(no subject)
Continued from here and here:
I head for Angel's office as soon as I'm dressed once more in clothing that hasn't endured Wyndam-Pryce's peculiar brand of attack-by-ink-pen. I'll have to make a point of disarming him of any writing utensils when I enter Angel's office.
Assuming, of course, that Pryce still is in Angel's office. And that the vampire himself isn't already there, ready to defend Pryce's honor over some slight I've supposedly made against him.
As I near my destination I see that I may have gotten lucky. No dark, broody so-called CEOs come running to confront me. And Angel's office door is shut tight, the blinds on his windows are pulled. But one section shudders, slightly, so it's possible that someone is watching my approach.
I stop just outside the door and knock. Then clasp my hands casually behind my back. I try to keep the amusement out of my voice as I say, "Mr. Wyndam-Pryce?" I wonder if it would be more effective to use his first name. He does seem comfortable thinking of me on a first-name basis, for whatever reason.
"Are you...alright in there?" Expressing concern isn't one of my usual duties, working as I do for the Senior Partners. But it isn't outside the realm of my capabilities. "I don't suppose Angel is with you. I'm sure I can locate him for you, if you'd like."
Twice this afternoon I've felt compelled to offer my services as messenger boy to this man. That's taking the definition of liaison a bit too literally if you ask me.
"Wesley?" I ask, deciding to try something new after all.
[ open to Wesley, Angel, or Lindsey ]
I head for Angel's office as soon as I'm dressed once more in clothing that hasn't endured Wyndam-Pryce's peculiar brand of attack-by-ink-pen. I'll have to make a point of disarming him of any writing utensils when I enter Angel's office.
Assuming, of course, that Pryce still is in Angel's office. And that the vampire himself isn't already there, ready to defend Pryce's honor over some slight I've supposedly made against him.
As I near my destination I see that I may have gotten lucky. No dark, broody so-called CEOs come running to confront me. And Angel's office door is shut tight, the blinds on his windows are pulled. But one section shudders, slightly, so it's possible that someone is watching my approach.
I stop just outside the door and knock. Then clasp my hands casually behind my back. I try to keep the amusement out of my voice as I say, "Mr. Wyndam-Pryce?" I wonder if it would be more effective to use his first name. He does seem comfortable thinking of me on a first-name basis, for whatever reason.
"Are you...alright in there?" Expressing concern isn't one of my usual duties, working as I do for the Senior Partners. But it isn't outside the realm of my capabilities. "I don't suppose Angel is with you. I'm sure I can locate him for you, if you'd like."
Twice this afternoon I've felt compelled to offer my services as messenger boy to this man. That's taking the definition of liaison a bit too literally if you ask me.
"Wesley?" I ask, deciding to try something new after all.
[ open to Wesley, Angel, or Lindsey ]