I was, in retrospect, a particularly insufferable wanker when I was younger. Fortunately, this is an impediment I have largely worked to correct since I saw the error of my ways, and swift experience has certainly changed me. But all the same, that pompous whiner still resides somewhere in me, much as Liam does in Angel, or younger versions of themselves in everyone. It is a mildly troubling thought, that, but I am resigned to it. It is no more possible to destroy one's youth than it is to escape one's destiny. Fate is a powerful force, if often disregarded.
Fate had little to do with who I was as a child, although I suppose it was only natural that I became what I did. I was raised to be exactly what I turned into: an intolerable prat who was quite certain of his knowledge and proud of his achievements. I prized knowledge, of course, above all else, and treated a new piece of information with far more regard than I did my fellow classmates' feelings. I was molded by the Watcher's Academy into one of their achievements, to be trotted out at special occasions: Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, Head Boy. And, given my nature, I didn't imagine the sort of jokes they invariably made about me behind my back - and, in this most spectacularly humiliating regression, to my face - about that particular title. They were deserved, of course, if not strictly accurate. I confess I was rather less than active, romantically, during my school days; I hardly progressed beyond hand-holding. Understandable, then, if regrettable, that I should be so inexperienced when I came to America.
Experience was something I was lacking in many departments. The sexual arena, of course, was one; my altogether humiliating experiences with Cordelia - Miss Chase, then - are a glowing testament to that fact, lit in the sort of gaudy neon so common in LA. Experience with fighting was another; yes, I had the sort of theoretical expertise that might be envied, but I'd never been tested except in carefully controlled circumstances. "No luck," Rupert once told me, "of finding those here." He was more right than I could have guessed at the time, but I've learned since then that circumstances are what you make of them, and sometimes all you need is to act like you have everything under control.
But when you don't have it, experience can't help you. That's one of the distressing things about memory alterations, especially as a result of magic. (Actually, experience suggests that magic ought to be used sparingly at best.) So I couldn't have known, could I, that by and large the Council doesn't care enough to test anyone, excepting the most powerful and dangerous Slayers. And that nonsense with the hair... well, I was - nominally - young. That was blatantly obvious; the futile mooning after Cordelia proved that. It speaks, though, for her sheer charismatic attraction. And, actually, for mine; I confess it was mildly upsetting to remember, afterwards, that she didn't even feel the attraction she'd found in her true high school days.
Luckily for me, my younger self got over that and decided that Fred was much more appealing. Then again, my current self finds Fred much more appealing as well; interesting how we both made that choice. No, my younger self was hardly useful or practical, but he had a few positive points. He wouldn't have taken up with Lilah, for one; would have, perhaps, been too fearful to help Fred on her mission of vengeance. But I can hardly mourn for my lost innocence, not when I lost it willfully. I have made what choices I made because they were the best - or only - available. Fate has led me from what I was, and made me what I am; I can only wait to see what I shall become.
Fate had little to do with who I was as a child, although I suppose it was only natural that I became what I did. I was raised to be exactly what I turned into: an intolerable prat who was quite certain of his knowledge and proud of his achievements. I prized knowledge, of course, above all else, and treated a new piece of information with far more regard than I did my fellow classmates' feelings. I was molded by the Watcher's Academy into one of their achievements, to be trotted out at special occasions: Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, Head Boy. And, given my nature, I didn't imagine the sort of jokes they invariably made about me behind my back - and, in this most spectacularly humiliating regression, to my face - about that particular title. They were deserved, of course, if not strictly accurate. I confess I was rather less than active, romantically, during my school days; I hardly progressed beyond hand-holding. Understandable, then, if regrettable, that I should be so inexperienced when I came to America.
Experience was something I was lacking in many departments. The sexual arena, of course, was one; my altogether humiliating experiences with Cordelia - Miss Chase, then - are a glowing testament to that fact, lit in the sort of gaudy neon so common in LA. Experience with fighting was another; yes, I had the sort of theoretical expertise that might be envied, but I'd never been tested except in carefully controlled circumstances. "No luck," Rupert once told me, "of finding those here." He was more right than I could have guessed at the time, but I've learned since then that circumstances are what you make of them, and sometimes all you need is to act like you have everything under control.
But when you don't have it, experience can't help you. That's one of the distressing things about memory alterations, especially as a result of magic. (Actually, experience suggests that magic ought to be used sparingly at best.) So I couldn't have known, could I, that by and large the Council doesn't care enough to test anyone, excepting the most powerful and dangerous Slayers. And that nonsense with the hair... well, I was - nominally - young. That was blatantly obvious; the futile mooning after Cordelia proved that. It speaks, though, for her sheer charismatic attraction. And, actually, for mine; I confess it was mildly upsetting to remember, afterwards, that she didn't even feel the attraction she'd found in her true high school days.
Luckily for me, my younger self got over that and decided that Fred was much more appealing. Then again, my current self finds Fred much more appealing as well; interesting how we both made that choice. No, my younger self was hardly useful or practical, but he had a few positive points. He wouldn't have taken up with Lilah, for one; would have, perhaps, been too fearful to help Fred on her mission of vengeance. But I can hardly mourn for my lost innocence, not when I lost it willfully. I have made what choices I made because they were the best - or only - available. Fate has led me from what I was, and made me what I am; I can only wait to see what I shall become.