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milliways_bar2008-06-18 03:10 am
dark-ex-watcher.livejournal.com) wrote in milliways_bar2008-06-18 03:10 am
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It's not even clear whether the Door opens or whether Wesley Wyndham-Pryce simply appears, once again in this bar he half-thought he had left forever.
One thing has changed at least, and the first thing Wesley does is to confirm it: he reaches out to a nearby table, only to find his hand passing effortlessly through it. A moment's concentration is all it takes to make contact, but unless he thinks about it, he has little if any physical presence.
As in Los Angeles, so now here as well: he is a spirit, without even the body he had been given when he first arrived in Milliways over two years ago. Whatever Illyria's spell had done, there was clearly no going back from it. That spell had not, however, acted as she had intended, and Wesley is forced to conclude that whatever force reached out to influence it may have had something to do with his return to this place.
But why now? And why can he not free himself from the sneaking suspicion that a voice--a tiny, persistent voice--is trying to worm itself into his mind?
With little else to do, Wesley turns his back on the bar and heads upstairs to take rest--or whatever he might--in his old chambers.
[plot-locked]
One thing has changed at least, and the first thing Wesley does is to confirm it: he reaches out to a nearby table, only to find his hand passing effortlessly through it. A moment's concentration is all it takes to make contact, but unless he thinks about it, he has little if any physical presence.
As in Los Angeles, so now here as well: he is a spirit, without even the body he had been given when he first arrived in Milliways over two years ago. Whatever Illyria's spell had done, there was clearly no going back from it. That spell had not, however, acted as she had intended, and Wesley is forced to conclude that whatever force reached out to influence it may have had something to do with his return to this place.
But why now? And why can he not free himself from the sneaking suspicion that a voice--a tiny, persistent voice--is trying to worm itself into his mind?
With little else to do, Wesley turns his back on the bar and heads upstairs to take rest--or whatever he might--in his old chambers.
[plot-locked]