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Disclaimer: Based on the characters and world created by Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy in Buffy the Vampire Slayer. No violation of copyright intended, and no profit made.
Summary/Notes: Gunn goes out, and Illyria decides to tag along. Set after "The Girl In Question".
The King Has Left The Building
It was late in the evening when Gunn ran in to Angel in the lobby of Wolfram & Hart. Angel noticed that Gunn wasn't wearing his usual business-like attire, but had reverted to his old clothing habits. He was wearing a hooded sweater and jeans, much like he had in the old days when they first started running together.
"You looking up some old friends for info?"
"Nah", Gunn replied, "this is strictly casual. I need some downtime from all of this." He gestured around the lobby. Clearly the place was wearing on him. "Just need to get me some fresh air, y'know?"
Angel nodded, "Of course." He delivered a brisk "see you in the morning" while stalking towards Harmony's desk.
Illyria suddenly appeared by his side. "I wish to breathe the air. I will accompany you."
Gunn hesitated, trying to sound as polite as possible, not wanting to offend the God in front of him. "Uh... not so sure this is your thing, Illyria... and Angel, he might-"
Illyria's eyes narrowed. "I require no permission from some halfbreed with illusions of power. I go as I please."
Gunn slowly nodded, treading lightly. "What about Wes?"
"Full of that poison he takes to so well, spilling over with grief and gall. He is of no use to me in this condition." She commandingly grabbed his arm and tugged him towards the elevator. "We leave now."
As the elevator doors closed behind them, Angel could be heard shouting from the lobby. "Damned it, Harmony. I need those reports. Now."
Fortunately the doors closed before that blonde halfbreed could begin her insufferably pathetic reply. That Angel would tolerate her presence was alone enough proof of his low worth. Trash, she thought to herself, then glanced at Gunn standing besides her in the elevator. She found him strangely unoffensive. How many things she had accepted that she would have scorched from the earth were it the Olden Days. Now she was trapped in a small steel box, in the company of mankind, and she did not lash out. She did not break free. She icould/i not break free. She flexed her hands, acutely aware of the confining precense of her human form. The walls almost seemed to lean in on her, her flexing hands turning into fists. How they could stand this was beyond her--
ding!
The elevator doors opened smoothly, and Gunn let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding in. Man, Illyria was tense. Not that she was usually a bundle of joy, but she had seemed worse after her transformation into Fred a few days earlier. He winced inwardly at the thought, realizing that she'd have to do a repeat performance if she followed him out.
"Hey, Illyria," he called out. She was already marching decisively towards the exit, clearly eager to leave. She paused, turned her head and set her icy blue eyes on him.
"Speak."
"Um. I'm not so sure this is a good idea."
"You've expressed your opinion already. I've no regard for it. I leave now, with or without you."
"No no, it's not that. I'm not ordering you." He raised his hands in an appeasing and calming gesture, slowly walking towards her. "It's just that I'm not so sure you'll wanna go where I'm going. It's a concert. Hip hop."
She turned around and tilted her head. "Hip. Hop."
Gunn awkwardly brushed his hand over his head, "It's a kind of music, and I don't think it's your kind. There's also the-" He meaningfully scanned her appearance.
Illyria scoffed contemptuously. "As if I do not already bear enough of a resemblance to your kind."
She stood there contemplating his request for a moment, Gunn inwardly bracing himself for a "how dare you" encore performance, but she simply nodded, and began the very same transformation that had sent Westley spiraling deeper into his drunken stupor a few days before.
Then there was Fred, standing in front of him. Well, not really, but the feeling was still there. A tightening in his chest, grief and guilt welling up. Then the Thing inside made its presence clear with steely eyes and a cold commanding voice.
"Enough of this. If I wished to wallow in the repulsive flood of emotions constantly streaming out, I would have stayed with Wesley. It sickens me."
And it did lessen, or at least the grief did. The guilt was still firmly latched on and wouldn't sink into the darkness with the rest. Try as he might, he could never push that down. He had a part in creating this thing in front of him. Soiling the form of Fred, warm, loving and caring. Her bright light turned to stone and ashes. He swallowed the lump in his throat, "I'm fine, don't worry. No wallowing, I promise." He offered her a small smile, all that he could muster. He had to start moving before it all pushed back up to the surface. "Let's go."
The doors opened, and so did the sky. No stars to be seen, the humans had made sure of that, casting their dead lights in every corner of their world, claiming it all in their name. Vermin, creeping and crawling, seeping into every crack. The wind blew on her face, and it consoled her some, but the reek of humanity and their machines came with it. A sour taste, and like the light, dead and artificial. All these things they surround themselves with. Disposable, useless, worthless things designed to keep them lulled in a blanked of 'safety', assuring them that this was indeed their domain, and that all was well. Fools. A GodKing walks among them, and they should quiver with fear, but blinded by moving images - illusions - they simply stagger about blind to all that truly surrounds them.
Gunn had succeeded in hailing a yellow carriage, and she stepped into it while he was holding the door open. He followed, and gave the driver his destination. She did not mind the carriage. It smelled of incense, the scent of worship. The city and the people went by in a blur, and she payed it no mind. The human stayed silent, but he did manage to keep from spilling his feelings over her. She turned her head, the soft, brown locks of hair swinging gently back and forth as she did, and set her brown eyes on him. "You do not speak."
She took note of his clenched jaw, his fists. Like her, trapped in a situation he could not change. She could understand, and this was a realization of great concern. She should not know, nor care, for the feelings of this man. Just as he was about to reply, the carriage came to a halt, and the driver spoke in an accent unknown to her.
"We are here."
Gunn was eager to get out of the cab. He threw the cabbie the fare, and an extra large tip. He turned towards the club and sighed. Man, what a bad idea, bringing Illyria here. Angel was gonna have his head in the morning. If Wesley didn't get to him first. Oh well, not like he was gonna change her mind.
Spotting the people standing in line, his concern doubled. Trashy looking women bickering and generally being very noisy and the guys behaving no better, with the one difference of them constantly trying to get their game on. If just one of those clowns started hitting on Illyria, that club was gonna end up looking like Armageddon came early this year.
He looked over at Illyria. She was wearing a pair of plain jeans and an elegant, white sweater. As she observed the crowd waiting in line outside the club they began to change. Her sweater started to shrink upwards, stopping just short of her breasts. The jeans grew darker, with white streaks down her thighs, and sunk dangerously low. As she walked past him and toward the club, his eyebrows rose a good inch when he noticed the word 'juicy' stitched across her behind. Gaping, at a loss for words, he just hurried after her.
"Uh, Illyria, now you know there's gonna be a lot of people in there. You can't expect them to treat you like royalty."
Barely giving him any attention, she kept walking. "I will not kill your precious humans."
"Comatosed people, also bad. Breaking, throwing, all that stuff."
She swirled around so quick he barely had time to react. "Do not address me as if I were a child. I could strip the flesh from your bones if I wished it, and you could not stop me." She paused briefly, her feral gaze turning his insides as he felt a cold sweat building. "But I will not. I am able to restrain myself. Any violence towards your kind would not please Wesley."
His shoulders sunk a little, his stomach remaining in knots. A night off to relax and unwind some, yeah. Great plan. Strangely, Wesley did seem to have some sort of hold on her. "So you guys--"
"We have an agreement," she bluntly cut him hort. "Enough of this. I wish to enter." She marched straight towards the entrance, the guard eying her up and down with a grin before lifting the red rope before her.
"Here you go, baby."
She regally walked past him, casting a superior smirk at the people in line as they voiced their protest. Gunn, on the other hand, was faced with a look of rejection as he approached the rope. Tossing them his name, gesturing towards the guards list, quickly remedied the situation. He didn't want to think of what might have happened if Illyria was left inside alone for too long and picked up his pace. Yeah. This was gonna be about as relaxing as a heart attack.