There's some prey that doesn't allow itself to be hunted-- prey that thinks itself invincible instead, walks right into danger with its chin held high, convinced that no harm could come to it. That it's too strong, too smart, impossible to to outwit.

Angelus is that prey-- or the shadow of him is, a fraction of the real Angelus that dwells within Angel on the other side of the glass. He smiles to himself as he finds himself wandering into Gold's path, hands deep in his pockets as he rounds the corner from the next corridor, eyebrows lifting when he spots him and proceeding to give him a quick once-over, appraising him hungrily.

God, he loved when the Reals came over to this side. It was like calling out for delivery.

"Lose your way, Real Thing?" he asks, a patronizing lilt to his words.