errand
"I don't think I've ever seen this side of you," Wesley said as Angel contemplated the selection of necklaces. His voice was mild but Angel has no trouble hearing the amusement beneath the subtle surface.
"It's not a side," he said tersely. "I'm not a cut of beef." Wes cleared his throat, but Angel ignored him. "I'm just...shopping. I shop."
"Yes." A smooth pause. "Of course."
"I buy clothes, I buy weapons, books, CDs." Angel felt himself getting defensive. "I have an account at Amazon." He turned away from the jewelry case and gave Wes a glare, pulled a little hand gesture at his own outfit. "You think the Armani fairy just comes and leaves these outside my door?"
"No, Angel." Dulcet British voice, a steady gaze that was a bit too bright with what might be suppressed laughter.
Irritably, he turned away, pointed for the benefit of the salesgirl. "That one." She removed the gold chain and held it up for him, draped over her white soft hands; not bothering to examine it more closely, he handed over his credit card, which was not exactly legal, but he paid the bills and AmEx seemed happy with his business.
"That thing he's wearing now is tacky," Angel explained to Wes. Wes said nothing, his face settling into lines that looked suspiciously like indulgence and approval. "I can't stand to look at it." He was starting to sound like a tough guy; he couldn't seem to stop talking.
"Well," Wes said seriously. "I guess he'd better be prepared to make some changes then, if he knows what's good for him."
They stared at each other, both perfectly expressionless. After a moment, when no obvious means of saving face occurred to Angel, he turned away with a set jaw to sign his receipt. He pretended not to see his friend's smile.
"It's not a side," he said tersely. "I'm not a cut of beef." Wes cleared his throat, but Angel ignored him. "I'm just...shopping. I shop."
"Yes." A smooth pause. "Of course."
"I buy clothes, I buy weapons, books, CDs." Angel felt himself getting defensive. "I have an account at Amazon." He turned away from the jewelry case and gave Wes a glare, pulled a little hand gesture at his own outfit. "You think the Armani fairy just comes and leaves these outside my door?"
"No, Angel." Dulcet British voice, a steady gaze that was a bit too bright with what might be suppressed laughter.
Irritably, he turned away, pointed for the benefit of the salesgirl. "That one." She removed the gold chain and held it up for him, draped over her white soft hands; not bothering to examine it more closely, he handed over his credit card, which was not exactly legal, but he paid the bills and AmEx seemed happy with his business.
"That thing he's wearing now is tacky," Angel explained to Wes. Wes said nothing, his face settling into lines that looked suspiciously like indulgence and approval. "I can't stand to look at it." He was starting to sound like a tough guy; he couldn't seem to stop talking.
"Well," Wes said seriously. "I guess he'd better be prepared to make some changes then, if he knows what's good for him."
They stared at each other, both perfectly expressionless. After a moment, when no obvious means of saving face occurred to Angel, he turned away with a set jaw to sign his receipt. He pretended not to see his friend's smile.