Wesley's Apartment | Los Angeles, CA | Late May
The debacle with the Sharpes had left Angel Investigations in a bit of a slump. When more than a day passed without so much as a phone call from another prospective client, and Cordelia found herself decidedly lacking in visions, Wesley couldn't think of anything to do besides give the others the night off. He stayed in the office for another few hours himself, and then, once it sunk in that there wasn't actually any work to be done, took a cab back to his place.
And there he sat, darkly and only half-seriously considering the idea of summoning a demon or two just to have something to fight, until he heard a noise.
He knew better than to just dismiss noises like that. This apartment building he lived in was a fairly nice one, and noise complaints were commonplace enough that his neighbors didn't just go around smashing things and stomping around on the floor. So if he heard a noise that sounded as though it should be accompanied by ominous horror-movie music... it generally meant that there was something to worry about.
He had his gun on him within moments, though he had to spend another precious few seconds jamming some bloody shells into it, and why on earth hadn't he loaded it in advance, for the love of--
Bang.
That wasn't the same noise as before. In fact, that was a distinctly less ominous noise, especially as it was quickly accompanied by a familiar voice shouting "Wesley!"
Oh, Angel. Bloody perfect.
Wesley didn't have much choice, though -- whatever this was, he could use the help -- so he flung his door open and did his best to keep his calm. "Angel."
Angel... was not quite so calm. "Invite me in!" he shouted, looking past Wesley's shoulder at -- something, Wesley wasn't about to turn and look, but Angel looked alarmed enough that Wesley knew it couldn't be anything good. "I've never been here before, Wesley, you have to invite me in!"
"Well," Wesley sputtered, "perhaps if you'd shown a bit of interest!"
"Wesley..."
And then came another noise, this one the unmistakable crash of a window shattering and a demon -- possibly Skilosh? -- hissing in displeasure.
"Right, yes, I invite you in!" Wesley said hastily. "In I invite you!"
So Angel charged in, unstrapping an axe from his back in a single smooth motion as he leapt over Wesley's impractically expensive couch in the direction of the -- oh, bugger -- two Skiloshes that had just made their entrance.
"How do I kill them?" Angel shouted as he engaged the first of the pair, swinging the axe and presumably making little progress.
Wesley, meanwhile, took on the second one, having abandoned his gun for a smaller blade he'd been thoughtful enough to hang on a wall. "Well," he said in between hacks and slashes, "there are a number of ways--"
"Wesley!"
"Yes, right," Wesley panted, moving in for some closer-range combat with the Skilosh he'd taken on. "Hack it to pieces!"
Judging by the loud thumping sounds and subsequent groaning from the other side of the room, Wesley was willing to guess that Angel had managed it. Only moments later, he finished off the second Skilosh as well, spattering yellow pus all over the walls.
"I think I got it," he said weakly.
Then he squinted up at the ceiling, where the most irritating of his noise-phobic neighbors resided. "I can only pray Mrs. Starrs isn't at home."
Angel turned to look at him at that, and Wesley was about to offer Angel his customary post-battle endorphin-high smile... before abruptly realizing the exact status of their friendship. His smile faded quickly.
"What are you doing here?" he asked shortly, busying himself with avoiding eye contact finding a washcloth from a closet.
"Helping you," Angel said, wiping the sweat from his forehead. "We've got to find Cordy."
[[nfb/nfi, some mild violence under the cut]]