angel (tookastand) wrote in colligo_threads, @ 2010-05-20 18:08:00 |
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"You're tense," Illyria observed as she put her fist through the glass casing that housed the medieval weaponry that Colligo's university kept on display.
"Everyone's tense," Angel countered. "And try not to make a mess, will you? I feel bad enough as it is having to take these."
The god-king paused and turned towards the vampire. "We are stealing this institution's valuables. What point is there to lessening the damage we are already inflicting?"
He hated to admit it, but she had a point. They were stealing. Stealing out of necessity, but stealing none the less. If they were back in LA, they wouldn't have to do this. Hell, if they were back anywhere that wasn't Colligo, they wouldn't have to do this. There were weapons suppliers everywhere, but here there had been just (aside from the university and the museum, of course, and he wasn't quite so willing to touch the latter, yet) that one shop at the mall that sold swords that were more mockeries of ineffective weapons from movies than anything that could actually be used in an efficient manner. It would have to do.
Angel shook his head at himself and this entire situation, hating feeling so helpless, useless. It was too reminiscent of his time in hell when he'd been human and unable to defend himself and fight like he had as a vampire. What a cruel irony that had been. Not only was he a better person as an ensouled vampire, but he was better suited to the tasks he had to perform as one, too. He just...wasn't cut out for humanity and if that vision the Senior Partners had showed him was true, then he didn't want it. Let the shanshu be Spike's. If that was the price, he could do without. His taste of humanity had been less than—
"Arm yourself."
Illyria's sudden command snapped him out of his reprieve and he whirled around to face her, hand closing over the hilt of a broadsword and lifting it up from where it had been resting at the same time. He knew better than to question the Old One's commands. She didn't jest. Either something was coming or she was suddenly compelled to do him bodily harm. There was no telling with her. He wasn't Wes and he wasn't Spike. Reading Illyria was far from being his forté.
"What? Illyria, what do you—"
"Silence, halfbreed. Power. It draws near."
"Lucifer."
"No. The witch."