The Universe's Mixer

Wes had heard there were magic stores, tiny used book stores and psychic shops scattered throughout the City. He had managed to stumble his way into one or two of the book stores during his tenure in the City, picking up some wonderful copies of alchemy texts from he 15th century as well as current books on physics and astronomy. Who knew when inspiration would strike, a connection would be made, facts would fall into place until something finally made sense? Plus, he had picked up a book or two for Fred he thought she would like.

The snow was still falling, at least as hard as it had been when he and Fred had been at Angel Investigations. Still, he had needed to get out a bit. He was still not sure how this Sam person worked into the equation of their relationship. An American Wesley? Perish the thought. There was only one Wesley, and he was distinctly British. If he wasn't, then he would never have been a Watcher, never have had the intensive training that he had undergone his entire life. He would....never have been quite so awkward or hesitant about expressing his feelings for Fred. Damn this Sam, who obviously had no such compunctions. Well, they would see what would happen. Maybe this Fred wasn't ready for a relationship with Wes, maybe the time in the City led her in a different path, maybe, maybe. Too many maybes.

Daydreaming about Fred and memories he had that she did not share, he didn't notice when the streets changed and led him to a new area of town. He couldn't miss the shop that looked like Giles's old base in Sunnydale, yet wasn't. The sign and name had changed, so presumptively so had the inhabitants. But still, there was something supernaturally linked about this shop and he was duty-bound to explore its contents. Or curiosity-bound. Whatever.

He pushed open the door and barely heard the light tinkle of the bell hanging from the ceiling. He was busy scanning the interior for any objects that might prove useful to him, whether in his work at Angel Investigations or for......personal usage.

Things were not as they once had been.

There had been a time when Robin was a carefree outlaw, laughing in the face of the Sheriff, daring him into games of cat and mouse. The young Earl had been a spirited man of good humor and boundless energy, he had, in short, had a heart. That was lost these days. England seemed infinitely more gray and the gang, such as it was, had fallen into darker times. Their battle to right the wrongs of injustice had blurred, their pristine ideals stained with blood, his once master was turning into a man he no longer knew, and it pained much to a degree he dare not speak.

He knew why of course, they all did. None of them returned form the Holy Land the same as they'd left it. Each had suffered and left something behind...D'jaq and Will stayed. Allan gave up his chance to be the right hand of Gisburne and his intended regime. Much had lost part of what he admired and envied most in Robin, bur Locksely had suffered more grievously of all.

In all the years and all the bloodshed of war, Much had never seen such pain as he saw in Robin's eyes as the lady lay dying in his arms. Even then her strength carried on, she wed him with her last breath and she herself pulled out the killing blade to put her own body to rest. That was the turning point for his master. That was when Robin of Locksely, Earl of Huntington, hero of the King himself, lost his heart.
( They had returned to England, leaving behind memories and bodies. )

Will sat on the curb in the strange city, trying to re-wrap his trailing bandage. His hand was bleeding again, or maybe just bleeding more. He couldn't tell if it had ever stopped. He didn't think about how he looked, a twelve year old boy with a torn bed-sheet as a makeshift bandage wrapped around his left hand, but he hoped no one would cause a scene. He didn't know this world, or why the knife had brought him here instead of his Oxford.
Bandage tightened and frayed ends tucked in, Will took out the knife. At first he thought it was the light, but when he looked closer, he realized that the infinitely subtle edge, the edge that could cut him a window back to Cittagazze, was dull. It looked like it would still cut through solid lead, but he would not be able to get back to Lyra and Pan, or his mother. His breath came quickly and his hand began to throb as his heart rate rose. He sat down again, suddenly lightheaded, and rested his forehead on his knees. No, no, it wasn't right, he had to get back to his mother! He had to get back to Lyra, had to find his father...
But without the knife, none of it was possible. Will tried his very hardest not to cry, but there was no reason not to. There was no one around, no one to help. He was stuck.


OOC: Open to anyone, but he'll be needing some medical attention soon... *hint*