Epic Lines: Ashe and Jach's PSL Box

One anticipated that, upon leaving that strange alternate Las Vegas, one would return from whence they had come. In Wesley's case, that meant oblivion. Unfortunately, he mused bitterly as he sat down in the back corner of a bar with a glass of whisky, one would be quite wrong. It wasn't so much that he had hoped for oblivion, for those days were long behind him. He had hoped to remain in Las Vegas, in the life that he had made for himself. But, barring that, a return to death was preferable to being alone in yet another place or returned to a life in which he no longer fit, where everyone he loved was dead or gone. He missed the girls and Angel and Cordy, even Xander and Spike. But most of all, he missed Rupert. There had been a time, after Fred's death, when he had thought that he would never be whole again, bits of himself crumbling and falling away like so much rubbish. But in Las Vegas he'd managed to put the pieces back together and he'd begun to heal. Here he felt broken all over again. At least this place, disappointing as it was, had the decency to be English.

He took a sip of his whisky, setting it down and stopping at the sound of footsteps. Nobody had any reason to come over here, and that set him on edge. Though nothing had happened in the months he had been in this place, old habits were hard to break and he had spent too long prepared for a fight to let go of the instinctive reaction. "Is there something you-" he began as he looked up, only for the words to catch in the throat as he saw just who was there. For a moment he was silent, too stunned to say anything or even breathe, then he composed himself. Who was to say this was even his Rupert? It could very well be another one, or someone who looked like him. Nothing would have surprised him at this point. "I...hello."

Oh yes, that was terribly impressive. Bravo, Pryce.