Chapter 9: Conversations & Revelations
Present
This was pointless, but nobody in the room was prepared to tell Angel that. He was on a mission driven entirely by something none of them understood. Guilt? Redemption? And though they'd already looked at it from every angle he was still determined to drag it up over and over again until something changed. Something had changed in him, they could all see it, concern had given way to desperation, need and obsession. He was like a dog with a bone. At this point, although it was distressing, they were all beginning to accept what the vampire seemed unable to.
There was nothing they could do.
Faith was gone.
"Willow, what spell, exactly, did you merge the other with." Angel said, slowly through gritted teeth,
"We've already been through this..." She sighed exhaustedly, but the despair in his eyes softened her weariness and she conceded once more. "The four elements and 'curarea his herbes, a aditus recrissus est'" Willow repeated. She knew it by rote now, so many times she had reminded him, she was almost sure Angel knew it equally as well, so why he needed her to keep telling him she had no idea.
"The four elements?" Wesley asked, stepping into the foyer – he had been absent the last few days, looking through books sharing a mutual obsession with Angel, his also born of guilt but also responsibility, lost to libraries and long conversations with contacts scattered all over the world. "Because I think I've found proof that there are five." Wesley's noted the sceptical looks of everybody else in the room, he cleared his throat "I've been doing some digging, in the watcher's diaries, to locate our mystery spell. I've encountered a rather interesting chapter from the fourteen-hundreds, thirteen hundred and twenty to be precise."
"Go on" Angel urged, eager at the thought that finally, something new might be being brought to the front. Something might finally be changing.
"They're in my office, read them yourself, I was just off out to get another book. I think I might have a lead on our Irish seventeen-fifty-three diary." With that heavy dose of optimism, Wesley walked out, Willow and Angel watching after him as he went.
Finally able to let himself believe they might be getting somewhere, Angel wasted no time in making himself at home in Wesley's office. It didn't take long to find the diary, it was open on his desk. The watcher in question had suffered a rather depressing plight; he fell in love with his slayer before she had been called. They married and had a family assuming that by the age of twenty five she would not be called. Once she had, he had been imprisoned by the council for violating his oath of conduct. During his imprisonment and under the care of her new watcher, her children had been brutally attacked by vampires. Shaunde unable to help or protect them. Tracing the signature at the end of every entry; Michel de Shaunde, Angel couldn't help but feel bad for the young couple. He had known doomed love before. Ultimately their son had been turned into a vampire, the slayer died fighting him. Death at the hands of the only vampire she probably would never have been able to kill. There was another diary referenced, Angel assumed without reading the enclosed photocopies it that it was that of the replacement watcher.
"That's awful" was Willow's response as he recounted it to her.
"It gets worse, his youngest daughter, who was born after the attack whilst he was still held prisoner, became a slayer. He wasn't released until she was called, when she was thirteen" Angel paused to note the horror in Willow's eyes "he was the one who wrote the spell in order to save her, to bring another slayer forth in order to save Isabeau from her destiny. Having lost his wife and other children, he became quite unhinged. Lost trust in the Council, fell quite heavily into" Angel frowned heavily, "blood magic and dark arts. When his daughter died slaying, he began dabbling in necromancy. Took out three consecutive slayers before they finally stopped him."
"How to make a monster 1-0-1" Willow looked positively sickened, it served acutely to remind Angel that none of them were without empathy, or untouched by heartbreak. "Wait, so what're the chances that this watcher cast the spell at the exact same time that we did, only in a parallel time?" Willow asked, starting to get an idea, Angel was about to say he'd already thought of that when Fred interrupted..
"We talked about that and it wouldn't make sense, if that was the case then Faith would be in fourteenth century Brittany and Isabeau de Shaunde would be here, in her place." Fred watched the Penny drop, before continuing "which means somebody else cast the same spell. Somebody undocumented, somebody who is currently in Galway, in 1753." Angel and Willow both looked to Fred then at each other. It certainly sounded plausible, she'd obviously been researching this extensively with Wesley.
"That makes sense" Willow agreed, Angel nodded. "But how are we going to find out who – oh, that's why Wesley has gone to get the diary of the Irish watcher!" She answered her own question excitedly "and more importantly, that means somebody from seventeen fifty three is here, in LA, lost and probably with no idea what's going on. How do we find them?"
Angel and Fred looked at her, Angel couldn't quite believe he'd overlooked that. Whilst Faith was lost in time, there was somebody in his town that needed saving. Somebody from the same place he was. The same time. Maybe he had even known them.
"Okay, so at least we know where the spell came from now. Though it's accounted here, his version didn't work. We need to figure out exactly what changed in order to make it a viable spell. Willow, think you could look over de Shaunde's spell?"
"I'm on it" she took the tome and headed off back to the comfy sofa's.
Angel was waging a personal battle with a headache, the dull fuzziness had escalated to a searing pressure behind his eyes. Intense pressure which felt like, given enough time, it might well explode. The vampire closed his eyes and rested his face in his hands, thumbs pressing against his eyes. It wasn't often he got headaches, but this one seemed to just be getting worse and worse.
When he opened his eyes he was sitting in a dark room one he recognised instinctively even through the haze of centuries. His father's parlour. His home from so long ago. In his hands was a book, he scowled a little as he was sure he hadn't been reading. Squinting at the pages the words danced around, foggy, blurry, he was unable to make any of them out. Perhaps it was the light? The candles were flickering, nowhere near enough to properly light the room, it had been a very long time since he'd needed light to see. What was wrong? Giving up on the book Angel glanced around the room, drinking in the sights he'd once taken for granted. There was music playing, from the piano in the corner of the room, a soft melody, hypnotic. A song he had not heard in centuries, the melody easing the pain in his head wonderfully. Shifting his weight to get more comfortable he became aware of somebody next to him, a heat pressed close against him, an intimacy he hadn't allowed himself for a long time. Almost at the same time he felt fingers ghosting at the back of his neck, teasing beneath his hair, insistent, wanting attention. Inhaling sharply his stomach growled hungrily, his mother's cooking. Then there were lips on his neck and everything else was forgotten, his senses abandoned him, pooling collectively on the feel of hot plump lips on his skin. There was a hand in his hair, knotted now, holding him still, demanding as teeth scraped along his skin. Desire pulsed through his body but Angel couldn't move. Couldn't look. Couldn't do anything. Frustrated he growled, but now sound came out of his mouth. , pulling his focus, insistent and demanding. A hand moved over his lap, fumbling teasingly with his belt, fingers against the skin of his stomach. Dipping lower. He heard a grown that he recognised as his own. Suddenly he didn't care that he couldn't move, as long as she didn't stop. Her fingers let loose their grip on his hair, as her head dropped downwards to his lap. Angel almost moaned aloud when he realised what was happening. He watched as his hand cupped the back of the dark head of hair, relishing in the feel of soft brown ringlets. He wet his lips in anticipation and his breathing hitched – since when had he needed to breathe? That was a long forgotten sensation. Angel waited. And waited. And waited.
"Angel?" Willow yelled, snapping him out of his memory. "I think you should see this!" Angel felt unfocused being so quickly snapped from sleep, his mind torn between focusing on reality and trying to chase after the fast disappearing dream? No he couldn't have been dreaming, remembering. It was too vivid to have been anything else. He could still feel the hair beneath his fingers, the weight against his side. The desire, it was then Angel realised just how embarrassing this could get and shifted his weight so that he was sitting more towards his desk.
Faith?
His body had responded to the memory with an eager, almost desperate need. If he'd had breath, then his panting breathlessness may have given him away. Still, he knew whatever it was that required his attention was more important than his current miasma of thoughts be they dreams or memories. Trying to compose himself before he ventured out of the office and to the others was harder than he thought. He could still feel the touches on his skin, his fingers traced where the dream fingers had absently. It took about ten minutes for him to calm himself down enough to be able to stand up. When he did, he noted that some of the pressure in his head had eased off.
Wesley was back. How long had he been asleep?
Angel looked down at the book that Willow and Wesley were hunched over, utterly engrossed. Whatever Wesley had found, judging by the look on his face, was important. Angel reached down and picked it up, the awe that was in the was mimicked on his face now, but not for the same reasons. Reading the first page, where the owner had written their name in perfectly elegant calligraphy, his world narrowed down to those ancient pages. Flipping through idly he stopped when he saw a familiar date, he began to read aloud.
Watcher Thomas Cabhraigh
April 1753, Galway, Ireland
Today I had a unwelcome shock. Upon me return from a meeting with the in London (which I will not document here as it will be noted in the Council official records, reference 23.66.77b). In brief I petitioned the council for use of the Slayer for a short period of time. Needless to say I was denied. However now on top of the vampire infestation I am sure grows beneath my feet I also have my sons deviancy to contend with. He has invited a girl into my home. I know not where he found her nor to whom she belongs, I have my suspicions based up her actions and manner but it would be far too vulgar to relay to paper. According one of my servants, she has been here for many nights already. To say I am shamed by my sons behaviour in my absence would be an understatement, as I am determinedly trying to relay to the council how stern and upholding a home I keep so that they would see the slayer would be in good care, my son is even now undermining it. Yet I struggle to blame him, it it merely yet another example of the lasciviousness that is seeping into our quiet village and those beyond. Evil is becoming a plague, leaving no family untouched. At first I was worried the girl he had brought was one of them, a vampire, corrupting him to feed on us all. To get to the girl I have sworn to protect. Alas I have seen her walk in the sun, I am not entirely convinced she isn't something else though.
There is something different about her, which I am struggling to place. I am watching her carefully, though she seems intent on pulling my son away from my influence and is quick to retreat when I am present. She speaks with an accent I have never heard and uses words I have not placed in any language, though it seems to derive from an English root. I do not trust her and am frightful for my son. No vampire but certainly a demon of sorts, with witchery at her disposal judging by the hold she keeps upon my son. He is practically enthralled. Wicked, a Delilah sent to lure my son to his doom mayhap. I blame myself that I had not instilled within him a stronger constitution to resist.
I am wary to evict her, I suspect that she would not hesitate to drag my son with her back to wherever she came from and I feel I am responsible to keep him from such a fate.
"Where did you find this?" Angel asked, looking up to Willow, eyes distant, haunted "Wesley brought it back. He had been talking to Giles who's been researching more into Potentials and their history because of well, everything in Sunnydale. All Watchers, especially those in charge of potentials kept diaries just in case they were called. When they weren't, naturally, their diaries mostly disappeared, dismissed as unimportant. But Giles has been asking around, trying to learn more about them so suggested looking for some of them. When we said where Faith was, more importantly when, he remembered one that he'd tried to locate before Buffy fought the Master. Supposedly he was in Ireland at the time, he thought knowing what made him suddenly move might help. He didn't get a solid location on the diary until after she'd killed him and at that point" Willow trailed off, it hadn't been an easy time Giles or Buffy. Angel remembered all too well the emptiness the slayer's absence had caused. "Anyway it was in San Diego years ago, buried in an archive somewhere. So Wesley called them up and they still had it. Some luck, huh?"
"So this is the diary, the one of the watcher that cast the spell?" Angel didn't seem as impressed by their genius' as Willow had hoped. In fact he looked paler than normal. She frowned a little,
"We're hoping so! Giles cross-referenced some other books and though there were a couple of other watcher's in Ireland at that time, but he wasn't able to find any of those. So this is the easiest, if he has to find the others, well, we have no idea where to start. Even this one is not very long, only the one book. But from what we've read already and what you just read, there certainly seems to be an evil presence. It's possible that whatever she was in his house was bad enough that he'd try anything to protect his family! I mean he certainly seems convinced that something powerful and evil was lurking just around the corner and if we-"
"He was right." Angel interrupted pensively, cutting off Willow mid-sentence.
"Well it does end very abruptly and we're assuming that means whatever it was...wait, how did you know he was right,?"
"This diary" Angel spoke softly, tracing the faded ink with his fingers, "it was my father's."
1753
Thomas Cabhraigh was sitting at his desk, his muscles tense and a scowl upon his face. It was dark and little impact was made by the flickering candles he had lit. It was not the first time he had been up when everybody else was sleeping, in fact Thomas rarely kept the same hours as anybody else. There was something peaceful about a time where he knew everybody else was sleeping, tucked up safely in their beds. And his large home, nestled away from the city, he liked to observe the silence. This felt safe, instead of being frightened of the isolation, he revelled in it. It gave him freedom to conduct his affairs without risk of being seen. Or at least it had been, of late the introduction of Faye had caused him to be on edge even during times this this where he should be focusing on his writing.
These were hard times to be a watcher, the people were superstitious, tense and ready to descend into hysteria at a moments notice. One wrong move and they'd be alienated, which for a noble gentleman, was not a thing he could afford. His business, and money, lay with the trust and friendships of those around him. Without that he'd be outcast, and without the power that came from the money – he'd be unable to protect his wayward son from destroying himself. Something which Liam seemed intent on.
Thomas had once hoped his son would outgrow his pointless rebellion, his restlessness. The hopeful prodigy was disappointing him. He had even held hopes of introducing the boy to the Council, having his son follow in his footsteps. Those were dreams which he'd long since given up on, choosing instead to focus on trying to keep him out of trouble at least. And so Thomas was alone in his calling, and he alone knew the dangers that lurked beneath them threateningly, he alone knew what price he had to give to protect everything in this house.
The diary was, at first, an obligation he chafed against, rarely having the time to sit down and write, especially since most of his life was mundane. He too had been restless during his youth. This last year though, there had been so much supernatural stirring that the diary had turned into a comfort. A friend. And more importantly a place for him to collect his thoughts.
Faith and Liam meandered through the farmland. Faith's sense had lost the edge of urgency some time ago and with the lights of the village flickering in the near distance she felt like they had time to spare. They were closer to safety now, not to mention surrounded by pickets holding up crude fences that she could easily snap. It was pleasant again, she could appreciate the silence, and the vast space they found themselves in. The absolute isolation. Faith had spent her whole life in cities, this was a novelty. One that in time she was sure she could grow to love.
The two weren't quite walking hand in hand, but they were close, the backs of their hands brushing with each step. Liam hadn't said a word since they'd stopped running and that was concerning her a little. He wasn't usually the quiet type. Faith had to quickly point out the irony to herself, she was concerned over a version of Angel brooding. Shaking off all thoughts of Angel, and in turn Angelus, she stopped suddenly.
"All right, what's with the silent treatment?"
Liam stopped a few paces after she did and turned to face her. Faith had to look up to meet his eyes. She watched the conflict in his eyes as he was deciding whether to tell her or whether to lie. Honestly, every single emotion the man felt was readable on his face. Faith wondered how long it took for that habit to be curbed. This time she was letting her thoughts wander to Angelus, mainly to curb the discomfort she suddenly felt wondering whether this was the part where he asked her to leave. Usually she was the one leaving, but he'd gotten what he'd wanted now, what he'd spent months chasing. It bothered her how much that thought hurt. Yes she would be alone, lost, forgotten in the past but she'd been alone her whole life. It shouldn't be making her stomach clench like she was about to be sick. Faith didn't know what she felt for Liam truth be told, everything was so complicated. But she knew she was certainly getting attached, that much she couldn't even lie to herself about.
"The reason you're so frightened of the dark, is it to do with the man you killed the night I met ye? The one that turned into dust." His face was still conflicted, worried, but only now could she sense the tension in his body language and the way he kept looking past her into the dark. Faith was both instantly relieved and ashamed in the same measure. She was dragging him into a world he wasn't ready for, he didn't understand, this was exciting and new but this was a man who had been ignorant his whole life and who now was watching a woman who was stronger than anything he'd ever known jump at shadows. He was supposed to be the gentleman. The strong one. Now the haze of desperate lust had lifted, the rest of his brain was trying to piece everything together.
"Yes." She said simply "lets get home and we'll talk about it." It didn't take long, ten more minutes of silence before they reached the front door of Thomas' house. Faith mad to open if but his hand stopped hers on the handle. Pulling it closer to him, turning her in the process so she was looking at him. He looked confused, but there was that excitement burning in the back of his eyes, that dangerous curiosity which made it all too easy for her to picture him being turned. He wanted to know everything.
"What was it?" Faith didn't answer his question noting he'd already made the jump to 'what' and not 'who' she dropped his gaze and pulled her hand free, "you used wood, through the heart" he noted, "was it a vampire?" Her eyes snapped up then, firm and hard, he looked proud of himself for working it out. In that moment her blood ran cold with fear, suddenly needing him to stay as far as possible from vampires.
"That's my world. Not yours. Liam you can't get caught up in it. It's not exciting, it's dangerous, really, really fucking dangerous. I don't have a choice, I was born into it. You aren't." Suddenly the brief notion she'd had earlier by the lake solidified in her mind, it turned from a thought to a solid promise to herself, she'd keep him safe, future be damned. It was then she also realised she'd stopped falling for him, she'd already hit the bottom with a hard and terrifying thud.
"I could help-"
"No. You could die. Will die. I'm stronger than you-"
"You're just a tiny little t'ing." Faith grabbed his arm then and moved, so that she had it twisted behind his back. Painfully, he yelled and he pulled but at every bit of strength or struggle he exerted she increased the pressure, she was almost afraid his arm would snap. But this was a lesson, she couldn't be lenient. Bringing Liam to his knees, he finally stopped fighting, though he didn't plead or beg for her to let go. She held him longer than she had to, as if she was holding onto his very humanity. Finally she let go and shoved him forward roughly so that he splayed onto the ground.
"It's my fight. My world. I won't let you die. And if I have to hurt you, to prove it, then I will. I don't need a knight in shining armour. I don't need help. What I need is to know that you're going to be alive when I'm done."
Faith went inside without waiting for a reply.
Faith didn't close the door to Liam's room, she assumed or hoped, he would be up soon enough once he had recovered his pride. The wooden stake she had claimed the first day, the broken chair leg, mocked her from the dresser. She needed to take this more seriously, every day since she had arrived, felt almost dream-like, surreal. But it wasn't, there were real dangers and her indifference could end up getting Liam killed, not to mention her. If she was going to stop him becoming a vampire, to keep him, then she needed to focus more on being a slayer.
Gone was the worry about getting home, she had no control over than and no idea if she ever would. If she didn't, then this was her life now and she was damned if she was going to live it without Liam. Faith wondered if anybody from her time was even missing her, or if they'd all gone about their lives slightly disappointed but none the worse off.
Dropping onto the bed and staring at the ceiling, she realised with a start just how much trouble she was in. Faith had never been in love before, typical that she would fall for a guy from the wrong century. Not to mention one that was destined to become the worst thing to come out of Europe since Shakespeare.
Was Angel remembering her now? Did Angel even exist anymore or had her resolve and her being here already altered everything so much? Were any of them still alive? Had she effectively ridden herself of any hope? Faith felt sick, the thoughts wouldn't stop, spinning through her head, scenario's she was inventing and dismissing as quickly as they had happened.
When she woke up, she sat bolt upright, she hadn't realised she'd been asleep. Liam still hadn't come back and she stretched, her limbs aching from remaining in the same position too long. Which was when she realised why she had woken, there was somebody watching her. Fixing her eyes on the balcony, she noted that she couldn't have been asleep for too long as it was still dark out.
"Who are you?"
"A friend," she blonde smiled coyly,
"A friend wouldn't be standing on the balcony" Faith quipped, standing up and walking slowly towards the door, "what's your name, 'friend'?"
"Darla" she spoke softly, smiling, had Faith known more about Angel's past warning bells would have sounded. The woman looked young, flawless skin and perfect blonde ringlets framing a round, girlish face. In truth, she was beautiful. Her voice was soft, innocent, unfortunately Faith had too much life experience to be fooled by mere appearances. Faith arched an eyebrow.
"Well Darla, I suggest you leave, before I make you. And I've had a really bad night, so I'm really hoping I have to make you."
"Afraid I'll put the moves on your lover?"
"As if. Besides if I'm right, I doubt you can get to him" Faith smirked, "not without an invitation anyways"
"And, who says I don't already have one?" Darla purred, her fingers pulling innocuously at one of the curls that rested against her breasts.
"If you had one already, I really doubt you'd be lurking around on balconies" this evoked a sweet smile from the blonde who tilted her head slightly,
"Are all slayers this smart?" Faith tensed at the vampires words, "oh that's right, word travels fast" Darla's voice flowed like honey, "I'm not afraid of a little girl."
"Well, let's see if I can change that" Faith challenged grabbing the stake off the balcony and charging at the vampire with a run. Everything else might be a swirling pool of questions and confusion but this was what Faith knew. This was her job. This was her passion. Darla's beautiful face contorted as the demon inside her pushed itself to the surface threateningly.
"Let's" she growled as Faith connected with her, the two falling backwards off the balcony into the court-yard below. Darla was up faster than Faith, by mere seconds and that gave her time to deal the first blow, a ruthlessly hard kick to the slayers face sending her sprawling backwards.
The vampire wasn't over-zealous though and after the kick connected she backed off somewhat, cautious, Darla noted the flex in the muscles of the other girls body as she jumped to her feet. Small but strong. Now they were looking eye to eye. Darla growled when she deduced that the slayer was being cautious too, except when she moved to deliver a hard uppercut to Faith's jaw the slayer caught her arm and twisted, hard. Darla heard the sharp crack, but she fought to ignore it, pain was just a feeling and she could focus on it later. It didn't take too long for broken bones to heal. Unfortunately Faith was quicker than Darla anticipated and the slayer followed the break with a punch to the face and a kick to the knee, shattering Darla's kneecap painfully.
Foregoing dignity Darla did a quick backwards role, the arm was easier to ignore than the knee as it affected her balance. Still she was on her feet a few paces away from the slayer. Nursing a broken arm and a bleeding face she motioned to the shadows and two men stepped out. She had got what she needed to, Faith was strong. Stronger even than her. But relied on that strength and her reflexes heavily, there were not tactics or teachings. She doubted the slayer would have the foresight to plan a fight, or to endure for very long whilst keeping the lead.
Still, Darla wasn't prepared to risk testing that theory tonight.
The men circled Faith, who was watching them warily.
'Not men' she corrected her thinking, 'vampires'.
Faith leapt into the air as the vampires both lunged at her, one grabbed her leg and brought her painfully back down to the ground. Luckily, she still had hold of the stake and even with the abrupt and awkward landing she wasn't too worried. Whilst she leapt up, she heard the tear as the other vampire made a grab for her but got her skirts. Dresses were certainly not slayer-friendly. The second time the vampire was on the money and grabbed the slayers other leg. She managed a slight kick, whilst trying not to sacrifice her balance as the other vampire was advancing on her, it wasn't very powerful but it was enough to free her leg of his grip and she managed to keep her balance long enough to use her other leg to kick the other vampire in the chest, sending him stumbling back.
Punching backwards, she heard his nose break but before he had time to note the pain Faith had plunged the stake into his heart. With a cloud of dust he was gone and Faith turned quickly enough to see the look of fear pass over the other vampire's face.
"Oh, I'm sorry, did you think that slayers were just something your mummy told you about to keep you from wandering too far from your coffin?"
The expression was replaced with anger and he lunged at her again, reacting to the jibe as she'd wanted him to, predictable in any century. A fist connected with Faith's mouth, concentrate Faith, and she tasted blood, spitting it out onto the stones in a rather unladylike fashion, Faith lunged at the vampire, pinning him to the ground and staking him easily.
Obviously, these vampires were not used to a fight. They were nothing like the vampires from her time.
"Geez" Faith said, "Even vampires are different around here" but as she scanned the scene she realised she was talking to herself as the blonde vampire that called herself Darla, was long gone. Cursing for falling for the distraction technique Faith was left alone with her terror that vampires had surrounded the house and that she'd left Liam outside alone earlier.
Was this it? Had she lost him?
"What on Earth is all this noise" the door opened and Faith's eyes snapped to Liam's father who was standing in the doorway, eyes wide. Faith swallowed thickly and wiped the blood off her lip with the back of her hand, realising she was still holding a stake. Her dress, or rather his wife's dress, was torn and hanging off revealing bare legs up to her mid thigh. There was a gash on her arm from where she had fallen. All in all, she looked a mess. Unfortunately she didn't care about any of that right at that second in time. Her world was reeling and terror formed in her stomach with a force that made her feel like she might vomit.
"Where's Liam?" Her tone was more desperate than it should have been.
"Excuse me, I think that-" Faith pinned him to the heavy door,
"I don't have the time, or the patience to play tonight. Where is Liam? Have you seen him."
"He's asleep in the day room." Thomas managed to retain his disdainful authoritative tone even whilst he was pinned, scarcely able to breath. The immediate danger out of the way, Faith felt a little ashamed and let him go. Stepping back.
"I – I'...is it worth saying sorry at this point?" Well that was that, she doubted she'd be allowed back in the house now. Expecting the worst, Faith stood there and waited for the usual lectures she'd heard time and time again. Would she never learn to curb her impulses? At least she hadn't hurt him, her already heavy conscience could find some solace there. But that didn't help her right now, she'd be shunned from Liam's life, forced to leave, and how could she protect him then?
"Go and get yourself together, rest. I will send Aghna up with some alcohol for that wound on your lip. And then tomorrow you and I need to talk."
