cityofthree: Taken In...and Taking Over
Wesley threw his jacket down as he walked into his flat and looked around for a moment. He wouldn't be here much longer, and he couldn't say that he was going to miss this place. It had been his veritable prison, his unwilling exile, after he had nearly been killed by Justine and the others had turned their backs on him.
Now, after tonight, he'd never have to see it again. He was on to bigger and better things.
Things that of course would probably drive his dear old father to a heart attack. He had always said he was no good, that he'd never amount to anything, be able to do anything. Oh, if he could only see what he had done.
He and Lilah Morgan had done what no one had thought was possible. With his knowledge and her inside connections, they had managed to invade the inner sanctum of Wolfram and Hart, and together, they had magically locked the Senior Partners up, effectively making them prisoners in their own White Room, unable to break free. Now, Wolfram and Hart was theirs to control - they just had to make sure that those still loyal to the partners realized that...and what the penalty would be for challenging them.
Angel would probably...brood even more than usual if he were to learn that he had done what he himself had been trying to do for the last couple of years. Perhaps he should drop him a line and let him know.
Or perhaps he should just wait and let him find out on his own. After all, it was because of him that he had gone this direction at all - his righteous need for vengeance that had pushed Wesley toward the darkness that accepted him more readily and willingly than those in the "light" ever did. Especially Lilah.
Oh, Lilah. The others really had no clue what she was capable of. Even Wesley knew he had only seen a fraction, both in bed and during their confrontation in the White Room. There was so much more for both of them in store.
Soreness that had been masked by magic and adrenaline was starting to make itself felt. Heading into the bathroom, he looked in the mirror and grimaced - his face was cover in soot and blood, and he was sure there were going to be bruises on his body tomorrow. Stripping off his clothes, he stepped into the shower and washed himself and his hair, the vestiges of their fight swirling down the drain.
Wash away the old, ready for the new.
Now, after tonight, he'd never have to see it again. He was on to bigger and better things.
Things that of course would probably drive his dear old father to a heart attack. He had always said he was no good, that he'd never amount to anything, be able to do anything. Oh, if he could only see what he had done.
He and Lilah Morgan had done what no one had thought was possible. With his knowledge and her inside connections, they had managed to invade the inner sanctum of Wolfram and Hart, and together, they had magically locked the Senior Partners up, effectively making them prisoners in their own White Room, unable to break free. Now, Wolfram and Hart was theirs to control - they just had to make sure that those still loyal to the partners realized that...and what the penalty would be for challenging them.
Angel would probably...brood even more than usual if he were to learn that he had done what he himself had been trying to do for the last couple of years. Perhaps he should drop him a line and let him know.
Or perhaps he should just wait and let him find out on his own. After all, it was because of him that he had gone this direction at all - his righteous need for vengeance that had pushed Wesley toward the darkness that accepted him more readily and willingly than those in the "light" ever did. Especially Lilah.
Oh, Lilah. The others really had no clue what she was capable of. Even Wesley knew he had only seen a fraction, both in bed and during their confrontation in the White Room. There was so much more for both of them in store.
Soreness that had been masked by magic and adrenaline was starting to make itself felt. Heading into the bathroom, he looked in the mirror and grimaced - his face was cover in soot and blood, and he was sure there were going to be bruises on his body tomorrow. Stripping off his clothes, he stepped into the shower and washed himself and his hair, the vestiges of their fight swirling down the drain.
Wash away the old, ready for the new.