Wesley Wyndam-Pryce

Wesley couldn't quite clamp down on the small pained noises that rose instinctively in his throat as he made his way agonizingly slowly up the last set of stairs to the fifth floor. It just figured, didn't it, that his room would be on the top floor when he was in this condition. Well. At least it wasn't too far from the stairwell to his room.

He limped the few steps to his door and unlocked it. He knew that he would have to do inventory of the injuries later, but right now he was focused rather single-mindedly on making sure Katniss had enough food and then collapsing in bed. He rather hoped he'd find her sleeping -- he didn't much fancy the idea of her seeing him like this. It would just be another piece of evidence that he wasn't equipped to take care of someone.

[[For the mockingjay. Up early for probable eventual SP.]]

Wesley was still shaken by the time they returned to Angel's offices, and he was barely managing to keep from jittering as Angel wrapped up his phone call with Rupert Giles.

Faith was dangerous. She hated all of them -- perhaps Wesley most of all, though it felt arrogant to even suspect so. And he couldn't stop remembering the badly-written and difficult to track down conversation he'd had with her future counterpart over a year ago in which she'd seemed to imply that she would do something still worse than her offenses in Sunnydale later down the road. Sharing that with Cordelia and Angel seemed like more trouble than it was worth, but he, personally, was alarmed by it.

( Then Angel hung up the phone, interrupting Wesley's stream of thoughts. )

[[Once again, taken and adapted from Angel 1x18, "Five by Five." NFB, NFI, OOC is so welcome, post three of seven. Follows this and this.]]

There really was nothing quite so unpleasant as taking a phone call from his father, Wesley thought irritably. The book he'd been reading remained open on the desk in front of him, but knowing that he'd be called out on it if his father could hear pages rustling in the background, he didn't touch it.

The topic for the day was Parents' Weekend. While Wesley thought his position was fairly obvious -- that there was absolutely no need for his father to make an appearance, thank you very much -- it seemed that they needed to belabor the point.

"...and you see, Wesley, if it were any other weekend, I'm sure I could move things around, but I do have quite a bit of paperwork I need to get to, and I just can't justify taking the time away from my desk."

Of course.

"Yes, Father, I understand," Wesley said, hoping that would wrap up the discussion and knowing at the same time that he wouldn't be so lucky. "I -- "

"And really, I hardly see a reason to attend, particularly if doing so would just merit more insults from the caustic young women you call your friends," his father went on. "After all, it's not as though you've accomplished very much. Only three people ran for Student Council and you couldn't manage to get yourself elected president? Well. I think that speaks for itself, don't you?"

"Yes, Father."

Today sucked.

[[Door and post open.]]