Ch. 1 Normalcy
Everything was fairly normal. Well...as normal as things can be when you live in Los Angeles these days. Fred sat at Wesley's desk, flipping idly through a book of ancient languages. Wesley went to work cleaning and repairing some of the things around the Hyperion, hoping to get it ready for renovations and possibly resale. Gunn stocked the weapons cabinet, adding a thin coat of polish to each of the broadswords, daggers, and battle axes. In the basement, there were distant clashes of metal and the agonizing sounds of fists connecting with a punching bag, as well as several other objects. Angel had been training down there for several hours, upset about something. He kept talking about someone named Connor. No one knew what he meant, just figured something had gone wrong at the meeting with Lilah and disturbed him. He'd let them know, eventually.
Cordelia was her old self again, gawking with horror at her choice of evil clothes and accessories. She swept them up into her arms and tossed them in a dumpster, which was lying in a suite, ready for new renovations.
The door to the Hyperion opened, sending rare sunlight into the lobby.
"Hello?" a voice echoed through the hotel. Everyone stopped and looked up.
Gunn was the first to respond as Wesley climbed the stairs. He smiled at the elderly couple who had just entered the room. "Hi, Welcome to Angel Investigations. Can we help you with something?"
The old man raised his eyebrow and looked around, seeing no one. "I suppose you could help me. Who are you?"
Gunn shook his head, giving an anger-controlling chuckle. "Sorry. Charles Gunn. Most of the staff is busy right now. How can I help you?" He looked at the little old lady and noticed a frightened expression on her face.
Cordy came down the stairs and rushed up to the clients. "Hi, I'm Cordelia Chase. Are you new clients of ours? We do help the hopeless." She felt like she was once again trying to start AI.
"I'm looking for a young man. Wesley Wyndham-Pryce." He scanned the room, looking over Gunn's shoulder, "That is, assuming that he's still alive."
The old woman frowned, but remained silent.
For the first time, Gunn made the connection. "Ah," he glanced at Cordy, giving her a knowing look, "you must be Wes's dear, old..."
Wesley leaned over the banister and into the lobby, "Dad."
-
The man stared at Wesley a long time before saying anything. He made a small gesture, prompting his son's immediate descension of the stairs. Not another word was spoken until everyone had cleared the lobby and Wesley stood alone, eye to eye with his father.
"Well, you've certainly been...Americanized."
Gunn, who sat behind a column upstairs, snorted.
The man began a slow pace around his son. "And still working for that," the next word flew from his tongue quick, as if it were the most profane of his vocabulary, "vampire, eh? How is it that you've managed to stay alive in conditions such as these?" The elder man glared around the lobby. "Ghastly, really."
"It's not so terrible," Wesley said quietly.
Lorne, who had been watching, came down the stairs, humming lightly to himself. Cordelia tried to stop him, but he insisted that he knew what he was doing. He stopped at the bottom step and let out a high-pitched squeal.
"Wesley, darling...you never told me you had a younger sister!" He reached a hand towards Wesley's mother, who blushed profusely. Immediately, Mr. Wyndham-Pryce jumped in front of his wife.
"What in God's name are you? Stay away from my wife." He growled.
Lorne's eyes widened. "Sorry, Cupcake. I forgot my manners. I'm Krevlorneswath of the Deathwok Clan. I hail from the dimension of Pylea." He held out a green, yet perfectly manicured hand. "Call me Lorne for short, please."
Mr. Wyndham-Pryce did not offer his hand in return. "Lorne. Pylea." He simply nodded and turned to Wesley.
"So, you're a loner, living with a vampire, a floozy, some hoodlum, and a demon who's quite obviously a pouff?" He raised an eyebrow. "I should have expected as much."
Cordelia scoffed, but Gunn quietly reminded her who this was. Lorne simply retreated upstairs, his green becoming slightly more red than usual.
"You're thirty-six years old, Wesley Edmund Mathias Wyndham-Pryce. A man at your age should be married with children and a career. You have no one, no job, and you live in...filth." He curled up his nose and turned, as if to leave.
"Father," Wesley raised his voice, "did you come here simply to insult me? London is very far away." He thought for a moment, hoping to find some way to impress his father. Nothing came to mind, it simply went blank. Then, a thought. "And I have a wife...unfortunately, she is de--"
"Debating on what curtains to put in the Master Bedroom." Fred laughed as she entered the lobby. She had been listening for the duration of the conversation. "Hello, I'm Winifred Wyndham-Pryce. It's a pleasure to meet you at last. Wesley has said so many good things about you." For the last two comments, Fred made sure to direct them solely at Wesley's mother.
For once, Wesley's father seemed speechless.
Fred went on. "I'm so sorry you had to see the hotel in such a mess. We're having it renovated before we sell it and move into the new firm downtown."
"Firm?" Wesley's father raised an eyebrow.
With an enthusiastic nod, Fred continued, "Oh Wes, Darling, didn't you tell them?" She laughed as Wesley continued to stare at her. "He's so modest. He's just become the head of the extensive Library and Artifacts division downtown at a highly-respected lawfirm called Wolfram & Hart. Heard of it? We've got branches around the world. I am also the head of Scientific Research and Development, not to mention Forensics."
There was a dead silence.
"No." Wesley's father turned to look at his son. "Well, I guess I assumed too much." He raised a hand, causing Wesley to flinch as it landed on his shoulder.
Wesley's mother broke into sobs and jumped into her son's outstretched arms. She pulled Fred into the hug and held on for dear life. Fred simply winked at her "husband".
-
"Good night, dearest!" Wesley's mother called from the hotel as Fred and Wes prepared to leave.
They both smiled and waved, then Fred turned to him. "I'll call a cab when we get to your place." She looked out the window.
Wes raised an eyebrow. "Oh, well...they'll be there early tomorrow morning for breakfast. You're welcome to stay the night. My couch is comfortable enough. I can sleep on it."
"Are you sure?" She looked at him.
He nodded. "Yes, perfectly. I really don't mind having you over for the evening. They can't possibly stay that long."
Everything was fairly normal. Well...as normal as things can be when you live in Los Angeles these days. Fred sat at Wesley's desk, flipping idly through a book of ancient languages. Wesley went to work cleaning and repairing some of the things around the Hyperion, hoping to get it ready for renovations and possibly resale. Gunn stocked the weapons cabinet, adding a thin coat of polish to each of the broadswords, daggers, and battle axes. In the basement, there were distant clashes of metal and the agonizing sounds of fists connecting with a punching bag, as well as several other objects. Angel had been training down there for several hours, upset about something. He kept talking about someone named Connor. No one knew what he meant, just figured something had gone wrong at the meeting with Lilah and disturbed him. He'd let them know, eventually.
Cordelia was her old self again, gawking with horror at her choice of evil clothes and accessories. She swept them up into her arms and tossed them in a dumpster, which was lying in a suite, ready for new renovations.
The door to the Hyperion opened, sending rare sunlight into the lobby.
"Hello?" a voice echoed through the hotel. Everyone stopped and looked up.
Gunn was the first to respond as Wesley climbed the stairs. He smiled at the elderly couple who had just entered the room. "Hi, Welcome to Angel Investigations. Can we help you with something?"
The old man raised his eyebrow and looked around, seeing no one. "I suppose you could help me. Who are you?"
Gunn shook his head, giving an anger-controlling chuckle. "Sorry. Charles Gunn. Most of the staff is busy right now. How can I help you?" He looked at the little old lady and noticed a frightened expression on her face.
Cordy came down the stairs and rushed up to the clients. "Hi, I'm Cordelia Chase. Are you new clients of ours? We do help the hopeless." She felt like she was once again trying to start AI.
"I'm looking for a young man. Wesley Wyndham-Pryce." He scanned the room, looking over Gunn's shoulder, "That is, assuming that he's still alive."
The old woman frowned, but remained silent.
For the first time, Gunn made the connection. "Ah," he glanced at Cordy, giving her a knowing look, "you must be Wes's dear, old..."
Wesley leaned over the banister and into the lobby, "Dad."
-
The man stared at Wesley a long time before saying anything. He made a small gesture, prompting his son's immediate descension of the stairs. Not another word was spoken until everyone had cleared the lobby and Wesley stood alone, eye to eye with his father.
"Well, you've certainly been...Americanized."
Gunn, who sat behind a column upstairs, snorted.
The man began a slow pace around his son. "And still working for that," the next word flew from his tongue quick, as if it were the most profane of his vocabulary, "vampire, eh? How is it that you've managed to stay alive in conditions such as these?" The elder man glared around the lobby. "Ghastly, really."
"It's not so terrible," Wesley said quietly.
Lorne, who had been watching, came down the stairs, humming lightly to himself. Cordelia tried to stop him, but he insisted that he knew what he was doing. He stopped at the bottom step and let out a high-pitched squeal.
"Wesley, darling...you never told me you had a younger sister!" He reached a hand towards Wesley's mother, who blushed profusely. Immediately, Mr. Wyndham-Pryce jumped in front of his wife.
"What in God's name are you? Stay away from my wife." He growled.
Lorne's eyes widened. "Sorry, Cupcake. I forgot my manners. I'm Krevlorneswath of the Deathwok Clan. I hail from the dimension of Pylea." He held out a green, yet perfectly manicured hand. "Call me Lorne for short, please."
Mr. Wyndham-Pryce did not offer his hand in return. "Lorne. Pylea." He simply nodded and turned to Wesley.
"So, you're a loner, living with a vampire, a floozy, some hoodlum, and a demon who's quite obviously a pouff?" He raised an eyebrow. "I should have expected as much."
Cordelia scoffed, but Gunn quietly reminded her who this was. Lorne simply retreated upstairs, his green becoming slightly more red than usual.
"You're thirty-six years old, Wesley Edmund Mathias Wyndham-Pryce. A man at your age should be married with children and a career. You have no one, no job, and you live in...filth." He curled up his nose and turned, as if to leave.
"Father," Wesley raised his voice, "did you come here simply to insult me? London is very far away." He thought for a moment, hoping to find some way to impress his father. Nothing came to mind, it simply went blank. Then, a thought. "And I have a wife...unfortunately, she is de--"
"Debating on what curtains to put in the Master Bedroom." Fred laughed as she entered the lobby. She had been listening for the duration of the conversation. "Hello, I'm Winifred Wyndham-Pryce. It's a pleasure to meet you at last. Wesley has said so many good things about you." For the last two comments, Fred made sure to direct them solely at Wesley's mother.
For once, Wesley's father seemed speechless.
Fred went on. "I'm so sorry you had to see the hotel in such a mess. We're having it renovated before we sell it and move into the new firm downtown."
"Firm?" Wesley's father raised an eyebrow.
With an enthusiastic nod, Fred continued, "Oh Wes, Darling, didn't you tell them?" She laughed as Wesley continued to stare at her. "He's so modest. He's just become the head of the extensive Library and Artifacts division downtown at a highly-respected lawfirm called Wolfram & Hart. Heard of it? We've got branches around the world. I am also the head of Scientific Research and Development, not to mention Forensics."
There was a dead silence.
"No." Wesley's father turned to look at his son. "Well, I guess I assumed too much." He raised a hand, causing Wesley to flinch as it landed on his shoulder.
Wesley's mother broke into sobs and jumped into her son's outstretched arms. She pulled Fred into the hug and held on for dear life. Fred simply winked at her "husband".
-
"Good night, dearest!" Wesley's mother called from the hotel as Fred and Wes prepared to leave.
They both smiled and waved, then Fred turned to him. "I'll call a cab when we get to your place." She looked out the window.
Wes raised an eyebrow. "Oh, well...they'll be there early tomorrow morning for breakfast. You're welcome to stay the night. My couch is comfortable enough. I can sleep on it."
"Are you sure?" She looked at him.
He nodded. "Yes, perfectly. I really don't mind having you over for the evening. They can't possibly stay that long."