angel_the_poof (angel_the_poof) wrote in _intotheabyss_, @ 2009-12-15 14:01:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | angel, wesley wyndam-pryce |
Of empty vessels and full drawers
The empty glass gave a dull *thunk* as it dropped the last inch from Angel's hand onto the wood of his desk. The dark, worn grain starting to show its lack of weekly polish in the light from the bankers lamp, itself hinting at signs of neglect with a faint powdering of fine, grey dust over green glass and brass.
There was still enough light available to cast a sanguine shadow over the papers strewn across the desk as it passed through the now room temperature blood like a beam of sunlight through the broken remnants of some long forgotten chapel's stained glass masterpiece while the smile wide line of viscid liquid slowly trickled down the smooth interior of its transparent prison.
The memory of Cordelia's face as he'd proudly showed her the collection of mismatched glasses, mugs, and cups he'd picked up for their new headquarters flickered briefly in his mind before Angel pressed it down, locking it away with all the other memories that had come unbidden and with ever increasing frequency since Doyle had left the hotel earlier that evening.
Doyle. His friend, back from the dead. Under any other circumstances, at any other time since the day the little Irishman had sucker punched him for the right to die, Angel would have been jumping for joy to have his former connection to the Powers That Be back, alive and in once piece. Well, not literally, Angel had never been one for jumping for any emotion, good or bad, but on the inside he would have been doing cartwheels.
But now, all he felt was a gnawing disquiet. An uncomfortable ember burning away in his gut and try as he might to convince himself it was just worry over who had brought Doyle back from the great beyond and the real reason why... Angel couldn't shake the suspicion that it had more to do with the reason behind Doyle's present absence then anything else. A suspicion vampire couldn't, or wouldn't acknowledge let alone name.
His pale features tightened briefly, lips drawn thin, eyes narrowed, jaw taut, then he leaned forward in his seat, pushing the empty glass to the side as he dove back into the pile of envelopes that had been piling up ever since...
They still came, He hadn't bothered looking at them in all this time, hadn't given them a second thought, had been more then content to let them rot where they'd fallen through the mail slot while he got on with what had to be done, with fighting the fight.
Not the good fight, not any more. Good and Evil, thinking like that had kept him from doing what needed to be done to win. Now it was just the fight. A never ending battle older then time and likely to still be around long after the rest of the universe had called it a night. But what did that matter to him, he had eternity to look forward to and now that he was free of the burden of 'right' and 'wrong' he might finally make some headway.
Just as soon as he finished sorting the mail... and not because he was looking for something to distract him. It needed to be done, Bills to pay, contacts to keep in touch with, 25% off at Nordstroms this Friday only!
Angel blinked as he re-focused on the 5 inch by 8 inch glossy box board square in his hands before flipping it over.
C Chase
1481 Hyperion Ave
Los Angeles, CA
90026
He blinked again, forced his eyes from the few drops of ink printed in the 'To:' box then, without looking, reached down and pulled open his bottom right desk drawer and deposited the colourful advertisement inside. He had to press down on the collection of similar cards mixed with various enveloped cousins to close the drawer again.
Lets see what else there is... 5 dollars of Sal's pizzeria pizza, good till new years. The crumpled paper bounced off the over-flowing wastepaper basket and skittered across the floor until it came to a stop under the now rarely used couch.
Bill, bill, bill... check made out to Angel Investigations. He cast a glance towards the filing cabinets across from his desk before giving Nordstroms and co. a new friend to play with and pressed on only to stop a few minutes later when the bottom of his drawer splintered under the downward force as he tried to make room for one more letter that didn't mean anything special to him. No Sir, not in the least, not at all. Wasn't even addressed to him, he couldn't care less about it.
It was probably time to get out of here anyway, he was a warrior. Warriors didn't do paperwork, they fought and... warrior-ed!
Angel grabbed his glass as he rose from his seat, the last of the remaining blood now finished collecting in a sad, solitary pool at the bottom. Just in time for the deluge of icy cold water that gushed from the chrome coated tap of the en-suite bathroom. The wet, dripping glass was flipped over and unceremoniously deposited on the counter top with a sharp clank. A ring of pink tinged drops collecting around the inner lip of the inverted tumbler, the colour shifting to a sickly yellow-green before returning to its former blush under the flickering light from the lonely, ancient bulb left burning overhead.
Pointedly ignoring the remaining pile of mail as he walked past his broken desk and out the office door, Angel never broke pace as he reached back through the open portal and grabbed his coat from its customary hook. He strode across the once busy hotel's main lobby, pulling on the long black leather covering as he feet carried him across the empty space, the supple-from-wear material stretched tight across his shoulders. With only the slightest of pauses Angel grabbed his favourite long sword from the weapons cabinet prominently, and conveniently, placed against one wall before veering towards the cellar door and, through it, his entrance to the sewers of L.A.
Let Doyle have his whatever, Angel had bigger things to tend to, more important things. Things with fangs and claws and gore and with any luck, some fight to them.