wesleynotponcy: (reading: important research)

The last time Wesley had woken up in the hospital, it had been Karla who had been waiting by his bedside. The time before that, Giles. It was fair to say that neither of them had been as intimidating a sight to wake up to as Angel.

"You all right?" Angel asked, right off the bat once he noticed Wesley stirring.

Wesley nodded, managing with some effort to pull himself into a seated position – though more so due to the blankets pulled taut around him than the surprisingly minimal damage he could immediately discern. "Cordelia?" he asked.

"Got slammed with visions of all the pain and suffering in the world at once. Now she's been sedated and unresponsive," Angel answered, not mincing words. He held up the scroll. "This'll fix her?"

"It should," Wesley said, reaching out to accept it from him. "Would you, ah." He winced. "Get me a wheelchair, please?"

One translation and unbinding ritual later, Cordelia was awake, and the three of them in their newly officeless state set up shop in her apartment. )

[[nfb, nfi, stuff under the second cut up until wes' theatrics taken from angel 1x22 "to shanshu in la," and up early 'cause i may not be at a computer for the rest of the day. aaand done now, yes.]]

wesleynotponcy: (reading: important research)

The last time Wesley had woken up in the hospital, it had been Karla who had been waiting by his bedside. The time before that, Giles. It was fair to say that neither of them had been as intimidating a sight to wake up to as Angel.

"You all right?" Angel asked, right off the bat once he noticed Wesley stirring.

Wesley nodded, managing with some effort to pull himself into a seated position – though more so due to the blankets pulled taut around him than the surprisingly minimal damage he could immediately discern. "Cordelia?" he asked.

"Got slammed with visions of all the pain and suffering in the world at once. Now she's been sedated and unresponsive," Angel answered, not mincing words. He held up the scroll. "This'll fix her?"

"It should," Wesley said, reaching out to accept it from him. "Would you, ah." He winced. "Get me a wheelchair, please?"

One translation and unbinding ritual later, Cordelia was awake, and the three of them in their newly officeless state set up shop in her apartment. )

[[nfb, nfi, stuff under the second cut up until wes' theatrics taken from angel 1x22 "to shanshu in la," and up early 'cause i may not be at a computer for the rest of the day. aaand done now, yes.]]

wesleynotponcy: (phone: urgent)

It was a quiet, uneventful Sunday afternoon, and Wesley was going through his weapons cabinet in his room and making notes of the things he needed when his phone rang. It was only a little bit sad when he dove for it, skidding across the floor with surprising velocity.

“Yes, hello?”

“Wesley. It’s Angel.”

Wesley ignored the little flutter of enthusiasm that perhaps he was being called to assist on a case. It had been a really boring summer so far. He puffed up, proud to have been contacted.

“Yes, Angel, what can I do for you?” he asked, his voice instinctively going smug.

Angel’s voice was brisk and impatient, though an observant person might notice that he seemed to be doing his best to come across as civilized. Polite, even.

“Is there any way you can get down here?” Angel asked. At the sound of something shattering in the background, Wesley leapt to pull on his shoes and sheath a dagger to bring with him. He was needed for something! Finally!

Wesley didn’t even bother to pretend to consider it. “Yes, of course,” he said. “What do you need?”

“There’s a possessed kid in here. We need an exorcism done.”

Pulling on his watch and shoving his keys in his pocket, Wesley hurried toward the door. “I’ll be right there,” he promised. He had barely ended the call before he was keying in the number for Portalocity, overwhelmed with excitement for a chance to be useful.

Finally!

[[Establishy. NFI, but okay for broadcast.]]

wesleynotponcy: (phone: urgent)

It was a quiet, uneventful Sunday afternoon, and Wesley was going through his weapons cabinet in his room and making notes of the things he needed when his phone rang. It was only a little bit sad when he dove for it, skidding across the floor with surprising velocity.

“Yes, hello?”

“Wesley. It’s Angel.”

Wesley ignored the little flutter of enthusiasm that perhaps he was being called to assist on a case. It had been a really boring summer so far. He puffed up, proud to have been contacted.

“Yes, Angel, what can I do for you?” he asked, his voice instinctively going smug.

Angel’s voice was brisk and impatient, though an observant person might notice that he seemed to be doing his best to come across as civilized. Polite, even.

“Is there any way you can get down here?” Angel asked. At the sound of something shattering in the background, Wesley leapt to pull on his shoes and sheath a dagger to bring with him. He was needed for something! Finally!

Wesley didn’t even bother to pretend to consider it. “Yes, of course,” he said. “What do you need?”

“There’s a possessed kid in here. We need an exorcism done.”

Pulling on his watch and shoving his keys in his pocket, Wesley hurried toward the door. “I’ll be right there,” he promised. He had barely ended the call before he was keying in the number for Portalocity, overwhelmed with excitement for a chance to be useful.

Finally!

[[Establishy. NFI, but okay for broadcast.]]

wesleynotponcy: (Default)
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!]
wesleynotponcy: (Default)
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!]
wesleynotponcy: (literate)
Wes was bored. He'd read passages from his favorite books in nearly all the languages he was proficient in, practiced a bit of fencing, wrote his mother a letter and reorganized his closet and weapons chest. All of this led to him sitting on his bed with a book open on his lap that he (for once) had no desire to read. The door was open and he fervently wished someone would walk by, even someone he didn't like, so that he would have something to do.
wesleynotponcy: (literate)
Wes was bored. He'd read passages from his favorite books in nearly all the languages he was proficient in, practiced a bit of fencing, wrote his mother a letter and reorganized his closet and weapons chest. All of this led to him sitting on his bed with a book open on his lap that he (for once) had no desire to read. The door was open and he fervently wished someone would walk by, even someone he didn't like, so that he would have something to do.

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