entrancelogs | [OPEN] Sometimes your friends bring out the best in you.

Entry tags:

[OPEN] Sometimes your friends bring out the best in you.

Who: Angel & you!
Where: Angel Investigations & the kitchen.
When: 4/19 (for Faith) & 4/26
Rating: R? Blood, severed hands and potential for violence.
Summary: Faith offers Angel a Slayer-flavored protein shake with potentially disastrous results.
The Story:

4/19, CLOSED to Faith

He's lost track of how many hours it's been since he asked Faith to lock him in, leaning heavily against the bars of the cage he'd made sure Wonderland's replica of the Angel Investigations office held for situations just like this. It had started to prick at him the night before, the hunger he knew would come when all his supplies were exhausted-- the Infected posed as much a threat to him as anyone else, but he was just as fast as they were, maybe faster, and it made getting bitten easy enough to avoidable. The spores weren't a concern for someone who didn't breed, but the lack of supplies and the fact that the closets were giving out less and less?

That was a problem. He'd thought that it might be, when the additional stock he'd grabbed for himself after the announcement had disappeared. There had been enough blood stored in the fridge in his office to last him through most events, provided Wonderland didn't take it away, but this one seemed to be longer than most, and he wasn't willing to risk what could happen if he decided to let himself roam free and just hope it ended sooner rather than later-- not when he was this hungry.

The request for Faith to lock him in and make sure he stayed there had come paired with a gas mask. Physically, she could handle more than her share of assailants just like he could, but he wasn't going to risk her getting infected by inhaling something she shouldn't on his account. He'd been grateful when she'd agreed, but that had been hours ago-- it felt like days, the way hunger was beginning to gnaw at him, and he irately pushes himself away from the bars of the cage so that he can pace along its length, hands clasped behind his back.

He'd planned for alternatives in the event that Wonderland came up with an event that kept him from being able to eat, but the current method was equal parts exhausting and maddening. He sighs, rubbing at the back of his neck as he paces.

"We should, I don't know, play charades or something. Poker?" No need to be dying of both hunger and boredom. "Maybe Uno."

4/26, OPEN

A full week after the event, and Angel was still feeling the effects of the favor Faith had done him. A part of him had hoped that they would have burned themselves out of his system by now, that they would have vanished without a trace and he would be able to go back to his usual routine, but that had been wishful thinking, almost painfully optimistic.

He knew better. He had been through this enough times to know that it wouldn't work that way-- it never did, whether because of a slip he'd made all of his own accord or because someone else had intended to sabotage him. However human blood got into his system, it didn't matter. The results were always the same, except he worried that this time might actually be worse. A Slayer's blood was a different story entirely, more potent.

It had been a difficult habit to kick the first time he'd tasted it, too.

He spends most of the morning in his office on the fourth floor, thumbing through research without really reading what's on the page in front of him, reorganizing the weapons cabinet twice before he decides it's all wrong and leaves it unfinished, unsatisfied with anything he puts his hands on, restless. For a short stretch, he only paces back and forth near the front desk, unable to focus himself on anything at all-- until he gives up and decides he needs a change of scene. There are only so many places he can go, at least during the day, but the insistent hunger that's been nagging at him for days now makes the decision easy enough. The replenished stock in his office hasn't been doing him any good, cold and unappealing, but he privately hopes that the kitchen will treat him a little bit better, that maybe something fresher will help to quell his appetite.

He's both uneasy and impatient as he waits for the microwave to finish, leaning against the counter with both hands, tapping his fingers unevenly against the surface. He only gets halfway through his first mug before he feels his own body reject it-- as if it's tired of him trying to force down pig's blood instead of human, and the reaction is almost entirely involuntary as he spits out what he hasn't managed to swallow and inadvertently throws the mug against the nearest wall, causing it to break and splatter blood across the tiling.

He grimaces. Well, crap.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Okay.

He's doing this.

It's just something to give himself something to do. Something to look forward to. He's been keeping his distance from Max since the Attempted-Stabbing Incident, which means he's had nothing to distract him from the fact that he almost stabbed a friend of his, and then survived the zombie apocalypse by killing a lot of dead things that would have killed him given the chance. And he needs to not think about how many of those dead things were once people. Ugh.

So he takes up Angel's offer. Office is open. He walks up to the door and knocks, and waits, and almost changes his mind and turns away before it can open. He fidgets on the spot uncertainly. It's goddamn awkward just walking in like this.

Dipper is hanging out in the lobby when he hears the knock. Actual business?? This is unexpected.

"I'll get it!" he calls out. He walks over and opens the door. Sees who it is. Closes the door.

Angel looks up from his perch behind the front corner as he marks his place in his book with one finger, not having caught a glimpse of who might have been waiting on the other side, but the scent of someone human and the fact that Dipper clearly isn't happy about whoever he saw are impossible to deny.

"Who is it?" He arches a single brow, questioning. "Not really in the habit of slamming doors around here."

Breaking them down with an unnecessarily dramatic kick, sure, but slamming seemed like a bit much.

"Hey - hey."

Really, all he needed was the two-second glimpse of that blue pine tree hat to know who was at the door. Fucking figures the mini-detective would be the one hanging around here. Of course. Of course! He loves investigating, huh?

Should've figured.

Not one for giving up, Alex pounds on the door.

"....wrong address?" It would probably be more convincing if Alex wasn't all but knocking the door down out there. Dipper sighs, shoving his hands into his vest pockets. "Not someone worth taking on as a client."

Angel narrows his gaze at Dipper for a moment before closing his book entirely, pushing himself away from the front counter in order to circle around and head to answer the door himself.

"Maybe," he concedes, unwilling to dismiss Dipper's concern out of hand, "But I try to keep an open-door policy. If someone wants to come in and talk, I'm not about to leave them standing out in the hallway." He grimaces, opening the door half a moment later. "Alex."

Thank Christ someone reasonable is there to pick up the slack. Alex shoots a pointed look at Dipper as he crosses his arms over his chest and addresses Angel shortly.

"I think you need to spend some work on the 'open door' part of that 'open-door policy'."

Dipper.

Dipper scowls, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall.

"I think you need to work on your 'not stabbing people' policy, but I guess you'd have to have one to work on it."

As far as comebacks go, not his best, but it gets the point across.

Angel's gaze quickly moves between the two of them as he processes: that particular information hasn't been presented to him so blatantly thus far, but he had been very aware of the fact that the situation itself merited digging.

"Civility," he says in tone that borders on warning, though he fixes Dipper with a look that he hopes conveys that he would like to speak at length later on-- not as a rebuke, but clearly Dipper knew something Angel didn't. His attention moves back to Alex, carefully reserved.

"Not going to have a problem, are we? Everyone on their best behavior?"

"I am," says Alex drolly, with all the lofty exasperation of someone who clearly doesn't have the moral high ground but refuses to admit it. He continues to eye Dipper coldly, arms crossed over his chest. "Can we put away the rulers? I just wanted to talk. To him." He indicates Angel with a tilt of his chin.

You know, that thing everyone keeps saying he should do more of. Talking. He's taking people's advice for once. Don't ruin this for him. Any minute he's going to start regretting it.

"What rulers? No one's holding any--oh." Dipper glowers, cheeks going a little red. "Fine, talk, then."

The vampire grimaces, inclining his head towards the door behind the front counter, the one leading to the replica of what had once been Wesley's office.

"Here," he offers, "Go on in, have a seat. Dipper, I'm leaving you in charge of the desk for a little while, in case anyone comes in."

Thank god. Maybe now that'll get the kid off their collective chest, though Alex makes a mental note not to trash-talk him in front of his...boss? Is Angel hiring children? That seems kind of irresponsible, but whatever, he's not one to judge.

He is really not one to judge.

So Alex complies, and sidles inside.

"You hire kids?" he asks drolly, despite himself.

"What? Come on!" Dipper drops his arms, scowling up at Angel. "I'm a detective too! Let me in on this!"

"I hire people who are capable and have something to offer," Angel corrects Alex evenly, unwilling to dismiss Dipper's contribution because of his age-- even as the latter protests his handling of this situation.

"You're in," he goes on to say, "But if Alex came in to talk to me and wants privacy, I can't deny him that-- same as anyone else who walks through that door." Whether they're a client or someone who just wants his insight on something, he has to respect their wishes. That doesn't mean he won't be sharing relevant information with Dipper once it's through.

"Woah, woah." He shoots Dipper a wary look, highly unwilling to let a kid in on this. Sure, Dipper might not appreciate being treated like a kid, but a kid he is nonetheless. "This is some, uh, seriously sensitive stuff. All right? Like, as in, the fewer people that know about it the better?"

He directs that question pointedly in Angel's direction, nervous despite himself.

"Let me guess, if you told me you'd have to kill me?" Dipper rolls his eyes. It... actually sounds like the sort of thing Alex would say and mean but Dipper isn't about to be scared. Plenty of people and things want to kill him. And it's not like he'd stop knowing if he got killed.

He scowls and leans against the desk. "Fine."

The look Angel offers Dipper is equal parts grim and apologetic; there's only so much he can say in mixed company, but he hopes Dipper trusts him enough to know that he's on his side. It's never been his intent to treat Dipper as lesser because of his age.

"Let's try to keep things as professional as possible," he says flatly, an advisory to the room at large.

"I'm not gonna kill anybody," says Alex, exasperated. Anyone else, he should've said, but he's trying to make friends here, all right? Not best to start that whole thing with a round of "hey, you know what morally reprehensible things I've done lately?"

Christ, this is turning out to be more trouble than it's worth.

"Look," he says, turning to Angel, eyes darting to either side so he can look literally anywhere but at the other man directly, "bottom line - I need, uh, some advice, kind of. About a...friend."

"I can handle advice." He gestures towards the open door to the smaller office, indicating that Alex should go first-- it would allow them at least a moderate amount of privacy, and given how difficult it had been to get Alex to come in to talk in the first place, Angel is sure he'll need all the encouragement he can get as far as feeling free to speak openly.

"Have a seat."

He walks in and turns to rest against the edge of the desk rather than taking the seat behind in, arms folded across his chest as he looks towards the empty chair situated across from him.

Alex slinks in - okay, he doesn't slink. He walks. It's perfectly normal. Not masking a guilty conscience at all. He sinks into the chair and tries not to feel, absurdly, like he's back in elementary school, sent to the principal's office.

"So there was this whole event," he says, without much preamble whatsoever, having some apparently difficulty meeting Angel's eyes. "With the, that whole emotions thing. People's shutting off and on and stuff. And I, uh, I might've - might've done some stuff I kinda wish I hadn't. To one of the only people here who doesn't want to ream out and or kill me?"

"I remember."

The event itself had been a significant one, one that would stick with him for some time-- he'd toyed with the idea of turning his own emotions off, if only for a moment, but it would have undone too much of what he'd worked for in a short amount of time. It wouldn't have been right. He shifts his weight slightly, watching Alex with a patient interest.

"What happened?" he asks calmly, encouraging.

"So I might've decided to switch everything off."

Oh boy. He's gonna regret saying anything, isn't he.

Who's he kidding. He already regrets it.

"And I might've made this weird judgment leap that I needed to kill a friend of mine, a little bit. She got away, but, uh - I don't think we're really gonna ever be bestest buddies again."

And then he died. But he doesn't need to get into that just yet.

"That's one hell of a judgment leap." The comment comes out flat, but it remains otherwise benign, any criticism shoved to the wayside as Angel sifts through the details as they're given to him piece by piece. The picture is still an incomplete one, but his expression turns grim.

"Think it's safe to say there aren't any slumber parties in your future, at least." He shifts slightly, considering. "The thing about that event? It didn't create any thoughts or feelings that weren't already there. Only amplified them, either through heightened emotions or the lack of a conscience to temper them."

"I was a freaking Replicant, okay? It was out of control." He's already on the defensive, and immediately vows to dial it down some. That was hardly a judge of character. He's jumpy these days. He's jumpy every day. That's neither here nor there.

He folds his arms, slouching slightly in his seat as the feeling of having been sent to some authority figure's office for errant behavior intensifies a hundredfold.

"That's what everyone keeps saying, but like - it wasn't all that." Well, that's not true. Alex sighs, and revises what he was about to say. "It was more like, I trusted this friend with some sensitive info. And then with the emotions off I figured, hey, it'd be safer if this person didn't live to share that info!"

ai office

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sorry guys it's been the worst week

it's cool buddy do not worry

ur fired

alas :c

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OKAY HIATUS IS OVER give or take a few days

\o/

AWWW YEAH

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