Wesley Wyndam-Pryce

So Wesley had books. Lots of books. And they were... interesting.

By interesting, he meant that they made him blush pretty much constantly. They were that kind of books.

"She'd like that?" he wondered at one point, copying over a particularly surprising passage into his notebook. "How would I even -- " He turned the page, revealing a diagram. "Oh. Oh."

Yeah. Totally blushing.

[[Open door and post, expecting one. I'm a jerk.]]

Wesley was pretty much the most boring person ever, because instead of whinging about how unfortunate it was that spring break was over and he was no longer in Hawaii, he was on his laptop, researching demons. It was weird -- a few cities had records of some interesting attacks all in a row, creating a trail to -- hmm. Right to Los Angeles.

Because he had been back in Fandom for a grand total of one hour, he decided that the best way to spend his evening was tracking this thing. He created a little fort around him of books and promptly dissolved into research-mode.

[[establishy for "Parting Gifts," but you're welcome to come and bug him!]]

Wesley returned to his cabin after class to discover an elderly British man sitting on his bed.

"Er. Hello," said Wesley. Obviously the Watchers' Council was keeping tabs on him. How wonderful.

When the man responded, it was in a dry, slow voice like that of a professor whose students are always checking to see if he fell asleep between sentences. "Wesley," he said in that irritating buzzing tone. "What is the weakest part of the body of a Kungai demon?"

"The horn," Wesley answered promptly. Lovely. This was some kind of test.

"That is correct, though their eyes are weak points as well," the man informed him. "And when fighting them, one would be advised to lunge forward frequently to distract the beasts with the fast movements."

Wesley was about to reply with something along the lines of "who the hell are you" when he absorbed that last bit. "You've been reading the Gunderson Index of Demons," he said, eyes lighting up. "That's my favorite index!"

"No, Wesley," said the man, who Wesley begun to notice had pale, papery skin, like... paper...

"Have you guessed it?" the man asked, smiling. "You always were bright. Did you know you're the youngest reader I've ever had? Only eleven years old the first time you picked me up. And you've read me more since than any of the old bastards at the Council. You're better off here, I say."

Wes was touched. "Thank you," he said. Then the nerd in him plopped down on the bed next to the book as he began asking a ton of questions all in a rush.

[open to cabinmates!]