milliways_bar | Entries tagged with wesley wyndham-pryce

Wesley Wyndham-Pryce has been away from the bar even longer than Angel, but considering what his friend has managed to get himself into, Wesley decides to edge his way discreetly around the bar area and head for somewhere a bit less chaotic.

He pauses long enough to order a glass of Lagavulin from a waitrat, and then makes his way over to the Observation Window for some quiet contemplation of the Apocalypse.

Being in the bar is once again a novel experience. But being in the bar alive is even more so, considering that most of the time he spent here in the past was as someone very, very dead.

Fortunately, he got better. But the bar seems to have changed in many ways since then, though he can't quite identify how just yet.

Not to worry. It should only make things even more interesting.

dark-ex-watcher.livejournal.com

Wesley Wyndham-Pryce is sitting at the bar, working steadily on a double of Lagavulin. He seems to be darkly brooding on something.

Then again, Wesley usually looks that way, so it's hard to say. It's actually been rather quiet back home in L.A.

Which probably means Wolfram & Hart is up to something. Ah, maybe that's the reason for Wesley's mood.

That or he's practicing for a Mr. Broody Pants face-off with Angel....

dark-ex-watcher.livejournal.com

Wesley Wyndham-Pryce is back in the bar after a long absence, and trying to adjust to the sight of Angel wearing a Security badge.

This time he has the badge on right side up. So, you know, win.

"So," Wesley is asking. "Who was this mystery woman again?"

"I don't know. She said her name was Sarah, but she didn't look like a Sarah."

"No?"

"She had red hair. Said she taught the first Slayers--."

Wesley looks up, alarmed. "She said what?"

"--Oh, and she had a necklace. An ankh, but upside down. ...Uh, Wes, you're going pale. That's never a good sign."

stillbecoming

Buffy's been reading for the past hour; the stack of leather-bound volumes next to her on the couch testifies to this amazing feat of attention span.

Downside: now there's dust in her iced tea.

She really hopes it's not vamp dust.

slayedthedragon.livejournal.com

[OOM: Not long after their previous bickering about Star Wars, Angel and Wesley's Big Plan comes to a headdesk-worthy conclusion.]

dark-ex-watcher.livejournal.com

For once, Wesley Wyndham-Pryce isn't surrounded by tomes and papers in one of the booths. Instead, he's sitting at the bar, giving his full and undivided attention to a glass of Lagavulin.

Because, after all, it deserves no less, and it also saves him from having to say anything to that bellowing guy in black who always seems to be in here but never stops complaining about it.

dark-ex-watcher.livejournal.com

"She did what?"

"Alanna hired me as Security. Well, sort of. It might not be official yet."

"I wonder if there's a badge? I bet there's a badge. Shiny badge."

"That's... intriguing."

Angel eyes Wesley. "...What?"

"Oh, uh, nothing."

"Wes...."

"I'm just saying it might be useful."

"I don't want to hear this."

"But just think of the possibilities!"

"Wes! Champion? I can't think about this stuff that way."

"You're a Champion on Earth, not here."

"Well, here they have a Landlord, and I bet he's got a special cell just for Security people who abuse their privil--."

Angel stops and looks at Wesley. "Saaay, I bet this means I can throw people in the cells now." Grin.

"...What? Why are you looking at me like--. Stop that!"

Wesley could swear there was more than a hint of Angelus in that chuckle.

dark-ex-watcher.livejournal.com

Wesley Wyndham-Pryce is in the bar tonight. After months away, it appears the bar is once again becoming a frequent venue. He's loathe to admit it, but the place seems comfortably familiar now.

But foremost on his mind tonight is his conversation with Lorne a couple of days ago. He had known Lorne--or, at least, one world's Lorne--had come to the bar, so their encounter had really been overdue. But it had been a shock to feel the past years slip away so quickly, bringing him back to the night of his death. Even with his life now restored, he can still remember every detail of that moment when Cyvus Vail twisted the knife buried in his gut. He wonders if that memory will be just as sharp when his own world's Lorne finally turns up.

Perhaps he'll make his usual Lagavulin a double tonight.

nomorekaraoke

If there's one thing to say about Milliways, one darling, lovely, spectacularly fabulous thing, it would be this: There are no No Smoking signs as far as the eye can see.

Furthermore, there's no place Lorne would rather be on a Sunday afternoon, having his breakfast (cuppa joe-with-added-sumthinsumthin). At the moment he's kicking back on the couch - that one, right there - taking up lots more space than is technically necessary. You see, this is one of those books that require active reading.

And by active, we mean sprawled all over and enjoying oneself immensely.

The book? Just a little something he found in the Library, handily translated and everything. If one were to look at the cover, it reads:

MARE KANDRE
BESTIARIUM

Judging by the slight frown of perplexity, it is quite the little piece of fictional literature.

For a given value of fictional, perhaps, this being Milliways...

((Edit of SlowTimes: Also known as aaaaaaargh I need sleep! This has been wonderful, lieblings, but the bed, it calls for me. I call slow-times, and wub you all!

Post is open until next EP. Which could mean weeks. I don't EP all that often, as you may have noticed.))

slayedthedragon.livejournal.com

Angel and Wesley are sitting in a secluded booth, and while they might be whispering, there's clearly an argument going on:

"Angel, we have got to do something."

"You think I don't know that?"

"It's been over a year!"

"And the City is my responsibility, Wes. I've had a lot more experience with Hell than you have. I know how bad this is, but what do you expect me to do?"

Wesley's eyes go cold. "It's time for more drastic measures."

Angel crosses his arms. "No. Forget it. There is no way I'm letting you tw--."

[Plot-locked for Illyria, thx!]

slayedthedragon.livejournal.com

The Front Door opens on the sound of shouting, panic, car horns, and some very unearthly caterwauling.

"All right, good! Now use the Amulet of Ko!tok!"

"Uh, Wes! It's not working!!"

"...Angel, you've got it upside-down! The other way!"

"Are you ki--?! FINE! Like this? WHOA!!"

"Careful! If Dabaoth makes it to the edge--! Uhh.... Hmm. All right, never mind!! Time for Plan B!!"

"Plan B?! What Plan B? You never said anything about a Plan B!"

"I know! That's because you wouldn't like it!"

"Wesley, what are you--?!!"

There's an alarmingly loud BOOM!!. Followed moments later by two very loud "OOF!!"s, as Angel and Wesley come tumbling through the Door and land in a heap in front of Bar.

"You were right," Angel mutters, as the dust settles. "I hate that plan."

dark-ex-watcher.livejournal.com

Wesley Wyndham-Pryce blinks as he steps through the Doorway and stops to pat himself down quickly.

Yes. A pulse. A heartbeat. Still alive.

After more than two years here Bound, you can't blame the man for checking. Not that he hadn't had a heartbeat back then too. But alive is... different.

Now taking a moment to enjoy the novelty of coming to Milliways through the Door, he walks over to the bar, takes a seat, and orders a familiar glass of Lagavulin.

stilljustandrew

Andrew's at a table with several books, none of which seem to have what he's looking for (and also with a finally standardized narration-dialogue style, of which he is of course entirely unaware).

At the moment, the largest of the books is open in front of him. On one page is a detailed woodcut of a tall gaunt figure with deep-set eyes; he's currently reading the facing page, and making notes in his pocket notebook. And possibly muttering a little under his breath.

Distractable, but also entirely likely to start talking shop. Ye be warned.

[Chronology note: All threads below come before Crowley's except for Wesley's, which has been millitimed to a few days later.]

slayedthedragon.livejournal.com

A vampire steps into the bar, supporting a barely conscious human.

...It's not what you think

Getting over to a booth would be easier if Angel would just toss Wesley over his shoulder, but he figures his friend has been through enough already this night. So, instead, Angel takes his time getting over to the booth, then sets Wesley down gently before calling over a waitrat.

"Um, one of my usual please? And a Lagavul--," Angel stops as Wesley groans and presses his forehead with the palms of his hands, "--On second thought, water and a couple of aspirin." Nunzio the waitrat scurries away.

"Make that a handful of aspirin!" he calls a moment later as he sees Wesley wince again.

Angel shakes his head. The Powers That Be have one hell of a sense of humor.

slayedthedragon.livejournal.com

Two men sit in a booth near the middle of the bar.

"--And I'm still not even sure the Machine will work. I keep checking the schematics, but... nothing."

Angel's rolls his eyes and throws up his hands.

Wesley stares at him, deeply offended. "What?"

"--I just can't see how you can be telling me that. After everything."

"What do mean, 'everything'?"

"You had me breaking into Wolfram & Hart seven times. I had to fight seven--."

"Angel, you still have the administrator access codes."

"--not to mention, Fyarl demons. I mean, hello? Mucus!"

"I'm the one who's dead!"

"Mucus, Wes! And, by the way: kind of dead here too! Plus, I don't even know what any of those parts even does!"

Wesley sighs. "I hardly know what they do myself."

"This whole Machine idea was a mistake."

"Well, she seemed quite certain--."

"Illyria always 'seems quite certain.' I bet she's been making this up as she goes along. Pulling it all right out of.... somewhere!"

"I don't think she would--."

"Oh, sure. Defend her. Like always."

"I don't--!"

More eye-rolling. "Oh, no, of course not, Mr. 'I wouldn't dream of being her Qwa'ha Xahn. No. Never. Unless she asked me to.'"

Outraged Wesley's mouth is open. That cutting retort should be arriving any time now.... eventually.

[plotlocked for Illyria, thx!]

dark-ex-watcher.livejournal.com

Wesley Wyndham-Pryce is down in the bar, fiddling with an odd-looking metal thing, which would take a Ray or Agatha to identify as an 'interstitial atomic lattice plotter.' Wesley asked Angel to get it for him, guessing correctly that this would require a night-time raid of what was left of the vaults once assigned to Wolfram & Hart's Science Division.

Now that he has it, though--and is poring over the initial design specs that Fred left behind for the Machine--he has the sinking feeling there may be more raids in Angel's future.

This Machine could take a while.

[ooc: slowtimed until Tuesday morning EST]

dark-ex-watcher.livejournal.com

...Lack of particle cohesion.... some sort of trans-reality amplifier....

A somewhat less-than-corporeal Wesley Wyndham-Pryce has commandeered one of the booths, and covered it in scattered piles of notebooks and pieces of paper. Every leaf of said paper appears to be covered in arcane symbols and complex mathematical formulae, all of it rendered in that semi-crazed scrawl once used by a certain Fred Burkle.

...Extrapolate a new variation on inter-dimensional plasma....

These particular piles date back to her time as head of Wolfram & Hart's Science Division, and Wesley is taking no pleasure whatsoever in having to relive those days. Liberating these documents from the clutches of the Senior Partners was no trivial matter either.

They do, however, provide the only surviving record of the arcane machine Fred once built to try to re-corporealize Spike during the time when he was not, in fact, a ghost but gave every appearance of being one. In other words, the very state Wesley finds himself in now. So the former Watcher is making what sense he can of all of it.

going-native.livejournal.com

By all appearances, a girl of about eighteen, give or take a few years, enters a Bar.

Said girl freezes for a moment in the doorway; this place is not familiar to her. She shakes her head once as though clearing it, then appears to stop and debate something with herself.

What is this place?
It's a bar, genius. Why are you asking me? Why am I helping you? Figure it out your own damn self.

The (apparent) girl glances around again, quickly, warily. This isn't supposed to be here. She isn't supposed to be here. She'd just been going for groceries. Perhaps she'd just made a wrong turn?

She really ought to turn around now, but... surely there's someone here who can answer her (perfectly reasonable) questions and set her back on the correct path?

[tiny!tag: Wanderer]

dark-ex-watcher.livejournal.com

For the first time in many days, Wesley Wyndham-Pryce is back from demonic L.A. and sitting at the bar. Or more precisely, floating right above one of the seats, thanks to his finding himself no longer Bound but, even more inconveniently, a ghost.

Even by Wesley's standards, this is proving to be more than a little annoying.

perfectblue.livejournal.com

Here's a face that hasn't been around the Bar in a while.

Illyria's absence had, at first, been unplanned and outside her control, though recently she's just been flat-out avoiding it. She would still be doing so, in fact, except that her other primary option is a rather unpleasant version of Los Angeles. Apparently hell even gets tiresome to former demon goddesses. Who knew?

In any case, Illyria is back in Bar, for the moment, at least. One wouldn't ever make the mistake of calling her approachable, but she doesn't look as though she's likely to tear the head off anyone who comes near her, either. This may be an improvement upon the norm where she is concerned.

action-antihero.livejournal.com

[ooc: Millitimed to last night, whee!]

Walking back out into the bar, Jack still feels a little shaken by everything that's happened. He takes a seat on a barstool, asking Bar for a pen and paper, and settles in to write a couple notes: one to be posted on the Security noticeboard, one to be left at the bar.

( To Security )

( To Merlin of Chaos )

dark-ex-watcher.livejournal.com

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]

dark-ex-watcher.livejournal.com

[OOM: It's been weeks since Wesley found himself back in Los Angeles, and Angel's unexplained absence is definitely not helping matters. Fortunately for Wesley, there are important things to do in the meantime.]

[Vague spoilers for Angel: After the Fall]

dark-ex-watcher.livejournal.com

Wesley Wyndham-Pryce is in the bar tonight. Nothing odd about that.

He's sitting in a chair by the fireplace. Nothing unusual about that either.

But there is the part where he's hard to see because he's come down with an advanced case of being translucent. That's new.

Feel free to bother the former Watcher, formerly dead, now ghost and unhappily indeterminate.

slayedthedragon.livejournal.com

The Door opens.

"...I'm telling you, Wes. Everything'll be fine."

"Angel, listen to me. It's more complicated than that. Illyria's spell--."

"Look, see? There it is! There's the Door, just like a couple days ago!"

"I'm really not ready to go bac--."

"You were there for two years! Must feel just like home now."

"'Home' isn't quite the word I'd--."

Angel appears at the Door.

"C'mon, Wes! Just step right through. Trust me, I'm a Champion. I get a feeling for these things."

A heavy sigh from Beyond. "Fine."

And in steps Wesley. Looking a bit more pale than usual. Some might even say 'translucent.' 'Spectral.' Some might even say 'extremely ghost-like.'

"Huh," says Angel, taking this unhappy surprise pretty well.

Wesley? Is not. One look down at his brand-new, faintly shimmering, and thoroughly see-through form, and:

"YOU SEE?! THIS IS JUST WHAT I WARNED YOU WOULD HAPPEN!"

Angel frowns. "Ok. This could be a problem."

Wesley glares, "DO YOU REALLY THINK SO?"