Wesley Wyndham-Pryce

wyndham__pryce @ 2004-05-01T19:16:00

2004-05-01T23:22:18Z

[This journal is closed. Wes's journal is now to be found at _wyndam_pryce_.]

wyndham__pryce @ 2004-03-03T22:19:00

2004-03-04T03:24:28Z

Of the many absurdities I've encountered in the past twenty-four hours, the supreme one has to be that a short while ago, I was speaking of hope. Try as I might, the only one of those I can summon forth is that I may have gone completely mad.

I keep coming back to the same image. I'm unable to shake it; it stays in my mind, an idee fixe. I picture it, unlikely enough, as some quasi-phantom form, a wisp of cloud or smoke that bears her general outline. Perhaps even part of her face is visible. As I imagine it, I see it licked, and finally consumed, with flames. Ridiculous Biblical tableau.

Her soul. Eradicated, for all eternity. She's been robbed of whatever perpetual existence follows this one, and is now destined to experience nothing but infinite oblivion.

I envy her.

Then I defy you, stars.

2004-03-02T04:06:16Z

Powerlessness has never been a novelty to me. There are times when it feels like I've spent all my life standing helplessly by as events spiraled out of control. Too often have I borne witness to those closest to me or those entrusted to my care swept away by circumstances that I was either incapable of preventing or had inadvertently set in motion. But I bore it all, assuring myself that all I needed was a little more experience, a little more understanding, and next time I would be ready. I would be able to anticipate and foil whatever twists fate had marshalled.

And now.

She was so light, by the end. I wanted nothing more than to clutch her to me with all my might, to somehow anchor that delicate spirit to her body, keep it from being summoned to whatever firmament was calling it forth. But I dared not, for fear of fracturing her birdlike frame. All my books, all my years of study, of accumulated knowledge. What did it avail me?

This will not stand. I'll none of it.

Too many. Too many lost, too many mistakes, too many times too late. This is the end. I do not care what the cost is any longer. I only know that this will not happen. I will try any avenue, make any sacrifice, but I will not let her be taken. Not like this.

I'm going to save her. I'm going to expel this thing, and make it wish it had never risen up from whatever dark corner it has been lodged. Then I will find whoever may be responsible for this and hang them from the ceiling by their arteries.

wyndham__pryce @ 2004-02-26T00:03:00

2004-02-26T05:08:37Z

This has to be a dream.

Please, God, let it be a dr--

Transport.

2004-02-26T01:39:19Z

Goodness, has it actually been a week? I can barely account for the time gone.

Things have certainly kept up their current pace here at Wolfram & Hart, so she and I have had to find whatever time we can to explore the changed dynamics between us. We've been finding a myriad of excuses to visit each others' offices. I do my best to prevent my work from suffering, but the mere sight of her hair, curled like smoke, or her dazzling smile is enough to send all research-related thoughts out of my head. I'm not sure if anyone else has noticed. I'm even less sure that I care.

I suppose everyone has the dream of the fantasy girl, the one we gaze upon from afar, who saunters through their life oblivious to our affections. We remain quiet, convinced any blandishment from our corner would be a great black smudge on the brilliant canvas of their lives, and we can't stand to stain such beauty. For fools like us, our only hope is that someday this great virtuoso will turn about, gaze at us, and decide that we are no less than the missing element that will complete their masterpiece. The odds of this are quite low, and the potential of a bitter, solitary end proportionally high, a fact I've been all too aware of. Toward that end, I can only express overflowing gratitude to whatever Powers there are for my deliverance.

Fred? I have something of a walkabout assignment to do. Care to join me?

wyndham__pryce @ 2004-02-18T23:42:00

2004-02-19T04:47:13Z

Well. Now that's what I call unambiguous.

wyndham__pryce @ 2004-02-14T23:40:00

2004-02-15T04:44:48Z

There's certainly been an awful lot of racket in the building today. Whatever can be happening?

Oh, well. Someone would have come and got me if it was anything too important.

wyndham__pryce @ 2004-02-12T13:51:00

2004-02-12T18:52:22Z

It's been a good four years since I was bound and gagged. I can't say it was an experience I cared to repeat.

A Service.

2004-02-07T21:20:16Z

The funeral's in a few hours. I've agreed to be a pallbearer; it seems only fitting when you consider the number of times she's carried us. I've also been locked away most of the past few days, working on what you can see below. It's not at all complete to my satisfaction; she deserved so much more than my trifling skill with words can compile. But as Harmony has made all the arrangements, and Lorne is taking care of the cosmetic end of things, it only remains for me to do my part.

Here's the text. If anyone has any remarks or suggestions, they'll be gladly accepted.

--

Good evening.

Many of the people here today have been called heroes at one time or another. I don't doubt that the accolades are deserved. But so many of us have been thrust into this life. I'm sure I'm not the only one who's wondered, in an idle moment, if I would have chosen this path had it not been painstakingly laid out for me long beforehand.

Cordelia never had to ask that question of herself. Nothing compelled her or steered her into risking her life to help others. Every skill she learned, every ability she acquired, was something that she chose, at least on some level. There was nothing preventing her from walking away from the fight that we, and Angel in particular, have embarked on, but she selected to persevere anyway. She was, without a doubt, not just the bravest woman I've ever met, but the bravest person.

I see some of you working to disguise your confusion. Some of you who knew her from previous years didn't have the privilege to watch her develop into the person I'm here to speak of today. I'm afraid I'll sound rather self-congratulatory in this portion of my remarks. But the unvarnished truth is that not to know Cordelia Chase in the last few years of her life is to come perilously close to knowing her not at all.

I first met her at a time when we were both preoccupied with things that seemed, as the years passed, to matter much less. I'm sure some others will have some very humorous stories to relate about that time, but let's just say our initial impressions of each other were both more and less than accurate.

However, time and events leave their alterations. In the crucible that is the fight against evil, we're all stripped of our outer trappings. Whatever's left after passing through the fire is what defines you as a person. It's one of the only true litmus tests to determine a person's character left in the world. Some come out lost, beyond damaged, and run away to lick their wounds. Others abandon the principles that bought them so much blood and pain, and toss in their lot with the very forces they once opposed. Cordelia chose to dig deep into the bedrock of her own conscience, and found mother lodes of courage and compassion within.

It seems strange to think about it this way, but out of all of us, Cordelia was the one who had death hanging over her more than anyone. The visions she received from the Powers that Be turned out to be a fatal sentence. Then, no sooner had she miraculously escaped that, sacrificing some measure of her humanity in the process, she was forcibly taken control of by a powerful being with its own ends in mind. It was this creature that took her from us, leaving only her shell to linger on for months before expiring peacefully in her sleep last Wednesday.

This dry laundry list of her misfortunes and accomplishments, however, almost does her a disservice. It doesn't describe what it was like to see her smile, or hear her laugh. It doesn't begin to convey not only the warmth and humor with which she endured these hardships, but the underlying understanding with which she accepted them. In all the years I knew her, she was unconcerned with her own safety, sometimes to the point of blithe disregard. I won't say that she never complained; to do that would be to deny her humanity and cast her in the role of plaster saint, not to mention that no one would believe me. But it could never be said that she chose the easy way out. Countless numbers of people are alive today because of what she endured, including just about everyone sitting here. And on a personal note, I can honestly say that her fortitude is probably one of the greatest influences on my own personal growth, however much of that there has been. Whatever improvements and accomplishments I may have made over the years I owe in no small part to her.

The bitterest aspect to all of this, to me, is that at a time when she had the most to offer the world, it was denied the chance to reap the benefits, as were we. One wonders if it would have been better for her if she'd remained the blissfully unaware child of luxury she began life as. Who's to say that she would not have discovered other outlets for her compassion and intelligence? At least she'd still be in the world, which would be a selfish comfort for those of us who knew her. 23 is a terrible age for anyone to die at, but for her, who had such promise and skill, it seems almost unbearably cruel.

However, there are some things I am sure of. One is that she never lost her convictions, not even when she learned how great her sacrifice would be. She believed in who she was, perhaps more strongly than anyone else I've ever met; she believed in the things she fought for, and more than anything else, she believed in the people she loved.

I had an ancestor, one George Sutherland, Earl of Sussex, who lived in the 18th century. He was of course a member of the Watcher's Council, but also a poet in his spare time, somewhat of the A.E. Houseman school. Once, in a letter to his wife following her mother's death, he wrote these lines:

As we pass into the far skies of our time,
and so many of the people we cherish fall behind,
we may feel the wind falter under our wings,
and find the ground much closer than comfort will stand for.

However, those who continue on do so
because of an unexpected yet inexhaustible ballast,
that being the memories of the love
given to us by those departed.

If that is true, then Cordelia's love will be enough to enable us to cross oceans. We will all work to honor her memory until our last breath, and will remember her to the very end of our days.

Thank you all for coming.

--

A final word of thanks to all those who wished us well over the past few days. It's meant a great deal.

wyndham__pryce @ 2004-02-05T10:38:00

2004-02-05T15:38:54Z

Music, when soft voices die,
Vibrates in the memory--
Odours, when sweet violets sicken,
Live within the sense they quicken.

Rose leaves, when the rose is dead,
Are heaped for the beloved's bed;
And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone,
Love itself shall slumber on.

--Percy Bysshe Shelley

Questionable Allies.

2004-02-02T04:46:51Z

Well, little has changed regarding the Eve situation since my last update; the only new development is that her whereabouts are currently unknown. And I have to admit some puzzlement toward Gunn, who has been as suspicious of Eve as any of us, suddenly calling for caution in sanctioning her. On one hand, his approach Is logical from the perspective of high-placed partners in a corporate structure. However, I'm not sure that the old rules are as obsolete as he would insist. One has to wonder if his newfound security isn't interfering with his ability to prioritize. And so it goes, with us second-guessing each other's choices and motives with ever-greater intensity.

We were distracted from this complication, sizable enough in itself, to be presented with a new danger. Intelligence was received about a girl who'd broken free from a mental instution, seemingly the victim of demon possession. I didn't bother reminding Angel that I'd been witness to at least one possession case myself, although that one hardly turned out to be routine. But it was just as well, because it turned out to be something quite different.

It seems that the battle last summer that rendered the hellmouth in Sunnydale closed had after-effects we were unaware of. Due, apparently, to Willow's magic, there are now not just one or two but thousands, even tens of thousands, of currently active Slayers populating the earth. It makes one almost dizzy with possibilities. Buffy et al. have, we're told, begun the gargantuan task of rounding them up, involving all their members on peripatic journeys to every corner of the globe. Would that we could assist in this undertaking, but see below for the reasons preventing that.

All this was told to us by a young man named Andrew, a rather foppish, Fauntleroy-like lad even by Watcher standards. Not the representative I would have pictured Giles sending, although it does speak volumes for their regard for us at this stage. I will admit to some surprise that Buffy was so completely unwilling to give Angel the benefit of the doubt, after all they've shared. And I have to admit to being somewhat injured by Andrew's words, although I suppose I shouldn't let it bother me. Honestly, I'm well aware that my showing in Sunnydale was poor, but Giles might have allowed for some chance for improvement. I don't suppose Andrew will happen to mention who, exactly, subdued their target for them.

Still, if it brings some people amusement. It's amazing how people can know you for so long, and never see more of you than they choose. I suppose I'm a fool to hope for change.

Who on earth are Crockett and Tubbs?

2004-01-26T01:48:04Z

Slightly odd occurrence today. My eleven o'clock had called to cancel, and I decided to get out of the office for a bit. I went around the corner to a counter restaurant and ordered some fish and chips, or rather French fries, if that's still the proper American term. Struck up a conversation with the chap next to me. We ended up having a great deal in common; we were both expatriates (he was from Canada originally), we'd both moved from a small operation to a larger company (he'd been in some manner of dot-com that had gone under a couple of years ago), and we'd both had recent troublesome episodes with our assistants (his was protesting having to work overtime, and demanding a copy of his job description from the head HR office). As we were talking, it occurred to me how completely ordinary my life had become. In all my years of training, of being a Watcher, of fighting alongside Angel, I had always been involved with things that were difficult, if not impossible for the general public to relate to. The effect was not without its isolating factors. Now, I'm a research consultant at a law firm. What could be more commonplace?

Of course, not all of my office-related anecdotes are suitable for public consumption. After all, most research consultants don't have the power to order the death of someone millions of miles away. I have no doubt that the course we chose was the right one. I think, however, what Spike said to us the other day paints far too simplistic a picture of what's happening here. Perhaps being at Wolfram & Hart will change us, all experiences do, after all. But I think even Spike knows that leadership matters, that even if we can't change everything overnight, having someone at the top with a different mindset does make a difference. While I think we're all uneasy about the choices we've made, if we falter now, if we accept Spike's judgment as fact, we will be just as lost as he expects us to be. And his insinuations are entirely inaccurate; with the resources we currently possess, we're perfectly capable of handling any potential complication. We simply felt it would be helpful to have a second souled vampire on the team. It's not as if they grow on trees.

Speaking of complications. I'm not sure what Angel plans to do about Eve. If she truly is connected with the Senior Partners, it will be difficult to dislodge her. However, if she did indeed double-cross the Partners in question, we may have our dilemma solved for us tout de suite. Whatever the outcome, we must keep a close eye on her until the matter is decided. I will certainly make it top priority.

wyndham__pryce @ 2004-01-14T18:13:00

2004-01-14T23:15:15Z

I'll be in my office if anyone needs me.

Let's try not to make too much of a fuss, hmm?

London.

2004-01-11T03:00:44Z

It's been a relaxing holiday. I've allowed myself the opportunity to brush up on my Durant, gone for constitutionals using this remarkable iPod device that Fred recommended to me, and did absolutely nothing whatsoever with regards to vampires, demons, cyborgs, or anything remotely related. Or for that matter, anything remotely productive at all.

I've rented a small room in the Kings Row area, the one place in London I can be sure not to run into anyone I know. Which is ironic, because I thought I saw that Abrams fellow on the street the other day. If it was, it would almost feel like an admonition of sorts.

It's become rather plainly obvious to me at this point; this won't do. What started as a sabbatical has turned into something decidedly less useful. I've been sitting about, frittering away time, telling myself that I was waiting until I was ready. The bare fact is, I'm never going to be. Whatever awaits me back in Los Angeles, whatever mistakes and/or misdeeds might be in the offing, I can't avoid them without turning my back on everything I believe, everything I've dedicated my life to. The bottom line is, no amount of preparedness can prevent calamity if it's bound and determined to occur. As another exile noted upon returning home, the readiness is all.

On the question of souls.

2003-11-28T02:47:49Z

Well, I was asked a question some time ago about the nature of souls. While recent events had pushed it out of my head for a bit, seeing as I've found myself with a surplus of time as of late, I decided to put it to some productive use.

The question of souls has always been a nebulous issue. Webster's defines "soul" first and foremost as being "the immaterial essence, animating principle, or actuating cause of an individual life". I think it goes without saying that this is a bit too broad for our purposes. This of course implies the common misconception about the soul, which is that it is the substance that ensures life after death for humanity exclusively. While many questions remain unanswered about the hereafter, we are fairly certain at this juncture that there are other beings who are subsceptible to it. However, other definitions offered include "the spiritual principle embodied in human beings [or] all rational and spirtual beings" or "the moral and emotional nature of human beings." This seems like a better place to begin our inquiry,

The conventional wisdom regarding the soul is that it is what allows human beings to differentiate between right and wrong in a way that vampires and demons cannot. This has certainly been the de facto stance of the Watcher's Council for time out of mind. However, as we have seen, the Watcher's Council's view on things tends to lean toward the limited. Experience has taught us something different, namely that there appear to be more kinds of demons out there than heaven and earth dreamt of. Many, I would dare say "most", are malignant. Some are fairly neutral in intent, and others do seem to possess consciences as strong as any human (a cynical man might add "or more so"). Lorne certainly seems to fit into this category.

Now, I'm certainly not in a position to state whether or not Lorne has a soul. There are certainly direct methods of inquiry that would answer that, but I suspect Lorne himself would take exception to having what is most assuredly sensitive information divined out of him. Personally, I'm simply content to see that he's committed to our struggle, and not particularly interested in looking a gift demon in the mouth, so to speak.

So what we learn upon inquiring into the nature of the soul, more than anything else, is that its mystery remains secure even after thousands of years of study; indeed, the more we discover, the greater the number of questions we possess. It does seem that some things are beyond human understanding and will remain so, notwithstanding an unforeseen leap forward in our collective consciousness.

In other matters, I'd like to thank everyone who wished me well in recent weeks. I'm only sorry that I couldn't reply to anyone individually.

Letter for a friend.

2003-11-17T03:22:23Z

Dear Lilah,

I have no idea how, or if, you are able to view the action of this world from where you are, but if you've been paying any kind of attention at all, I'm sure you've been hugely amused by recent events. While several have offered me a consoling ear lately, quite frankly, you're the only person I even remotely feel like talking to at the moment.

What those who have only witnessed this past chapter don't understand is that, more than anyone else, my father is the person who's most responsible for shaping me into who I am today. While that could certainly be construed as self-deprecation or even sarcasm, it's important to realize that Father has always believed in doing right. He taught me of duty and conviction, of the need, at times, to risk all for the sake of others, and to do so without expectation of reward or recognition. Granted, I was never able to adhere to these principles to his satisfaction, but I pride myself on acknowledging the truth of these ideals. Whatever strength I've managed in the face of adversity, whatever perseverance that has helped me withstand the trials I've endured, has been bequeathed to me by him. Strange, then, that he should take such great steps to undermine his own efforts.

I think I'm finally beginning to understand, though. When I was younger, I tried everything to win his favor. My father has never been a patient man. He hadn't the time or the inclination to mentor me when I was unable to fulfill the duties he assigned. However, when I did begin to master the various disciplines he drilled into me, he suddenly saw something quiet different; a rival, a successor, perhaps even a memento mori of sorts. I was notice that the Wyndham-Pryce line would continue without him; this, I think, is far more galling to him than any embarrassment I may have given him with my relations with Faith or Angel.

It's not so much that I shot him, or even that I was willing to do so. It was the only option, and I would wholeheartedly support the same assertion if it were another in my place. What I didn't tell Fred was that as soon as she appeared on the roof, I was waiting for him to train the gun on her. I wanted an excuse, you see.

And I'm sure you're rolling your eyes at this juncture and making unkind jokes about her body type. You needn't concern yourself, however. The fact is, I doubt very much that she's particularly interested in becoming some sort of courtly-love figure to my black knight, and even if she was, I wouldn't saddle her with that. I respect her far too much.

And in fact, you should be encouraged. For I've been finding it steadily easier to do things that once would have been abhorrent to me. When I first found myself in mortal danger, the tsunami of fear that I felt was almost a physical presence. As time goes on, however, I find it harder and harder to understand what I was afraid of. Pain fades, and death is, if nothing else, a release. I think at this point the only true fear I have is not fulfilling my duty. Causing others harm is a stronger deterrent, but getting less and less so with time.

This is why you still frighten me, dear. Because the part of me that responded to you so strongly was also the part that bayed for release, that wanted to hang our cyborg friend of last week from the ceiling and find ways to make his eyes turn inward. I can do such things if I like. It's fascinating. the various uses of metal to bend will. Apply a little pressure here, a casual insertion there--it's very satisfying. As I'm sure you remember.

I do wish you were here, love. Not because I'd expect nurturing caresses or words of comfort, but because it would be sweet relief right now to be with someone who wasn't watching me with anxious eyes. After I emptied the clip of the gun into what I believed with all my heart was the man who gave me life, making the conscious choice that this would not be a simple winging of the shoulder but that this man would never rise from the tarmac of his own volition, I heard a sound somewhere in the distance. It sounded a great deal like hands clapping slowly. As I've said, I have no knowledge of the afterlife save hearsay, but I have no doubt that if you were witness to that scene in any way, you were applauding me on. And the more I play this role, the less frightened of it I grow. I'm not sure how to reverse that, and I'm not at all sure that I even want to.

So take heart, love. If this is true, we may see each other again before you know it.

Love,
Wesley

Aftermath.

2003-11-13T04:29:21Z

I haven't washed my hands yet. The powder burns are still there. I wonder how long they'll remain if I don't wash them off. Would it be possible to preserve them for more than a few hours? If I go to sleep now, will there be any sign at all tomorrow of what happened?

Of course there will. The look in the eyes of all those who know me.

Angel, I think I'll be working from home tomorrow, if that's quite all right.

Strange Days.

2003-11-09T02:20:08Z

Oh, dear. It appears that I've let a considerable sum of time lapse between entries here. I apologize for the extended absence; I've been off on a bit of a wild hair, I'm afraid. It's just that Angel and I were talking the other day, and he mentioned something about a prophecy wherein "the father will kill the son". Well, I have to admit I was intrigued. While it certainly doesn't seem to have any relevance to our current circumstances, I'm afraid I couldn't resist exploring it further.

I won't hesitate to admit that having a research team is quite efficient. It's certainly nice to be able to find what I'm looking for within minutes instead of hours, particularly when lives are at stake, and I can even allow myself the luxury of a few hours' rest without bringing the work to a standstill. But sometimes I do enjoy the prospect of combing through the archives myself, following the disparate threads of texts and references that leads one to the prize. There's something about observing the intricate web that the various oracles and divinations create, one leading into another like inlets flowing into rivers. I confess I've missed the opportunity to study the phenomenon up close.

Admittedly, however, it was a foolhardy venture, and not simply because my search ultimately came to nothing, and there proved to be no record of such a prophecy extant. Angel probably misquoted or misheard it. Oh, well; serves me right for being so easily sidetracked. I would apparently do well to take my own advice of a few weeks ago; there's no telling what manner of calamity might have descended on us while I was busying myself with minutae. So to everyone's certain relief, I will refrain from making any comments on Fred's recent care package misadventure.

Other than that, there's little to report, except to say that the events of last week demonstrate quite clearly why Angel, and not Spike, has had the title of champion bestowed on him. As much as he may be dispirited by certain losses of late, in addition to the still perplexing turn of fate that brings us here, I am glad to see what I believe to be a change in his spirits, though as always it's difficult to be certain of Angel's true mood. He keeps his cards close to the vest, and is loath to admit if something is truly troubling him. However, I flatter myself both that he took my words of a few days ago to heart, and that I have enough insight to detect that last.

Spike, however, is another story. I admit I was somewhat piqued at his suggestion that the shanshu Angel has been promised for so long might actually be, in fact, someone else's due. We've all been fighting on Angel's side for so long, it seems almost an act of deliberate cruelty for whatever Powers there are to dangle this promise under Angel's nose, and then snatch it away after all the trials he's endured. And for all those who proclaim the idea of Spike's inherent goodness as if it were a fait accompli, I can't help but note that he did precious little to aid us in our latest adventure. Certainly, I received far more aid from a fortuitously placed burlap sack than I did from him.

However, as invigorating as the high-spirited exchanges that I participated in a fortnight ago were, I'm afraid I simply don't have the time or inclination to debate Spike's merits, or lack thereof, any further. We'll all just have to let events prove, or disprove, our respective cases, whatever they may be.

I'm still perplexed about these hermanos numeros; it's still unclear just what they were. How did they obtain strength great enough to toss Angel about like a ragdoll? They no doubt lived in cacophonous times; certainly they would have had to be formidable fighters outside the ring as well as in. Could they have amassed that kind of strength simply through physical exertion, or was there some element of the mystic in them as well? I suspect the latter; after all, you see very few garden-variety wrestlers who are able to return from the dead. One surmises a deal was made in a back room of some dark cantina with someone whose face wasn't entirely visible underneath a heavy hood.

Not that I'm criticizing; we're hardly one to throw stones. Perhaps bargains for power sometimes do turn out in the buyer's favor. Certainly Gunn appears to be evidence of that; he seems to have adapted to the barrister's lifestyle with serpentine ease. I almost envy his comfort in these new surroundings. He certainly has made every effort to explore the company's resources and use them to our advantage. Whatever reservations we've had about his barter, he doesn't seem the least bit swayed by his new abilities; if anything, he seems to be the most focused of all of us. Let's hope the rest of us can muster both his audacity and his sense of enterprise.

A Brief Inquiry.

2003-10-28T04:09:56Z

Well. I will certainly admit that my previous attempt to steer us back on track didn't seem to have the desired effect. However, I will admit some fascination with what appears to be a growing coalition to defend Spike against the barest slight to his character. I don't particularly have time to engage in a long dialogue about this subject, but I would be remiss as a one-time Watcher if I did not take a few moments of my time to address a few salient points.

For the record, Angel's time as a killer encompassed a good thirty or forty more years than Spike's, it's true. However, we must also take into account their various modus operandi. Spike has always been an indiscriminate killer, revelling in the fun of it, taking whatever victims were unlucky enough to stumble across his path. Angelus, on the other hand, was obsessed with pageantry. While he certainly had no qualms about killing to feed, he very rarely found an appeal in murder for his own sake. What he delighted in, above all else, was cruelty. He would pick a victim and reduce him or her to a quivering, senseless mass of despair before making their end. This would be a more time-consuming process than Spike's methods, so actually, it's not unreasonable to assume that Spike's kill ratio is actually greater than Angel's, despite the chronological advantage the latter has.

But, of course, that's neither here nor there. What, I think, holds a bit more water at this point, is that with few exceptions, Angel's kills all took place in the dead past. The vast majority of the people who suffered loss as a result of his ministrations are now long departed. Spike, however, has been killing steadily for the past hundred years, right up until he was apparently neutralized somehow around the turn of the century (I'm a little unclear on the details). So there are probably hundreds, if not thousands, of people still very much alive and currently feeling the anguish and emptiness that comes from having people removed from their lives; mothers, fathers, brothers, daughters, &c. What do you suppose the reaction of these people would be if they learned that the murderer of their loved ones was not only walking around free, but the benefactor of a multi-million dollar company that was pouring large sums of money into re-granting him the ability to affect the tactile world again? I daresay even Mr. Abrams would be hard pressed to explain that one.

So Spike came to the decision to re-ensoul himself on his own. Bravo. The fact remains, however, that he did not do it for the betterment of mankind, but rather for purely selfish motives; he wanted the girl. Angel, admittedly, had no such desire when soulless, but upon being cursed, he was forced to live with the guilt for what he did for a hundred years. Shortly after that, he spent an interdeterminate time in what has only been referred to as hell.

The bottom line is, Angel's paid for what he's done. Spike hasn't even begun to do so, and shows no interest in doing so. Now apparently he has made some grand sacrifice to save the world; whether that was an intentional offering up of himself or something that happened inadvertently is up for debate. Speaking for myself, I can say I've observed little behavior on his part since his arrival that has concerned anything other than his own self-preservation (the meritorious act of saving Fred aside). Angel, however, has spent the better part of a decade opposing forces of every kind and power level in order to protect a world that refuses to acknowledge his existence.

And as for the allegations of sexual assault mentioned by several people, while I have no knowledge of the incident in question, it would certainly not be the first, or even the twentieth, time that it was reported in William the Bloody engaging in such an activity. There are even reports of girls as young as fifteen--well, I'll spare you the details. But again, it's nothing that Angel hasn't perpetrated himself to some degree. The difference remains that there have been consequences for Angel's actions, and he's realized the weight of them and made a determination to right the cosmic scale. I've seen no such efforts on Spike's part.

Now, figuring out the difference between Angel and Spike is child's play. What poses a thornier question is this flock of supporters that William the Bloody appears to have amassed out of whole cloth. It's certainly not without precedent; serial killers from Theo Durrant to Ted Bundy have attracted scores of female admirers. A psychologist with far more insight than I would no doubt be able to elucidate the reasons for why so many women are drawn to men with violent, psychopathic tendencies; what's patently obvious is that these women have latched on to something that exists only in their mind. As they will never meet Spike, he's a safe fantasy figure for them to project their own desires on, without having to contend with the day-to-day realities that comes with living alongside your average mass murderer. While they go to great lengths to lavish such affection on him, what they don't realize is that they're actually doing him a disservice by blindly forgiving him all his transgressions. If they really want him to be as good a man as they proclaim him to be, they'd hold him accountable for his misdeeds instead of blindly waving them away. As it is, one has to wonder if Spike would retain such a groundswell of support if he were a bespectacled middle-aged man with a pot belly and male pattern baldness. I'm a bit skeptical of it.

A suggestion for improvement.

2003-10-26T20:41:07Z

So, as I survey my co-workers and the people I've come to consider comrades-in-arms, I see people vigorously pursuing personal vendettas, playing celebrity romance broker for sudden prodigies, pulling childish pranks, and engaging in activities I can't even attempt to describe. I'm sure these are all perfectly cunning tactics to lull the various forces that seek our destruction into a sense of complaceny, and that they seek to conceal master plans that I could never begin to guess at.

I find it somewhat wearying and dismaying that when in the company of those who have lived several lifetimes more than I, that it falls to me to be the voice of perspective and maturity. But apparently I seem to be the only one who remembers that we are in charge of what may be the single largest concentration of evil in this particular world. The Senior Partners certainly haven't.

There are much larger distractions coming our way than these, people. Whatever the Partners have planned for us, we'll only discover it if we remain vigilant to a fault. If we get sidetracked now, how can we possibly expect to sense their aims until it's far too late?

And that's my input. I hope that my fellow Department Heads take it to heart.

Well.

2003-10-18T18:23:26Z

Werewolves. It's been few and far between that I've ever had any direct doings with them. Studied them extensively at the academy, of course, and was shown what was purported to be a petrified paw from a victim dating back to circa 1837, but that hardly counts as anything like field experience.

Still, it's a fascinating subject. Apparently the werewolf question has long been a source of controversy among Watchers. The existence of werewolves were first recorded in ancient Greece (the term "lycanthrope" is derived from the Greek lykos. "Werewolf" itself didn't come into use much later, as it's Saxon-German roots betray) but it wasn't discovered that they retained human form until at least three hundred years later. Historically speaking, it's now thought that Alaric, the wise but deadly Goth that was the first of the Barbarians to penetrate and vanquish the hallowed city of Rome, either recruited known lycanthropes in his brigades, or was one himself, depending on whose theory you subscribe to. It was 1288 when one Leonato Di Valli proposed that werewolves were endowed with human souls even while they were transformed, thus, in the vernacular of the times, making it a mortal sin to execute them even in demon form. This remained a minority opinion until the famed French werewolf trials of the sixteenth century, where a legal precedent was established clearly stating that werewolves were incapable of understanding their actions while transformed. This gave the so-called "lycanophile" faction in the Council added ammunition, and by 1753, werewolves were considered a class C brand of demon; only to be killed in in self-defence or if innocents' lives were in imminent danger. However, one suspects that the stature is followed more in thought than practice; to date, only three slayers have been sanctioned for use of deadly force against werewolves.

Interesting anecdote; it was an occult scientist named Thomm Herberer who discovered both werewolves' tie to the cycles of the moon and their ability to transfer their affliction through blood contact. It seems Herberer had apprenticed a young village girl to assist in the care and feeding of one of his subjects. Unfortunately for her sake, the captive proved rather resistant to her ministrations. It's not known exactly when she was bitten, but there is a picturesque account in Heberer's diary of turning to ask for a draught of camphor, and suddenly beholding two of the monsters where there had been one, the second of which was wearing scraps of peasant blouse.

Rather than see the girl as a casualty or a danger, Heberer, who it will never be said lacked for opportunism, promptly married her. For the next forty years he cared for her and studied her habits, and they even raised several children together. It was this last that was their undoing. The werewolf "gene", if indeed it can be called that, exhibits itself remarkably early when transmitted by heredity; between the age of 3 to 5 is the customary debut period, but there have been reports of babies being born in full wolf form during the full-moon era. One can only guess what kind of male pride led an otherwise scrupulous and sage researcher to bring as many as seven lycanthropes into the world. At any rate, as has been known to happen, the offspring grew more in touch with their bestial aspects as time wore on. One day, a neighbor came to ask if he might borrow some of the Herberers' well water. He knocked repeatedly, then entered when he heard moans from inside. The sight he was greeted with was, in his words, "die Arbeit des ein Engel der Vernichtung" [1]. It took five years, and two Slayers, before all the Herberer progeny were subdued and/or dispatched. Breeding werewolves in captivitiy was, for centuries afterward, an offence the Council considered punishable by death, or life incarceration.

At any rate, I think this most recent affair can safely be considered a success, something of a rarity for us since taking on our new mantle of responsibility. With Nina about as settled as she can be for now (an as a side note, I'm remembering that I do have a passing acquaintance with one werewolf. I haven't spoken to Oz in years, and he, like the rest of the Sunnydale contingent, may well have a somewhat disdainful picture of me, but it might be worth tracking him down. I can't see him refusing to help someone who has gone through the same experience), we turn to other concerns. Fred in particular has busied herself of late in her lab, attempting to find a solution to Spike's predicament. I must confess some puzzlement as to her sense of urgency, however. What, exactly, is going to happen to him that hasn't happened already?

And then there's the question of Gunn, who will, of course, take any misgivings we have about his recent choice personally. For the record, I don't believe he's in the employ of the Senior Partners. I do, however, worry that these gifts he's been given will prove to have a price attached. But time will tell.

Hmm. I seem to be using that phrase a lot these days.

[1] This loosely translates to "the work of the Angel of Death".

Favors for Strangers.

2003-10-12T01:15:57Z

Sorry for the delay in updating; I've been busy researching our most recent complication. Angel has demanded that Spike's connection with Wolfram & Hart be severed by hook or by crook, and has asked myself and Fred to tackle the matter, a bit difficult since he has not specified exactly how to dispose of him. Destroying the amulet is out, as is, I presume, providing Spike with a new corporeal form or imprisoning him in a mystical container; are we to simply cut him free so that he may float about the earth as he pleases? While it's neither here nor there to me, I can't imagine it's a fate Spike would find appealing. It may yet turn out that he's of use to us; an outside perspective may be welcome in days to come,and he's certainly nothing if not vocal.

As you may have guessed, I'm less than convinced that Spike's the most immediate concern we currently face. We've only recently been gifted with a treacherous amount of power and resources, which has already resulted in a marked change in at least one of us. While I can't argue the necessity of having a staunch ally with an encyclopediac knowledge of law in our corner, as proved by the fact that it's already come in handy more than once, the acceptance of such a Greek gift does still worry me.

Obviously, the Senior Partners have a larger plan, and while Spike may be a rather unpredictable variable, we can't discount the possibility that he may be as big a part of the grand design as anyone. So, one thing I've decided to occupy my time with: there's but one person in our circle that has any understanding of what has been planned for us, and as she will only reveal anything to us by accident, I've set to work. So far, the investigation hasn't yielded much fruit; no academic record, no work history, nothing of a paper trail at all, in fact. Hardly surprising; Wolfram & Hart easily have the resources to erase the nominal existence of anyone with a less public profile than the Duke of Windsor. However, if we're to find out anything about the Senior Partners' plan for us, she'll be our most likely source. Of course any information we gather will have to be taken willy-nilly, as she's not likely to release any intentional clues.

In light of that, I'm forced to fall back on my instincts. And it may be presumptuous on my part, but despite a lack of hard evidence pointing to her origins, I'm willing to bet she's exactly what she appears to be; a young girl, smart, ambitious, self-willed, and deeply jaded. Or rather, fairly anxious to present the appearance of that last. There's a glee about her, a delight in her position, the luxuries that it provides, and the obvious advantage she has over us that is too ingenuous to be faked. In many ways, she reminds me of Lilah. But whereas Lilah knew full well what the price of her choice was, and was perfectly willing to pay it anyway, Eve obviously has no idea what her choices will cost her in the end. Who knows? Perhaps we'll be able to enlighten her to that effect before it's too late.

Complications.

2003-10-03T04:48:39Z

Well, after a few weeks of relative inactivity, I believe we have had our first taste of the complexities and snares that await us in trying to tame this Grendel of a company. Firstly, we've been informed by a mysterious young woman named Eve, [1] that we are not as much the lords and masters of the land as we would have liked to believe. Apparently we answer to the Senior Partners, who as yet remain unseen. However, in order to be able to use Wolfram & Hart's resources for our own ends, we have to keep both them and the clientele happy. Time will tell what the Partners will demand from us, or subject us to.

But we had an object lesson in how difficult it will be to simply dismiss our largely malevolent client base. This particular one, at least, had rather powerful methods of persuasion, and in the end, he got what he wanted. We may have saved lives, but it didn't feel much like a victory.

Part of me reflexively wishes to turn the clock back, to somehow undo our Faustian bargain and find us safely placed in the lobby of the Hyperion once again, with no evils to fight save the ones that can be killed with flatblades and explosives. Although even that is a fallacy; those days were hardly halcyon, and often the greatest dangers were to be found within ourselves.

But even so, there's no going back now. For better or worse, we've entered a new phase of the battle, one which little that's past has prepared us for. And while Gunn's actions were certainly rash and quite possibly extremely ill-advised, in some ways it can almost be seen as a pre-emptive strike. I myself plan to be far more cautious in accepting gifts from our own multifaced Mephistopheles, but there's no doubt that we will most likely need some of the resources we've acquired to beat our benefactors at their own game. Who can wield them best is the question we've yet to discover.

And now, a new wrinkle. Some force, somewhere, has thought fit to deposit no less than William the Bloody himself in the midst of our office. What on earth? He may well be a client; using the legal system isn't exactly Spike's M.O., but nothing would surprise me at this point. But how to explain his apparently mystical mode of transport through, apparently, the U.S. Postal Service? A form of hazmat that the Justice Department never foresaw, surely. I expect we'll learn more when he calms down. Presuming he doesn't simply attack us first, in which case the questions may end up being rhetorical.

[1] And as absurd as it sounds, I couldn't help but wish that the barbed pleasantries and ironic compliments were coming from the mouth of another. So much more practiced at the role, and in some ways nowhere near as convincing...

On Discoveries and Absences.

2003-10-01T01:22:39Z

So far, existence at Wolfram & Hart has been surprisingly uneventful. I continue marvel over the wonders to be found in the archives; finding a complete copy of the Weintraub Manuscripts was tantalizing enough, but I've recently had the opportunity to discover that Guy de Lyons' prophecies perfectly predicted the ascendance of Demus in 1856, and no one was the wiser. It almost makes me wish the Watchers' Council was still extant; the amount of good they'd accomplish with these resources would be unparalleled. As they'd be the first to tell you. I can only hope we have the opportunity to use them half as well.

And then there are the opportunities missed. It's been over two weeks since Lilah ushered us into this gleaming edifice of resources and machination, and as much time since I've seen her. Foolish to think that whatever powers that brought her here would keep her around for very long; eternal damnation is hardly something you get shore leave from. There's more than one moment that I've looked through these books for something that might retrieve her, but that's a fool's errand, surely? But Angel was able to escape, and after enduring--

It's better if I don't think on that.

Another one who's been absent is Gunn, albeit in a far more prosaic way. He's apparently taken to the concept of "long lunches" with some élan. I hope he doesn't make too much of a habit of it; it wouldn't do for one of us to get fired in what is surely our probationary period, in more than one sense of the word.

Waiting for the End of the World.

2003-09-28T20:27:07Z

What does one say to the figures in his dream, when he knows it's time for him to awaken?

In a very short while, this world as we know it will fall away, and the cosmos will throw up another one to replace it. It will most likely happen as we sit here, watching this opera. I wonder if I'll even see the end of it. Will I feel anything, any kind of physical disturbance? Will I still be in the same location, or will I be magically shifted to another place entirely at a moment's notice? Will there be a split nanosecond where I realize I've been relocated, and not remember why, before the memories resort themselves?

The prospect gives one's imagination all manner of ammunition. Suppose something goes wrong, and in this mysterious new present we are about to embrace, I've been dead for weeks because of a misguided step off a busy street or something equally innocuous? Will the reset even go off as planned? Perhaps it will backfire on the Senior Partners, and trigger some far greater cataclysm than the S'alz, something that will send waves of destruction through an untold number of dimensions.

These may be reasonable concerns, or they may not. At any rate, it's far too late to worry about this now. My main area of concern is Lilah. She's been very quiet since informing me of Angel's decision. While I know opera is not her prefered form of entertainment, I can't help wondering if there's something she hasn't told me.

It's silly to think we won't be together, I tell myself. After all, Lilah's return came before the allotted time the Senior Partners gave us for the reset; why wouldn't she be present to oversee Wolfram & Hart's transition, just as she did before? But I still have qualms. I want to ask her, but something holds me back. I settle for taking her hand, admiring how well the ring fits. Not bad for guesswork.

We hold each other, listen to the music, saying nothing. And we wait.