"Hmm. Yes. That does narrow the possibilities, doesn't it? Of course, it would be nice to have some less vague account of what you've been doing on company time." I say this simply to unsettle him. Although he hardly needs the help unsettling. The little show I've just watched him put on with his wrist watch is proof enough of that alone.
There's just something about the man that is fascinating unsettled. It could be the misery emanating from him like gloom from a dark cloud. Or the little glint in his eye when he glares, like he's glaring at me right now.
Or the haughty way he carries himself. As if I couldn't snap him in two if I had the inclination.
And the Senior Partners' approval, of course.
I can't say the mixed signals don't have anything to do with it. 'Marcus' he calls me. And not in the snide tone Angel always uses when he informalizes my name.
"You know, there are other methods of obtaining the tea you seem to be fixated upon. Such as stepping out of the office and getting some for yourself. Though perhaps it's been some time since you've ventured out on your own. I can accompany you. If the thought of 'changing the scenery' alone is overwhelming."
There are certainly worse ways to wile away the time. And something tells me that this could be one worth my attention.
"Research," I say, giving him an incredulous stare. Hasn't he been listening? I just told him so! Christ, that's what's wrong with this firm. People aren't listening, least of all ti me it seems. When I said everyone should work on the F-Fred's case, they didn't listen either. But...I took care of that.
Sighing, I push myself away from the desk and put my hands on my hips. Staring at the floor, I frown as I look at the books thrown about here and there. Good lord, what a mess, it's a small wonder I can find anything in here. I really must speak to Angel about that and see if I can find out who keeps making this mess.
"If you must know, Marcus," I start, lifting up my head to look at him. Bouncing a bit on the balls of my feet, I tilt my head as I look at him. "I've been researching Illryia." Or rather, a way to get rid of her and get Fred back. But...I've not been getting far. The books are convinced there is no way to do so. Lairs. There *has* to be a way.
I frown when he mentions my tea again. Why on earth does he keep doing that? Does the man have a tea fixation? If I didn't know better, I'd say he was British. Then again, I *don't* know better, do I?
"Are you English?" I ask, and then look startled as he mentions going out there. Nervously, I stare at the door, shifting a little on my feet. Go out? There? Through my door? I'm not sure about that. Not at all. That would mean... Moving on again. I don't want to move on.
"Oh suck it up, boy. You're such a disappointment to everyone."
Bringing up my hand, I glare at the ghost of my father as I bite the nail of my thumb. Or what's left of it anyway. I'm not disappointing anyone dammit. If that were the case, Angel would be here berating myself right? And-and Spike loves to point out things like that.
"I'm not a child," I say, lifting up my chin. "I do not require for you to hold my hand while I venture out of my office." Right. And that's why you're still in here, aren't you? Hiding away again, diving into research. Not like you've never done that before, is it?
I'm beginning to think he's only going to parrot my question about his "research" back at me. Then he bounces around a bit and mentions Illyria.
"Ah, yes. The Old One. The Senior Partners will be pleased to know you've been looking into that disaster. They've no desire to see It become an issue again." As I understand, things did not fare well for the Senior Partners the last time Illyria spent any amount of time in one dimension.
I watch Pryce fidget and stare at his door as if it's going to bite him, at my suggestion that he step out. I find myself stepping closer to him, arms crossing over my chest. From this vantage, I can see his chest rise and fall with each nervous breath more clearly.
"English?" I repeat as he questions my nationality. As if I have one. I raise a brow. For all the things that Eve "neglected" to tell the Senior Partners...she must have been just as closed-lipped with Angel and his crew.
Well. With his crew, in any case.
"No. My...origins aren't quite so nouveau." Which is one way, I suppose, of saying that I was created from a mystical powersource more ancient than the humans of this dimension themselves.
Pryce tilts his chin, which - alone - causes me to smile. Then he defends his maturity.
'I'm not a child.' Hmm. Spoken like a true mortal.
"I don't recall putting hand-holding on the table." I lean forward slightly. "Of course, I am always open to negotiation."
Nouveau? What kind of way is that to refer to ones origins? And beside that, 'origins' sounds a tad clinical. Who is this fellow? Where to those bloody Senior Partners find them? He's not as annoying as Eve, I'll grand him that. But he's getting very close with those odd answers.
And why is he smiling like that? Rather unsettling.
"Putting hand-holding on the tab-.. It's a figure of speech." You daft creature. His 'origins' certainly aren't very 'nouveau', if he doesn't even know that. Unless he's mocking me. I don't like being mocked. And now look who's flirting.
"You're a strange fellow," I say quite seriously, tiling my head and narrowing my eyes at him. Which is the point when his words from before sink in.
They don't wish for Illyria to become an issue *again*? Interesting. That would mean they've dealt with her before. He might know more. There's a bit of hope fluttering up in my chest. It tightens almost to the point that I can't breath for a few seconds as my hope flares up.
"Again?" I say quietly. "Did you say they've dealt with her before?"
Oh, yes - fascinating is the word. He gets flustered at the very mention of physical contact. Interesting, as he was the one running a hand over my chest, earlier - in an exploration of the fabric he'd ruined with his pen.
His head tilts and his eyes narrow suspiciously - a good look for him. Not that men tossing books around in their office, in their bare feet, should be calling anyone else strange.
An even better look comes over him when something I said about the Old One catches his notice. His eyes take on a peculiar light I haven't seen before. He looks almost...hopeful.
"Yes. The Senior Partners go way back with Illyria. They were less than thrilled when she made her somewhat grand appearance." I run a hand down my tie to straighten it, careful not to shift it into one of the ink stains on my shirtfront. Even if Pryce has put down roots in this office, I am going to have to venture out again soon. Work does go on, and all of that. And I can hardly represent the Senior Partners - or even Angel, for that matter, for all the bungling he does representing himself - looking like someone's tried painting a dot-to-dot on my chest. Speaking of which-
"And I'm sensing you're less than thrilled with the thought of walking out that door. All figures of speech aside."
Leaning a bit forward, I tilt my head to the side as though that would make it easier for me to hear him. Ignoring everything else he does, I only focus on his voice. My mind already racing to match his words with books. There have to be books. Books are my life. There have to be books about this. About what he's telling me.
"That's all?" I say, after he said they were less then thrilled by her..it...his,appearence. They've not even made that much clear. But that cannot be all he has to say about her. He has to know some weakpoint! He *has* to know for some way to rid of her.
Narrowing my eyes, I give him a dangerous look. "That can't be all you have," I say in a low voice, inching toward the door. "There has to be more. The way you said it, the way that look came into your eyes. You *must* have more to tell about her. Something I can use." I yank the door open, my eye quickly darting through the less then crowded halls.
She's not here. Good. Very good. He should be able to tell me how to get Fred back then.
"Pardon?" Blinking, I turned around when he spoke. And once again it wasn't about Illyria. Which is rather annoying. I stared back at the door, pulling my hand away from the doorknob as though it were on fire.
"No, I'm not," I say a little to fast, taking a step away from the door. Out there lies destruction, and death, and betrayal and...life that just goes on when it shouldn't.
I'm somewhat impressed by the reaction Pryce has to my mention of the Senior Partners' dislike of Illyria.
While he's hardly become the model of sanity and reason, as we've talked the voices he seemed to be speaking to - arguing with - when I first arrived have made fewer interruptions into our conversation.
An expression of resolution crosses his face as he demands more information on the subject, though I wonder if he's aware of me now at all. He stomps across the room and pulls the office door open, scanning the hallway outside.
Then, when I address his fear of going out, he snaps out of whatever daze had overtaken him. He pulls his hand away from his doorknob as if the metal was suddenly burning hot. Not an impossibility, in this building, but highly doubtful, as the floors have not - likewise - gained a hightened surface temperature.
Pryce immediately offers up a denial - much too immediately to be believable. He steps back from the door, staring at it as if waiting for it to mutate horribly in front of him. I cross over to him, wondering what he sees when he looks at a thing that way. It's almost a pity we cant have the Psy department do a workup on him. They just love getting their hands on the ones they don't have to break themselves. And if they weren't much better at breaking people than putting them back together...
'That can't be all you have,' Pryce had said. I wonder how much further he would fracture if I actually gave him what he wanted. He really has no idea of the things I could tell him.
I keep the turn of our talk where I prefer it, instead. On Pryce's reason for having fixed upon this office as being his sanctuary. The terror of leaving it is perhaps the one concept distracting enough to take the man's mind off his connection to the Old One.
"So you've said," I say. "You'd be much more convincing if you weren't backing away from your door right now as though it's going to bite you."
The fellow is doing rather a lot of thinking. Intriguing. Reminds me of a certain someone in that aspect. He doesn't appear to be the kind that would brood a lot. If ever even. And he seems to smile a lot too. Overly confident smile. Which is both annoying and very beautiful to see. Confusing. I'm not going to think about it.
And what's even more annoying, if not infuriating, is that he's still not yielding any information about Illyria. Bastard. Barges into my office, refuses to get me tea, flirts with me and then refuses to even give me a inch. Rotten arsehole. I don't even know him, but I really don't like this course of action.
I wonder is Angel know what he knows about Illyria and that I know that he knows and am wondering if Angel knows.
Uh...
"You're changing the subject," I point out, jabbing an accusing finger at him. "I'm not crazy you know. Nor am I stupid. I do realize it when you're changing the subject. Or avoiding it in this case. I'm not pleased with that at all."
Crossing my arms over my chest I huffed and then blinked when he mentioned the door. The door again. What about the bloody door? Narrowing my eyes, I glared at him again before turning to scowl at the door. "I'm not afraid of inanimate objects," I muttered.
Taking a deep breath, I took a step closer to the door. My hand hovered over the doorknob for a few moments before I resolutely grabbed on, yanked the door open and stepped out.
Which was the point panic set in as I stood out side my office. I couldn't seem to breath and a feeling of cold-hot-cold surged through my body. The worse part however was that I couldn't wasn't able to move. Not forward and not backward. Trapped. Trapped in the here and now.
I could have pegged him as the type to jump into the fire, just to spite the frying pan.
But I either underestimated this aspect of his character, or overestimated the fear I'd seen in his eyes as he'd considered stepping out of the office before.
Pryce hesitates in front of his door a moment, and just when I think he's going to turn back...he pulls the door open once again, and takes a step out.
Then freezes.
He absolutely freezes. Some of the employees passing by through the hallway cast curious glances in our direction, and I realize that this could easily develop into a very...unfortunate situation. There is already a wariness in the eyes that land on Pryce then quickly dart away. Common knowledge of Pryce's cheery disposition, and literally hair-trigger temper, makes any erratic behavior on his part potentially provocative with witnesses present.
I step up to Pryce's side and wrap a steadying hand around his arm. He looks ready to sway on his feet.
"Just breathe," I tell him, my voice neutral and pitched so that only he can hear it.
The only thing I seem to be able to do is stare at the people as they rush by. I'm sure some of them are staring back, but I don't really care. I wanted to move. I wanted to be back in my safe office. And just when an office within Evil Inc itself became my bloody safe haven, I've no idea. All I know is that I want to get back in there.
My eyes are darting around frantically as I try to force my body to move. There are no familiar faces. No Angel. No Gunn. No Lorne. No Spike. No...Fred. I'll never see Fred's face again. Not her real face. Not the soft smile, the little giggles, the stern look, the sheepish one. Never. Again.
And I can't move. Can't seem to breathe either it would seem
My lungs are burning as I struggle to breathe, and everything looks as though it’s far away. As though I'm walking in a dream. The sounds are blurry and unclear. My vision is swimming and unfocused. But when there's suddenly a hand wrapped around my arm, I look up alarmed.
Frowning, I blink at the fellow. Hamilton. Marcus. Right. I can only nod dumbly as I shift my gaze toward the floor and try to even my breathing. Where is Angel? Why isn't he here? Why doesn't he come see me?
"I'm fine," I manage to mutter, wanting to shake off that hand angrily. But I've not the energy, and for some reason, I still can't move. "I'm fine...I-I just...just..." What? Need time? Meant to stand here like an idiot? "I'll just go and fetch some tea."
Pressing my lips into a thin line, I push away any and all fear. Just put one foot in front of the other, Pryce. It's not that hard. Just put one foot in front of the other. That's all it takes.
The look of blind determination on his face doesn't seem quite as blind. Pryce has a destination. Or, in any case, a purpose - if tea-fetching can be called that.
I can feel the muscles beneath my hand tensing, and am surprised Pryce hasn't pulled away from me already. Not that, as a minute passes, he seems entirely capable of doing so. His eyes are on the floor, on his feet, as if willing them to move. Or the floor to move for him.
I loosen my grip on his arm, but don't remove it. I imagine we make quite the sight. It wouldn't do for Angel or one of his people to wander upon our two-man procession and think I'd 'manhandled' - as Pryce likes to say - him out of his office.
Manipulated is a better word. Or perhaps goaded. Much more satisfying, and ultimately less messy, than using physical force to achieve an objective.
Of course, getting Pryce out of the dark little room he's been withering away in is less an objective than an experiment.
I move my hand from his bicep down to his elbow, to appear more as though I'm guiding him, and less as though I'm leading him away.
"And do you know where you'll go to do that?" I lean down slightly and say in his ear, softly. We do still have an audience, after all.
Considering the fact that the man had expected me to be delivering his tea, when I first arrived at his door, I'm not convinced he does.
The moment his leans in, his breath tickling my ear makes me close my eyes and shiver. But the moment his hand moves and that voice is in my ear, something inside me snap.
My head wipes around so fast I'm surprised I don't have a whiplash. The glare I aim at him is so dark and, alright, slightly crazy perhaps. I don't really notice that I'm glaring at him until my face starts to hurt in the way it indicates to me that I'm actually giving the man a death glare.
I don't say anything as I narrow my eyes and slowly remove is hand from around my arm. Perhaps the squeeze I give his wrist is a little hard, but the way he looks, those muscles jumping under my hand, I doubt he'll actually feel it. Still, it gives me a small amount of satisfaction.
Slowly I take a step away from him, pointing an accusing finger at his chest. How dare he? How dare he talk to me as though I'm a small child? How dare he talk to me as though I was some instable lunatic? How-how.... Why am I still here?
My eyes go wide as I back away from him, holding my hands up protectively in front of myself. I need to get way here. I need.... I need to move. Can't go back to me office.
"Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide," I mutter, jabbing a finger at Hamilton. A laugh escapes, which may have been a little hysterical. Then I look around again, eyes darting from human to demon to vampire, as they seem to close into me.
Can't breathe!
Turning around as quick as I can, I run away from him. Frantically, I try to find a place to hide, but I've nowhere to go. Until I spot Angel's office. Harmony calls out something, but I ignore her as I run into the office, slamming the door shut behind me.
Catching my breath, I narrow my eyes, and take in the office. No one around. But Angel should be back soon. Right? Right. I'll just find a place to hide until then. Maybe-maybe under the desk. Or behind the sofa. Or-or in his penthouse.
"Who are you kidding woolyboy. He didn't even come to see you in your little insane asylum. Sorry...office."
And this...might be why Angel and his crew decided to leave Pryce to his withering.
He shivers nicely as I speak to him, then straightens suddenly and turns, removing my hand from his arm purposefully. He is giving me the death glare of all his death glares, I can tell, and there was possibly a bit more pressure on my wrist than there needed to be as he'd squeezed it to get me to release him.
Then he's pointing and backing away, and I frown.
"Mr. Wyndam-Prcye-"
He holds up his hands as if to ward me away, muttering and giggling, and looks at the other employees walking through the hall now as if they're out to get him.
A stern glance gets most of them to move along, but when I turn back to Pryce...he's no longer there. He's taking off in the direction of Angel's office. Running. Still shoeless, down the hallway.
"Mr. Wyndam-Pryce." He doesn't look back.
A noise to the right catches my attention. It seems that Pryce's secretary is returning to her desk. Her wide eyes travel from Pryce's receding back, to me, to the styrofoam cups of tea in the tray she's just set down on her desk.
Internally, I sigh. Then check my wrist watch. I calculate the time it will take me to change my inkstained shirt. I might as well make myself presentable before Angel comes looking for an explanation as to why his Head of Research just fled my side as though his life depended on it.
"Hmm. Yes. That does narrow the possibilities, doesn't it? Of course, it would be nice to have some less vague account of what you've been doing on company time." I say this simply to unsettle him. Although he hardly needs the help unsettling. The little show I've just watched him put on with his wrist watch is proof enough of that alone.
There's just something about the man that is fascinating unsettled. It could be the misery emanating from him like gloom from a dark cloud. Or the little glint in his eye when he glares, like he's glaring at me right now.
Or the haughty way he carries himself. As if I couldn't snap him in two if I had the inclination.
And the Senior Partners' approval, of course.
I can't say the mixed signals don't have anything to do with it. 'Marcus' he calls me. And not in the snide tone Angel always uses when he informalizes my name.
"You know, there are other methods of obtaining the tea you seem to be fixated upon. Such as stepping out of the office and getting some for yourself. Though perhaps it's been some time since you've ventured out on your own. I can accompany you. If the thought of 'changing the scenery' alone is overwhelming."
There are certainly worse ways to wile away the time. And something tells me that this could be one worth my attention.
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Sighing, I push myself away from the desk and put my hands on my hips. Staring at the floor, I frown as I look at the books thrown about here and there. Good lord, what a mess, it's a small wonder I can find anything in here. I really must speak to Angel about that and see if I can find out who keeps making this mess.
"If you must know, Marcus," I start, lifting up my head to look at him. Bouncing a bit on the balls of my feet, I tilt my head as I look at him. "I've been researching Illryia." Or rather, a way to get rid of her and get Fred back. But...I've not been getting far. The books are convinced there is no way to do so. Lairs. There *has* to be a way.
I frown when he mentions my tea again. Why on earth does he keep doing that? Does the man have a tea fixation? If I didn't know better, I'd say he was British. Then again, I *don't* know better, do I?
"Are you English?" I ask, and then look startled as he mentions going out there. Nervously, I stare at the door, shifting a little on my feet. Go out? There? Through my door? I'm not sure about that. Not at all. That would mean... Moving on again. I don't want to move on.
"Oh suck it up, boy. You're such a disappointment to everyone."
Bringing up my hand, I glare at the ghost of my father as I bite the nail of my thumb. Or what's left of it anyway. I'm not disappointing anyone dammit. If that were the case, Angel would be here berating myself right? And-and Spike loves to point out things like that.
"I'm not a child," I say, lifting up my chin. "I do not require for you to hold my hand while I venture out of my office." Right. And that's why you're still in here, aren't you? Hiding away again, diving into research. Not like you've never done that before, is it?
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"Ah, yes. The Old One. The Senior Partners will be pleased to know you've been looking into that disaster. They've no desire to see It become an issue again." As I understand, things did not fare well for the Senior Partners the last time Illyria spent any amount of time in one dimension.
I watch Pryce fidget and stare at his door as if it's going to bite him, at my suggestion that he step out. I find myself stepping closer to him, arms crossing over my chest. From this vantage, I can see his chest rise and fall with each nervous breath more clearly.
"English?" I repeat as he questions my nationality. As if I have one. I raise a brow. For all the things that Eve "neglected" to tell the Senior Partners...she must have been just as closed-lipped with Angel and his crew.
Well. With his crew, in any case.
"No. My...origins aren't quite so nouveau." Which is one way, I suppose, of saying that I was created from a mystical powersource more ancient than the humans of this dimension themselves.
Pryce tilts his chin, which - alone - causes me to smile. Then he defends his maturity.
'I'm not a child.' Hmm. Spoken like a true mortal.
"I don't recall putting hand-holding on the table." I lean forward slightly. "Of course, I am always open to negotiation."
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Nouveau? What kind of way is that to refer to ones origins? And beside that, 'origins' sounds a tad clinical. Who is this fellow? Where to those bloody Senior Partners find them? He's not as annoying as Eve, I'll grand him that. But he's getting very close with those odd answers.
And why is he smiling like that? Rather unsettling.
"Putting hand-holding on the tab-.. It's a figure of speech." You daft creature. His 'origins' certainly aren't very 'nouveau', if he doesn't even know that. Unless he's mocking me. I don't like being mocked. And now look who's flirting.
"You're a strange fellow," I say quite seriously, tiling my head and narrowing my eyes at him. Which is the point when his words from before sink in.
They don't wish for Illyria to become an issue *again*? Interesting. That would mean they've dealt with her before. He might know more. There's a bit of hope fluttering up in my chest. It tightens almost to the point that I can't breath for a few seconds as my hope flares up.
"Again?" I say quietly. "Did you say they've dealt with her before?"
Can he tell me more about her? God, I hope so.
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His head tilts and his eyes narrow suspiciously - a good look for him. Not that men tossing books around in their office, in their bare feet, should be calling anyone else strange.
An even better look comes over him when something I said about the Old One catches his notice. His eyes take on a peculiar light I haven't seen before. He looks almost...hopeful.
"Yes. The Senior Partners go way back with Illyria. They were less than thrilled when she made her somewhat grand appearance." I run a hand down my tie to straighten it, careful not to shift it into one of the ink stains on my shirtfront. Even if Pryce has put down roots in this office, I am going to have to venture out again soon. Work does go on, and all of that. And I can hardly represent the Senior Partners - or even Angel, for that matter, for all the bungling he does representing himself - looking like someone's tried painting a dot-to-dot on my chest. Speaking of which-
"And I'm sensing you're less than thrilled with the thought of walking out that door. All figures of speech aside."
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"That's all?" I say, after he said they were less then thrilled by her..it...his,appearence. They've not even made that much clear. But that cannot be all he has to say about her. He has to know some weakpoint! He *has* to know for some way to rid of her.
Narrowing my eyes, I give him a dangerous look. "That can't be all you have," I say in a low voice, inching toward the door. "There has to be more. The way you said it, the way that look came into your eyes. You *must* have more to tell about her. Something I can use." I yank the door open, my eye quickly darting through the less then crowded halls.
She's not here. Good. Very good. He should be able to tell me how to get Fred back then.
"Pardon?" Blinking, I turned around when he spoke. And once again it wasn't about Illyria. Which is rather annoying. I stared back at the door, pulling my hand away from the doorknob as though it were on fire.
"No, I'm not," I say a little to fast, taking a step away from the door. Out there lies destruction, and death, and betrayal and...life that just goes on when it shouldn't.
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While he's hardly become the model of sanity and reason, as we've talked the voices he seemed to be speaking to - arguing with - when I first arrived have made fewer interruptions into our conversation.
An expression of resolution crosses his face as he demands more information on the subject, though I wonder if he's aware of me now at all. He stomps across the room and pulls the office door open, scanning the hallway outside.
Then, when I address his fear of going out, he snaps out of whatever daze had overtaken him. He pulls his hand away from his doorknob as if the metal was suddenly burning hot. Not an impossibility, in this building, but highly doubtful, as the floors have not - likewise - gained a hightened surface temperature.
Pryce immediately offers up a denial - much too immediately to be believable. He steps back from the door, staring at it as if waiting for it to mutate horribly in front of him. I cross over to him, wondering what he sees when he looks at a thing that way. It's almost a pity we cant have the Psy department do a workup on him. They just love getting their hands on the ones they don't have to break themselves. And if they weren't much better at breaking people than putting them back together...
'That can't be all you have,' Pryce had said. I wonder how much further he would fracture if I actually gave him what he wanted. He really has no idea of the things I could tell him.
I keep the turn of our talk where I prefer it, instead. On Pryce's reason for having fixed upon this office as being his sanctuary. The terror of leaving it is perhaps the one concept distracting enough to take the man's mind off his connection to the Old One.
"So you've said," I say. "You'd be much more convincing if you weren't backing away from your door right now as though it's going to bite you."
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And what's even more annoying, if not infuriating, is that he's still not yielding any information about Illyria. Bastard. Barges into my office, refuses to get me tea, flirts with me and then refuses to even give me a inch. Rotten arsehole. I don't even know him, but I really don't like this course of action.
I wonder is Angel know what he knows about Illyria and that I know that he knows and am wondering if Angel knows.
Uh...
"You're changing the subject," I point out, jabbing an accusing finger at him. "I'm not crazy you know. Nor am I stupid. I do realize it when you're changing the subject. Or avoiding it in this case. I'm not pleased with that at all."
Crossing my arms over my chest I huffed and then blinked when he mentioned the door. The door again. What about the bloody door? Narrowing my eyes, I glared at him again before turning to scowl at the door. "I'm not afraid of inanimate objects," I muttered.
Taking a deep breath, I took a step closer to the door. My hand hovered over the doorknob for a few moments before I resolutely grabbed on, yanked the door open and stepped out.
Which was the point panic set in as I stood out side my office. I couldn't seem to breath and a feeling of cold-hot-cold surged through my body. The worse part however was that I couldn't wasn't able to move. Not forward and not backward. Trapped. Trapped in the here and now.
A place I really did not want to be.
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But I either underestimated this aspect of his character, or overestimated the fear I'd seen in his eyes as he'd considered stepping out of the office before.
Pryce hesitates in front of his door a moment, and just when I think he's going to turn back...he pulls the door open once again, and takes a step out.
Then freezes.
He absolutely freezes. Some of the employees passing by through the hallway cast curious glances in our direction, and I realize that this could easily develop into a very...unfortunate situation. There is already a wariness in the eyes that land on Pryce then quickly dart away. Common knowledge of Pryce's cheery disposition, and literally hair-trigger temper, makes any erratic behavior on his part potentially provocative with witnesses present.
I step up to Pryce's side and wrap a steadying hand around his arm. He looks ready to sway on his feet.
"Just breathe," I tell him, my voice neutral and pitched so that only he can hear it.
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My eyes are darting around frantically as I try to force my body to move. There are no familiar faces. No Angel. No Gunn. No Lorne. No Spike. No...Fred. I'll never see Fred's face again. Not her real face. Not the soft smile, the little giggles, the stern look, the sheepish one. Never. Again.
And I can't move. Can't seem to breathe either it would seem
My lungs are burning as I struggle to breathe, and everything looks as though it’s far away. As though I'm walking in a dream. The sounds are blurry and unclear. My vision is swimming and unfocused. But when there's suddenly a hand wrapped around my arm, I look up alarmed.
Frowning, I blink at the fellow. Hamilton. Marcus. Right. I can only nod dumbly as I shift my gaze toward the floor and try to even my breathing. Where is Angel? Why isn't he here? Why doesn't he come see me?
"I'm fine," I manage to mutter, wanting to shake off that hand angrily. But I've not the energy, and for some reason, I still can't move. "I'm fine...I-I just...just..." What? Need time? Meant to stand here like an idiot? "I'll just go and fetch some tea."
Pressing my lips into a thin line, I push away any and all fear. Just put one foot in front of the other, Pryce. It's not that hard. Just put one foot in front of the other. That's all it takes.
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I can feel the muscles beneath my hand tensing, and am surprised Pryce hasn't pulled away from me already. Not that, as a minute passes, he seems entirely capable of doing so. His eyes are on the floor, on his feet, as if willing them to move. Or the floor to move for him.
I loosen my grip on his arm, but don't remove it. I imagine we make quite the sight. It wouldn't do for Angel or one of his people to wander upon our two-man procession and think I'd 'manhandled' - as Pryce likes to say - him out of his office.
Manipulated is a better word. Or perhaps goaded. Much more satisfying, and ultimately less messy, than using physical force to achieve an objective.
Of course, getting Pryce out of the dark little room he's been withering away in is less an objective than an experiment.
I move my hand from his bicep down to his elbow, to appear more as though I'm guiding him, and less as though I'm leading him away.
"And do you know where you'll go to do that?" I lean down slightly and say in his ear, softly. We do still have an audience, after all.
Considering the fact that the man had expected me to be delivering his tea, when I first arrived at his door, I'm not convinced he does.
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My head wipes around so fast I'm surprised I don't have a whiplash. The glare I aim at him is so dark and, alright, slightly crazy perhaps. I don't really notice that I'm glaring at him until my face starts to hurt in the way it indicates to me that I'm actually giving the man a death glare.
I don't say anything as I narrow my eyes and slowly remove is hand from around my arm. Perhaps the squeeze I give his wrist is a little hard, but the way he looks, those muscles jumping under my hand, I doubt he'll actually feel it. Still, it gives me a small amount of satisfaction.
Slowly I take a step away from him, pointing an accusing finger at his chest. How dare he? How dare he talk to me as though I'm a small child? How dare he talk to me as though I was some instable lunatic? How-how.... Why am I still here?
My eyes go wide as I back away from him, holding my hands up protectively in front of myself. I need to get way here. I need.... I need to move. Can't go back to me office.
"Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide," I mutter, jabbing a finger at Hamilton. A laugh escapes, which may have been a little hysterical. Then I look around again, eyes darting from human to demon to vampire, as they seem to close into me.
Can't breathe!
Turning around as quick as I can, I run away from him. Frantically, I try to find a place to hide, but I've nowhere to go. Until I spot Angel's office. Harmony calls out something, but I ignore her as I run into the office, slamming the door shut behind me.
Catching my breath, I narrow my eyes, and take in the office. No one around. But Angel should be back soon. Right? Right. I'll just find a place to hide until then. Maybe-maybe under the desk. Or behind the sofa. Or-or in his penthouse.
"Who are you kidding woolyboy. He didn't even come to see you in your little insane asylum. Sorry...office."
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He shivers nicely as I speak to him, then straightens suddenly and turns, removing my hand from his arm purposefully. He is giving me the death glare of all his death glares, I can tell, and there was possibly a bit more pressure on my wrist than there needed to be as he'd squeezed it to get me to release him.
Then he's pointing and backing away, and I frown.
"Mr. Wyndam-Prcye-"
He holds up his hands as if to ward me away, muttering and giggling, and looks at the other employees walking through the hall now as if they're out to get him.
A stern glance gets most of them to move along, but when I turn back to Pryce...he's no longer there. He's taking off in the direction of Angel's office. Running. Still shoeless, down the hallway.
"Mr. Wyndam-Pryce." He doesn't look back.
A noise to the right catches my attention. It seems that Pryce's secretary is returning to her desk. Her wide eyes travel from Pryce's receding back, to me, to the styrofoam cups of tea in the tray she's just set down on her desk.
Internally, I sigh. Then check my wrist watch. I calculate the time it will take me to change my inkstained shirt. I might as well make myself presentable before Angel comes looking for an explanation as to why his Head of Research just fled my side as though his life depended on it.
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