After Angel had left, I spend most of my time just sitting behind my desk and stare at the sofa. I had a hard time believing it had actually happened. Not once, not twice, but three times, if one counts the shower as well. But not that I was alone in my office again, the ghosts of the past seemed to drift back in
( ... )
Passing Pryce's door, I unexpectedly find myself slowing my steps. There is no good reason to check in on the man again. Once, I explained away as curiousity. Twice, and some might start to think I actually am concerned for Angel's human head of Research
( ... )
As translations go, this one really is to simple for words. I’m done within half an hours and then end up checking and double checking. I cannot afford to make any mistakes again. I’ve made to many already. But while doing this job, I am once again reminded at how angry I was at Angel, for the way he dismissed me and humiliated me in front of those two. McDonald and Hamilton. Wankers.
Sure he came by to apologize later, and dear lord that had been some apology…. I pause, my eyes darting toward the sofa once more. There’s a rather stupid smile on my face as I picture it again and my anger melts like snow for the sun. With a snort, I shake myself back to the here and now again, glancing at the work in front of me. God, I’d never though I’d say this, but this is really boring.
“Told you that for years, Wes,” Cordelia laughs. She’s strolling around my office, as though she owns the place. Her eyebrows raises as she’s obviously not happy with the décor
( ... )
It's too bad I'm not a betting man - not that anyone would accept a wager in favor of a human with Pryce's sense of self-preservation. He is, indeed, sitting at his desk - books and scrolls open before him. He looks no less haggard than he did this morning, if somewhat less rumpled. He's changed his clothes and his hair is behaving itself. I wonder if he's managed to locate his shoes?
He's staring into space when I open the door. Talking to one of his invisible friends, perhaps.
I enter the room, letting the door close behind me, and take a seat on the edge of Pryce's desk, mindless of the clutter on its top as I do.
Oh, yes, Pryce has been hard at work. It appears he's even finished the likely needless translation Angel reprimanded him for. I glance at the notes open before him. "Ah. I see you’ve already finished the very important assignment Angel gave you.” I smile my most guileless smile, my tone not entirely mocking. I wasn’t planning on baiting Pryce when I stopped here. I wasn’t really planning anything at all
( ... )
“Semantics,” I shrug, waving his correction away. I am a watcher, always have been, always will. Just not officially. But I’m always watching, always observing, always making notes for prosperity. Watching and teaching Illyria. Its an ironic vicious circle really
( ... )
Pryce's secretary sets out the tea Pryce ordered, mostly keeping her eyes down and her steps light as she does. I spare her a smile, though I doubt she is comforted by it. I am again amused by the care the other humans in Pryce's department take when interacting with him
( ... )
No thank you? Not even a biscuit? Why did I bother then? How rude. I can see why Angel is bothered by him. I can understand the not wanting to put anything in you tea - aside from whiskey, which I could seriously use by now - but no biscuit? I had these imported from England! “Are you certain?” I tried, but he apparently really did not want a biscuit.
Heathen. Just like the rest of them.
“Stop it with the damn cookies, Wes. You got a job to do. Focus here doofus.” Cordelia felt the need to point out. I gave her a withering look, but she refused, as per usual, to wither
( ... )
My acquaintance with Pryce is becoming more and more novel. I can count on one finger the number of Wolfram & Hart employees who have offered me cookies. Much less expressed irritation when I declined to take one.
"Do my tea-drinking preferences offend you?" I grin. Of course, someone who takes their tea as seriously as Pryce would have some definite opinions on how to drink it.
'Are you trying to tell me, Mister Hamilton, that you've not done your homework?'
"Hmm." I take another sip of tea. He's looking at me, so I look back. I've noted before that Pryce is rather easy on the eyes. Which is, perhaps, one reason Angel keeps him around. That Pryce seems totally unaware of all this is downright amusing. "I'm telling you, Mr. Wyndam-Pryce, that there is sometimes more to a person than what is written in Wolfram & Hart's personality profiles." I've been slowly learning that since coming to the Los Angeles office.
"And I hope you didn't invite me to stay for tea just to talk about my homework. You could have asked me about
( ... )
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Sure he came by to apologize later, and dear lord that had been some apology…. I pause, my eyes darting toward the sofa once more. There’s a rather stupid smile on my face as I picture it again and my anger melts like snow for the sun. With a snort, I shake myself back to the here and now again, glancing at the work in front of me. God, I’d never though I’d say this, but this is really boring.
“Told you that for years, Wes,” Cordelia laughs. She’s strolling around my office, as though she owns the place. Her eyebrows raises as she’s obviously not happy with the décor ( ... )
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He's staring into space when I open the door. Talking to one of his invisible friends, perhaps.
I enter the room, letting the door close behind me, and take a seat on the edge of Pryce's desk, mindless of the clutter on its top as I do.
Oh, yes, Pryce has been hard at work. It appears he's even finished the likely needless translation Angel reprimanded him for. I glance at the notes open before him. "Ah. I see you’ve already finished the very important assignment Angel gave you.” I smile my most guileless smile, my tone not entirely mocking. I wasn’t planning on baiting Pryce when I stopped here. I wasn’t really planning anything at all ( ... )
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Heathen. Just like the rest of them.
“Stop it with the damn cookies, Wes. You got a job to do. Focus here doofus.” Cordelia felt the need to point out. I gave her a withering look, but she refused, as per usual, to wither ( ... )
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"Do my tea-drinking preferences offend you?" I grin. Of course, someone who takes their tea as seriously as Pryce would have some definite opinions on how to drink it.
'Are you trying to tell me, Mister Hamilton, that you've not done your homework?'
"Hmm." I take another sip of tea. He's looking at me, so I look back. I've noted before that Pryce is rather easy on the eyes. Which is, perhaps, one reason Angel keeps him around. That Pryce seems totally unaware of all this is downright amusing. "I'm telling you, Mr. Wyndam-Pryce, that there is sometimes more to a person than what is written in Wolfram & Hart's personality profiles." I've been slowly learning that since coming to the Los Angeles office.
"And I hope you didn't invite me to stay for tea just to talk about my homework. You could have asked me about ( ... )
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