city_of_angel
I was falling... Soon I was going to hit the ground, and it was going to hur-
I felt myself jump, instinctively trying to avoid the whole falling thing, I guess. But instead of landing on the ground, I felt myself land on hard floor. My legs were tangled around one of those five hundred dollar leather spinny chairs. Ow. Where was I? I held myself up with one hand while putting the other to my head, which really hurt. Nothing new there. I tried to open my eyes, but one of them felt a little swollen and the other was assaulted by the too bright lighting, so I shut them again, clutching my head a little tighter. What had happened? Everything was so fuzzy... I was at the Hyperion, alone- was I still there? No, I've cleaned the floors enough to know that they don't feel quite so waxy. What'd happened? Why was I alone, anyway? Not that I can't handle myself, but why- Angel went out to get us all tacos? No, that was the other day, before he-
Before he was a big fat undead jerk! It hit me like a ton of bricks, probably the same ton of bricks that had hit me in the face earlier. Again, ow. Spike and Drusilla Junior came to the hotel after I had that knockout vision... they must have brought me here. Great. Just what I need to cap off the day. Vampires with bad hair taking me to mysterious places, which brings me to the question: where was here? And what did they want from me? Usually people were going after Angel, or- I'm just the messenger. What in the name of Louis Vuitton? All this thinking was making my head hurt even more, and it was still all so fuzzy. I just wanted to take a nap. I probably was out for a while, but both times I've gotten rest in the past two days have been me being knocked unconscious. Which is just somehow not the same as getting actual sleep. Who'd've thunk it? But everything's black and it feels like only a second's passed. There's no dreams, except I think I remember feeling like I was on the Tilt A Whirl, so maybe there are some and I just can't remember them. I must look like a wreck. It's really bad for the skin, not getting any sleep. Maybe this place will have some foundation? Maybe they took me to Nars makeup counter out of pity for the physical stress that I endure on the job? I remember him saying something about Wizards before I conked out. There are some pretty powerful makeup Wizards, you never know. I mean, Cameron Diaz without her makeup...
Pfft. There's no hope for me. I bet I look like a refugee. A very well-dressed refugee, sure, but a refugee nonetheless. They probably were taking me to see some evil Wizard, like Bob Saget or the guy that made me deal with Dad and girly magazines/ Princess Buf- what was his name? Oh, Evan. God, my life sucks. He's probably going to turn me into a cantelope or something.
Maybe that would be good, being a cantelope. I wouldn't have to do anything. Eventually I might end up in a fruit salad, but right now I just wanted to get some rest. And by this point even the floor was feeling comfortable. All that thinking about Wizards and tasty fruit was giving me a killer migraine.
No. No sleeping. Especially not on floors. Cordelia Chase doesn't sleep on a floor. Or she didn't used to, at least.
I shook my head. Back to the point, Cordy. Focus. Ignore the head pains and the fatigue. You're here. You need to find out where here is. Then you need to find out how to get out of here.
I cracked an eyelid. Ow. Bright lights. Squinting, I tried to see what was around me. Have these people never heard of romantic lighting? I guess they're not trying to romance me, they're trying to turn me into a fruit product, but geez. Finally my good eye adjusted and I sat up a little straighter, craning my neck to look at the room around me. Maybe I could just walk out.
I finally spotted the door, and next to it, two guards. No, of course I can't just walk out! That's not how my luck goes. Nothing's ever easy. I swear, if I survive this week, someone should give me a medal. Maybe even make it an Olympic sport, because I'm not sure that it's possible to have so many permanently scarring things happen to you in the course of two days and live normally afterwards. They could call it "Surviving the Crappiest Week in the World," or something. I'm not really in a position to be making up names. Speaking of positions, why am I still sitting on the floor? I should be getting up, trying to talk one of those security guards into letting me out of here. But my legs feel like jello, and I'm not sure how long I'll be able to stand without falling over. I'm going to need serious therapy if I get out of this.
Now, how the heck am I going to get out of this?
I felt myself jump, instinctively trying to avoid the whole falling thing, I guess. But instead of landing on the ground, I felt myself land on hard floor. My legs were tangled around one of those five hundred dollar leather spinny chairs. Ow. Where was I? I held myself up with one hand while putting the other to my head, which really hurt. Nothing new there. I tried to open my eyes, but one of them felt a little swollen and the other was assaulted by the too bright lighting, so I shut them again, clutching my head a little tighter. What had happened? Everything was so fuzzy... I was at the Hyperion, alone- was I still there? No, I've cleaned the floors enough to know that they don't feel quite so waxy. What'd happened? Why was I alone, anyway? Not that I can't handle myself, but why- Angel went out to get us all tacos? No, that was the other day, before he-
Before he was a big fat undead jerk! It hit me like a ton of bricks, probably the same ton of bricks that had hit me in the face earlier. Again, ow. Spike and Drusilla Junior came to the hotel after I had that knockout vision... they must have brought me here. Great. Just what I need to cap off the day. Vampires with bad hair taking me to mysterious places, which brings me to the question: where was here? And what did they want from me? Usually people were going after Angel, or- I'm just the messenger. What in the name of Louis Vuitton? All this thinking was making my head hurt even more, and it was still all so fuzzy. I just wanted to take a nap. I probably was out for a while, but both times I've gotten rest in the past two days have been me being knocked unconscious. Which is just somehow not the same as getting actual sleep. Who'd've thunk it? But everything's black and it feels like only a second's passed. There's no dreams, except I think I remember feeling like I was on the Tilt A Whirl, so maybe there are some and I just can't remember them. I must look like a wreck. It's really bad for the skin, not getting any sleep. Maybe this place will have some foundation? Maybe they took me to Nars makeup counter out of pity for the physical stress that I endure on the job? I remember him saying something about Wizards before I conked out. There are some pretty powerful makeup Wizards, you never know. I mean, Cameron Diaz without her makeup...
Pfft. There's no hope for me. I bet I look like a refugee. A very well-dressed refugee, sure, but a refugee nonetheless. They probably were taking me to see some evil Wizard, like Bob Saget or the guy that made me deal with Dad and girly magazines/ Princess Buf- what was his name? Oh, Evan. God, my life sucks. He's probably going to turn me into a cantelope or something.
Maybe that would be good, being a cantelope. I wouldn't have to do anything. Eventually I might end up in a fruit salad, but right now I just wanted to get some rest. And by this point even the floor was feeling comfortable. All that thinking about Wizards and tasty fruit was giving me a killer migraine.
No. No sleeping. Especially not on floors. Cordelia Chase doesn't sleep on a floor. Or she didn't used to, at least.
I shook my head. Back to the point, Cordy. Focus. Ignore the head pains and the fatigue. You're here. You need to find out where here is. Then you need to find out how to get out of here.
I cracked an eyelid. Ow. Bright lights. Squinting, I tried to see what was around me. Have these people never heard of romantic lighting? I guess they're not trying to romance me, they're trying to turn me into a fruit product, but geez. Finally my good eye adjusted and I sat up a little straighter, craning my neck to look at the room around me. Maybe I could just walk out.
I finally spotted the door, and next to it, two guards. No, of course I can't just walk out! That's not how my luck goes. Nothing's ever easy. I swear, if I survive this week, someone should give me a medal. Maybe even make it an Olympic sport, because I'm not sure that it's possible to have so many permanently scarring things happen to you in the course of two days and live normally afterwards. They could call it "Surviving the Crappiest Week in the World," or something. I'm not really in a position to be making up names. Speaking of positions, why am I still sitting on the floor? I should be getting up, trying to talk one of those security guards into letting me out of here. But my legs feel like jello, and I'm not sure how long I'll be able to stand without falling over. I'm going to need serious therapy if I get out of this.
Now, how the heck am I going to get out of this?