Title: Fallen
Author: LanaraofEarth
Rating: PG-13 ish...
Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel the Series are not mine and
never will be, no matter how much I might wish otherwise. The characters of
both shows belong to Joss Wedon, Fox and other people and companies that I
can't remember right at this moment.
Note: Words etc. in * are a character's inner thoughts/dialogue.
* Prologue *
The dark SUV drove up to the motel in the waning afternoon light. The neon sign flickered to life as the sun descended below the horizon behind the vehicle.
The words "Sunnydale Motor Inn" glared at the lanky form that emerged from the SUV after cutting the engine.
Dark sunglasses hid the man's eyes as he looked up towards the sign, starring at it, almost in disbelief at what he read.
He swallowed involuntarily, disturbing the white gauze covering his neck. The quick, sharp pain that action caused made him gasp and ripped him from his reverie.
The man shook himself, grimaced, and then retrieved a bag from the vehicle before he kicked the driver's side door shut. .
Shoulders slumped forward, head hung low; he walked, somewhat unsteadily towards the motel office.
Once the necessary transaction was complete and he had thanked the "not so" polite, overweight, grimy manager at the desk, the man walked the few feet to his room.
The dark man stumbled into the shady, seedy motel room. A hideous shade of orange in a loud floral pattern decorated the walls and a matching pattern adorned the quilt, which lay on the two double beds.
The bag in his hand was abandoned as he threw off his leather jacket and fell onto the nearest bed.
The moment his head hit the pillow he was out and didn't hear the sound of his wallet falling from his jacket onto the floor. It flipped open to his driver's licence, where the smiling face of Wesley Wyndam-Price shone up at the cracked, beige ceiling.
* End Prologue *
Note: Words etc. in * are a character's inner thoughts/dialogue.
* Prologue *
The dark SUV drove up to the motel in the waning afternoon light. The neon sign flickered to life as the sun descended below the horizon behind the vehicle.
The words "Sunnydale Motor Inn" glared at the lanky form that emerged from the SUV after cutting the engine.
Dark sunglasses hid the man's eyes as he looked up towards the sign, starring at it, almost in disbelief at what he read.
He swallowed involuntarily, disturbing the white gauze covering his neck. The quick, sharp pain that action caused made him gasp and ripped him from his reverie.
The man shook himself, grimaced, and then retrieved a bag from the vehicle before he kicked the driver's side door shut. .
Shoulders slumped forward, head hung low; he walked, somewhat unsteadily towards the motel office.
Once the necessary transaction was complete and he had thanked the "not so" polite, overweight, grimy manager at the desk, the man walked the few feet to his room.
The dark man stumbled into the shady, seedy motel room. A hideous shade of orange in a loud floral pattern decorated the walls and a matching pattern adorned the quilt, which lay on the two double beds.
The bag in his hand was abandoned as he threw off his leather jacket and fell onto the nearest bed.
The moment his head hit the pillow he was out and didn't hear the sound of his wallet falling from his jacket onto the floor. It flipped open to his driver's licence, where the smiling face of Wesley Wyndam-Price shone up at the cracked, beige ceiling.
* End Prologue *
