Wesley Wyndam-Pryce

the emotional maturity of a blueberry scone

conv: pretty serious
Wesley Wyndam-Pryce wesleynotponcy
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Angel's Offices | Los Angeles, CA | Monday Afternoon Fandom Time
As it turned out, the word that had been so difficult to translate turned out to be translatable after all. It wasn't, as Wesley had thought, Aegean, though the syntax had seemed to match up quite closely to the Eteocretan texts he had on file. Rather, it appeared to stem from the ancient Majars instead, making it proto-Hugaric. And it meant...


He'd gone over it again and again, even brought it up to a disturbingly unaffected Angel -- but it seemed unavoidable. Wesley crossed the office to take a seat across from Cordelia, nursing a cup of scalding hot tea. He took off his glasses to rub at his temples. "Every source says it's death."

"Well, it's just a prophecy," Cordelia dismissed. "It's not like it came from on high."

Wesley eyed her. "That's what a prophecy is, Cordelia."

She blinked. "Oh, right." Wesley huffed at her, and she segued, "Yeah, but Angel faces death all the time. Just like a normal guy faces... waffles and french fries. It's something he faces every day. Like... lunch. Are you hungry?"

She got up to rummage through the cabinets, while Wesley stayed seated at the table. "The fact that his death is prophesied," he said, "which isn't good news, doesn't concern me nearly as much as the way he took that news."

Cordelia returned with a doughnut and a napkin, looking content. "What? He didn't scream like a girl like some of us would've?" Wesley glared at her for that remark as she flopped back down in her chair and summarized, "Angel's cool."

"Angel's cut off," Wesley corrected her. "Death doesn't bother him because there's nothing in life he wants! It's our desires that make us human."

Cordelia frowned at her doughnut. Evidently the glazed had been a poor choice. "Angel's... kinda human," she pointed out. "He's got a soul."

"He's got a soul," Wesley agreed, "but he's not a part of the world." Then it hit him, and he realized, "He can never be a part of the world."

And after a year and a half of having people to whom he felt connected, not to mention an entire childhood of overconfidence in his own importance, Wesley couldn't even imagine what that had to be like.

"Because he doesn't want stuff?" Cordy scoffed as she selected a second doughnut from the box. "That's ridiculous."

To prove his own point, Wesley reached out and snatched the doughnut out of her hand. "Hey!" Cordelia exclaimed. "I want that."

Wesley put on his Watcher voice. "What connects us to life?" he quizzed her.

"Right now? I'm going with doughnuts!"

Wes gave her a stern look. "What connects us to life," he said, speaking from experience here, "is the simple truth that we are part of it. We grow, we change. But Angel..."

"...can't do any of those things," Cordelia finished, looking for the first time like she might understand. Then she tried shrugging it off. "But are you saying that Angel has nothing to look forward to? That he going to go on forever, in the world, but... always cut off from it?"

By the end of that, she didn't seem to be shrugging it off anymore.

[[nfi, nfb. totes taken from angel 1x22, "to shanshu in la."]]


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