Of Watchers and People Persons

[nomorekaraoke]

Seeing Emma--

Let's start over.

Seeing Beth was probably one of the hardest things he's done in the past year, but he doesn't regret coming here. He doesn't care about the looks he gets from everyone, nor about the whispers or the tension so thick you could cut with something suitably sharp... And yet, it's getting to him despite his best efforts; he needs air, he needs open spaces, and more than anything, he needs a mini marshmallow.

Or twelve of them. Badly.

Only problem is, once he's outside, there's this thing... getting the bag out of his (very manly and stylish) traveling suitcase is one thing. Getting it open (without using his teeth, thank you very much) is kind of difficult if you've only got full use of one of your arms. In short, life sucks on all levels today. Why can't Deathwoks have sharp claws like every other demon? Or fangs. Actual fangs would be nice.

He is not going to use his teeth for this. Not gonna happen.


His problems, so huge, aren't they. So huge even his narration jumps on the sarcasm wagon.

Comments

[stilljustandrew]

A long beat.

And he reaches out and takes a marshmallow, with a very small rueful smile. "Thanks."

[nomorekaraoke]

He's feeling better already, and with it comes his usual penchant for generosity, however small a gesture it may be. "Nemas problemas, 'bro."

[stilljustandrew]

Wry: "Oh, don't I wish."

He pops the marshmallow into his mouth, and chews.

"Listen," he says before he's quite finished chewing, "I'll walk you out."

[nomorekaraoke]

"Oooh, a private escort. I'm flattered." And apparently, with his regained bearings and slightly eased heart and soul comes the flirting, and with a vengeance.

Another few munches, and he thinks he's ready-steady enough to try standing on his own two feet. Up he goes, bag safely tucked into the hook of his wrist. (Very manly) traveling suitcase, check, coat, check, everything else, check checkity-check.

"After you, kind Sir."

[stilljustandrew]

"Oh no no, after you." Andrew makes a flourishing gesture in the direction of the main road.

"This isn't me being polite," he adds after a moment, slightly sardonic. "This is me doing my job to make sure you've left."

[nomorekaraoke]

"Yes, but notice how nice I am, not pointing that out." He grins, not sure if it's the sugar or the surprisingly honest talk they had that's lifting his spirits a bit higher than strictly normal, lately.

"I own a night club, sweetie. I know all about showing people the door."

[stilljustandrew]

"Oh, I know that." Wry again, as he falls into step next to Lorne. "I should know, I watched you do it back in February."

[nomorekaraoke]

"Yeah. And it went so smoothly too," sarcasm - Lorne's best friend. "My best moment, I'm telling you, the highlight of my career offending one of the members of House Varadeem. Go me."

[stilljustandrew]

"Yeah, about that."

Andrew’s eyes are on the path ahead of them.

"You ever find out why we were there with Lord Vayan in the first place?"

[nomorekaraoke]

He tilts his head down, then up again, to the skies above. "I have an idea or two. Vayan's very much the epitome of aristokitten, and his enemies want him dead. But what I can't figure out is how come he accepted you guys into his pride."

[stilljustandrew]

"We showed up one night earlier that month and saved his life. Same assassins. Well, not the same assassins, they kinda came down with a bad case of dead after that, but same order."

He has no idea why he's telling Lorne this, and then he thinks of Angel's flat closed expression and he knows exactly why h's telling Lorne this.

"I wonder if you can guess how we knew he'd need our help."

[nomorekaraoke]

It does sound rather like something...like something Cordy would've done for them, but he knows that one's as unlikely as... Well, maybe not as unlikely as someone returning Fred's soul to un-smushiness and re-corporation.

"You had someone who could tell you, obviously. I wouldn't want to guess who or how, I'd just look silly. Have to think about my tough guy image, after all..."

[stilljustandrew]

"They tell me back in L.A., you guys used to call it That Vision Thing."

Still not looking at Lorne. His voice is very calm, and very light.

"From the Powers' mouth to our ears."

[nomorekaraoke]

If he were only looking, he'd get an eyeful. Doubt fills the demon's eyes, warring with old grief, but both are pushed away behind his eyelids.

"Not ...Cordy?"

[stilljustandrew]

At that he glances over, and shakes his head.

"Not Cordy," he says. "Another new guy. But the same deal."

[nomorekaraoke]

He nods, both disappointed and relieved at the clarification; not having a resurrected or de-ascended Cordy around means he can't lose her again. It's a horrible thought, but it's his, and he can't escape it.

"So you found yourself another pawn of the Powers'..."

[stilljustandrew]

Andrew smiles crookedly. "A bishop, maybe."

Or a knight -– no, that's Angel. The Champion.

[nomorekaraoke]

"Nah. We're all pawns. Even if we don't actively play the game, we're all pawns. That or cannon fodder for the Powers."

Why no, he isn't bitter.

Let's put it this way: the Skip is definitely not off his block yet.

[stilljustandrew]

A sidelong look.

"That why you decided to get out of the game?"

[nomorekaraoke]

"I'm not a Champion, never was, not even back home. I'm not even a useful sidekick, so... If all I'm good for is being fucked over by the Powers, then I'm just not gonna stay involved."

He keeps his eyes on where they're going. The gates just keep coming closer - he isn't quite sure if he's relieved or quite the opposite. Leaving Beth behind isn't something he's ready to do, but leaving all the animosity and distrust behind is a weight off his shoulders and nothing but.

[stilljustandrew]

A long pause, then Andrew shrugs and looks away.

"Can't argue with that, I guess."

[nomorekaraoke]

He mimics the shrug in silent agreement of the notion - it's a noncommittal sort of acknowledgment, and it feels fitting somehow that it so perfectly mirrors Wells's words.

He knows everything out of his mouth is being scrutinized and analyzed, and that it will all get back to Angel. It'll seep through the walls of his HQ...wherever it is these days. He wonders if he's okay.

"I guess you know what I used to do...back in LA? What my niche was?"

[stilljustandrew]

"Some. You mean when you worked with Angel, or before that?"

They’re nearing the gates. Andrew slows his pace, just a little.

[nomorekaraoke]

Well... One thing remains the same, at least. Wells will tolerate him if he gets something out of it, will even try to extend their weird conversation. He supposes it was the same, back in Los Angeles.

It's probably the same in New York, with all those other people, too.

But Lorne slows down as well, to match his acquaintance-of-sorts. "I used to read people's souls. Hearts. Auras, call it what you want.


"I don't do that sort of thing anymore."

[stilljustandrew]

He turns to look at Lorne, visibly confused.

"You don't? Not even with the ..." He waves a hand. "People were singing, to get into your club. I thought...."