feel, and that was close enough.
That's when I got the feeling. Like the big cat had other ideas, and those ideas kinda felt like power and heat and this just kinda sense that you really were all the shit you ever talked. I knew then what it was like to be the cat, to have all that strength and speed all calm and still one minute underneath the slick coat, knowing that at any second, CRACK, it'd be let out.
I'd be lyin' if I didn't say I liked the feel. Didn't wanna say the big cat smiled at me, either, but it knew its message had gotten across, even if I didn't really know what that message was. Was sure I'd learn soon enough.
So there I was, Charles Gunn, late of the Hyperion Hotel and Angel Investigations, previously of various dark and rough parts of L.A. and the crew I'd started before I started shavin', now employee of Wolfram & Hart, Attorneys at Law, Los Angeles branch. I had an office. Didn't know a damn thing about what the hell I was supposed to be doin'.
I had an office, but no title, not like Fred or Lorne or Wes. Me, I didn't exactly fit the profile for the type who'd get a swank office and a pad like the one W&H had set up for me. I was more like the guy who'd come to this building to deliver the pizzas for the big lunch meeting. But, I was part of the AI crew, and so I was part of the package.
But what part was I?
Big desk with nothin' on it. Fancy phone and intercom with nobody to call. Computer, but I figured it and the phone probably had every kinda bug in the zoo on 'em. So, that's why I got out of my cushy leather chair and left my big, empty office and started walkin' down the hall. At least there, I found a familiar face.
"Yo, Fred--"
((Open to Fred))