Current mood:

lonely

After Angel's not so little dress down, I'd stormed out of his office. And hadn't he been doing that a lot lately? You don't get to endanger *my* people, Wes. I guess I was never one of 'his people', no matter how much I wanted to be one. Oh I fooled myself for a long time. A very long time, even beyond a pillow over my face, taking away my air supply. And the stupid part is? I still long to be 'one of his people'. But even that damn lawyer has more of a chance to that then I ever will.

Must be useful to have selective memory when it comes to betrayal.

Slamming the door to my office shut, I make a beeline for my desk. Sod him and his bloody translation. He'll get the damn thing, because heaven forbid he might miss out on Tuthmose's shopping list. Git. Wanker. Sighing in defeat, I slumped down on my chair and pulled the drawer of my desk open. The bottle of whiskey stares at me accusingly. I just stare back until I grab it and unscrew the cap. Gonna drink yourself into oblivious now wooly boy? Yeah, that'll do you a lot of good. Maybe not, but for a short period of time I can have some peace.

"The amber poison is still coursing though your veins. Why do you insist on drinking more." Tilting her head, Illyria appears in front of my desk. Big unnatural blue eyes boring into me. I don't stop drinking and just look back.

"Your despair smells as foul as the slime of a krecklarbeast after it's defeat. You cling onto it like an infant to a mothers breast. Why do you cling on to what you cannot have." It's funny how she can make a question sound like demand.

"It's what we do. It's how we survive." Sighing, I put the bottle down and lean back in my chair.

"I do not understand," Illyria sounds confused. She brings up her head and I can tell she's trying to access Fred's memories again. I'm too tired to tell her not to do that. Instead I just grit my teeth and wait for it to be over. "The shell does not understand," she concludes non-surprisingly.

"Liar. F-Fred understood the need for the past perfectly." How else did she survive Pylea? By thinking of what once was, hoping it would one day be.

"How dare you talk to me this way! You unworthy human! I am the God-king of the pandemonium! You shall cease drinking the poison!" In one swipe she hit the bottle of my desk and leans forward, her face so close by it nearly makes me cry. Fred. From so close by she's just like Fred. Except for the eyes.

"What do you want, Illyria," I sigh. "I've work to do. Angel demands this translation on his desk in less then an hour." Pulling some books toward me, I start to flip through them until a blue hand stops it.

"Why do you still work for the half-breed," she wants to know. "He betrayed you. He took away the pieces which made you...Wesley." Her head jerks to the side again as she gazes at me openly.

"I betrayed him as well," I say tiredly. Haven't we been over this before. My eyes glance to the bottle she's hit of my desk. Precious amber liquid seeping into expensive carpet. I doubt Angel will be pleased with that. Then again, he's probably to busy with his new project. Must be very important if he chained himself to the git.

"Some things remain the same," Illyria announces, striding over to a half dead plant in the corner. "He betrayed you last. Does that not make it your turn now."

Wincing at that remark, I shake my head. "That's not how it works, Illyria. That's not how we do things." Right?

She turns to me and stares for a long time, before turning back to the plant again. "Then things have changed," she concluded.

Bending down to pick up the bottle and save some of its precious contents, I take a healthy swig from it. Her words echo thought my mind as I think of just how much things have changed. So bloody fast.

"Wesley."

"Yes, Illyria?"

"You are not wearing shoes. Explain this new ritual to me."

"What?"


[Open to anyone, enter at your own risk]