When Andrew met Warren, it was through his brother. And his work. Kind of. He was visiting Tucker in Los Angeles for a weekend during his later high school years. His older brother decided a tour of his workplace was in order, since Andrew was considering applying there after graduation, and there he met one of his few friends.
He wishes he hadn't.
Warren Mears is a lot of things, he knows; the problem is figuring out which of these said things are real, and which ones are lies-because he is sure that if anything, Warren is a liar. They have that in common, though Andrew lacks the skills to manipulate people, which Warren excels in. Maybe it's the charisma, Andrew thought, back when he still put excessive thought into the man's actions. (Which, admittedly, wasn't that long ago.) He had to to figure out what was really going on, what Warren wanted him for-which he failed at. He didn't realize what was wanted from him until it was too late. But, that's another story for a different day.
Because a liar isn't the only thing that Andrew's sure about Warren being; he also knows, without any doubt, that Warren Mears is dead.
(7)
"Please, just this once. He's a really great guy, and he's lonely, and . . . did I mention he's really great?"
She claps her hands together excitedly and smiles. He hasn't agreed yet, but she's always liked to see what she could get away with in regards to him, to see what she could get him to do for her. Sometimes it has poor consequences in her favor, but she's always one to test. Besides, she (thinks that) knows how to get what she wants from him; he's easy in her eyes, in the eyes of most women who meet him.
"No way. Forget it. Don't ask again."
She swears he's met the bloke, but he can't remember what the guy looks like; it definitely wasn't an outstanding meeting. Not that it matters; he isn't interested. Maybe if it was a woman, but the Wolfram & Hart mail boy? No thanks, especially considering the fact that he's friends with Harmony; he reckons whoever it is doesn't have a unique thought in his head. Not that that would usually matter with hook ups, but he has different standards for men than women. If he's going to go on a date with another man, he's got to either be dead sexy, or he gets something fantastic out of it.
"What if . . . I sleep with you?"
Not that that is fantastic, but . . .
A shrug. He points, his finger in her face.
"Just this once. And he's paying for drinks."
(200)
"He didn't, um . . He didn't really like anyone. He didn't get along with people. I guess we had that in common."
Andrew takes a sip of his drink, something that Spike picked out, some type of alcohol. They're sitting on a couch together on what Andrew thinks may be a date; he's too nervous to ask. The place was Mr. Pryce's idea; it was somewhere that he took Ms. Burkle for their anniversary. He isn't quite sure whether it's technically a club or a restaurant. He isn't sure where he stands with his companion at this moment. He feels unsure of just about everything, except for two simple facts: a) he's hungry and b) Spike looks pretty great in red.
"Or, really, people don't like me. He just didn't . . . His ideas were different, you know? His goals were so much . . . higher . . ."
Meaning that Warren would use people to meet those goals.
He doesn't think that Spike understands what he means-and he's right. He doesn't elaborate though. Warren's a mood killer as it is, but he doesn't want to share. Not just yet. It can be kept as the simple, awkward ex talk for now.
"So, what about you?"