The Devil You Don't Know

Tue, 27 Jun 2006 19:41:24 GMT

Continued from here, at wes_hamilton:

Ah. I did say that Pryce is refreshingly unpredictable. This only serves to prove my point.

You were a high school bully in your previous carnation, weren't you?

"It's doubtful. I am a great number of things, Mr. Wyndam-Pryce. But adolescent isn't one of them."

The implication of childishness is doubly amusing when Pryce adds, "You started it," and the corners of my lips quirk up of their own volition.

I temper my expression into a more polished and neutral smile, just as Pryce veers the conversation in yet another surprising direction.

"And you have far too pretty eyes for such a bastard."

A bastard, hmm? And he hasn't even seen me when I'm trying. But-

Pretty?

Pryce seems just as startled by the underhanded compliment as I. He looks at me through slightly lowered lashes, frowning in confusion. And he has them - "pretty" eyes, if one must use that word. They're a nicely cool shade of blue. And clearer than you'd expect. Pryce may not be as broken down as I thought, invisible friends notwithstanding.

However, it was a mistake to shift my attention to his physical attributes. Some diversions are decidedly more enjoyable than others, and while conversation and tea is one way to kill half an hour, I can think of at least one, far more...stimulating use of the roomy sofa Pryce is sitting on at this moment.

I doubt Pryce would appreciate my thoughts. And I dare say Angel would not approve of them.

Which makes my next thought all the more fun, naturally.

I slowly lean in a little closer, letting my eyes follow Pryce's tongue as he licks his lips unconsciously.

"I could say the same for you. But I suppose that would be me being rude once again."

Fri, 09 Sep 2005 00:50:47 GMT

For wes_hamilton:

It's a peaceful trip out of the holding dimension. Crickets chirp. All the lights are out in the houses lining the suburban streets. The "families" inside have settled down to sleep, and the keepers have retreated to their home dimensions for a time. The near-silence makes for an opportunity to consider Gunn's non-response to my generous offers of freedom.

The medalion meant to be binding the Wrath right about now skids across leather as I toss it aside onto the passenger seat.

Soon I'm driving through Los Angeles again. I head back for the office and pull into the parking garage, parking in the space reserved for Angel's liaison. I lock my car by remote as an afterthought as I walk from it to the bank of elevators just ahead.

If the attention I spare on such mundane details is diminished, my focus on my destination is tripled as the doors to one elevator slide open... And the two passengers behind them become visible.

Well, well, well...

Just when I thought watching Wyndam-Pryce become one with Angel's potted plant was going to be the upside of my evening, I catch MacDonald taking an unsupervised trip down to the parking lot with-

Yes, I do believe that is my predecessor, Eve.

Someone needs to talk to Angel's people about the proper way to carry out a rescue attempt.

Sat, 30 Jul 2005 00:18:48 GMT

For wes_hamilton:

So far this morning I've watched Angel's only remaining human senior staff member go from hiding away in his office...to hiding behind Angel's curtains and a large potted plant. I've had an enlightening encounter with the vampire himself and his..."new toy", McDonald.

And I thought I'd be idle now that Angel has begun a campaign to get onto the Circle of the Black Thorn.

My visit with Pryce has disabused me of that notion. I'll have to check in with him again. For a number of reasons.

In the meantime, there's the issue of the cocky little cowboy Angel's leading around the office now, practically collared and leashed. There's a story there, and not the one McDonald tried spinning for me.

"Figured with your top Gunn keeping the torture chamber warm for me, you boys might be in need of an attorney who knows the ropes around this place," he said when I asked Angel why he'd been taken out of his cell.

I seriously doubt that's what Angel's doing with him, but it's convenient that McDonald should mention Gunn as part of his excuse. I've been meaning to make a little trip down to the holding dimension where Angel left him. After having spent a few evenings with the Wrath, the man just might be ready to hear what I have to say to him.

Besides, I don't get out of the office nearly enough. I could probably use a day trip.

I take my corporate car to the holding dimension. Nothing as flashy as the ones in Angel's personal collection, but comfortable. The sound system is excellent. I pull up in Gunn's driveway, Sibellius tuned in on the car stereo, at about the time that he and the other three hundred and thirty-six human occupants of this subdivision are realizing that they're going to have their hearts cut out. Again.

I turn off the car, but leave it unlocked. There's never any crime in this neighborhood. I whistle on my way to the door and knock politely.

Gunn's "wife" answers, a wary smile on her face. She opens the door just far enough to stick out her head, hiding the rest of herself behind it. Her expression is a convincing one of concern for who, or what, might have come knocking at this hour.

I smile. "I'm here to see Mr. Gunn."

"I don't-"

"If the Wrath is busy with him at the moment, I'll gladly wait until he's done."

Those are the magic words. The wife opens her door completely, smiling, suddenly friendly.

"Oh! Of course. Come right in. He shouldn't be long."

I nod and enter as she steps out of the doorway. From the hallway I can see a little boy playing in the living room. He looks up at me and waves, then goes back to his video game.

"Can I get you something to drink?" the wife offers graciously.

I rarely bother talking to the hired help in these sorts of places, but their mindless cheer is refreshing after Pryce's unpredictable fear and Angel's anger. So I say, "No. But thank you. I'll just see myself to the basement. I can wait there." I'm already halfway to the kitchen.

"Just call me if you change your mind!" the wife calls after me.

For the most part, Gunn's basement is like any basement, in any normal suburban neighborhood in Gunn's home dimension. There are no strange locks on its door. I walk down its stairs and see a breaker box on one wall; a water heater in one corner.

But it's a larger basement than it should have been. It's lit by candlelight. And its farthest corners are filled with torture devices. There's a huge, metal door set between them. Flames lick through the small, grated window set in its top.

The walls and floor here are made of stone, rather than plaster and cement. It's very dark, but there's still light enough for me to see the monstruous form leaning over a man lying on a table.

That would be the Wrath. Raising a wicked-looking blade over Charles Gunn's chest.

I grab it by one massive, spiney shoulder and send it flying backwards into the wall next to the basement stairs. Light fixtures rattle and crumbled drywall showers the Wrath's slumped form.

Just the sort of dramatic effect I was aiming for.

"I lied," I say calmly, looking down at Gunn. "I'm not much for waiting. Gladly or otherwise."

My first rpg post...

Wed, 13 Jul 2005 04:14:00 GMT

For wes_hamilton - of course ;) -

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?"