Edwardian story, Part Oneish
May. 26th, 2003 08:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thebratqueenOkay, I've started writing the Edwardian thing and, once again, my inability to cope with long stories in a single stretch is tripping me up. So I'm just going to trick myself into thinking this is actually a series by posting the various parts of it into my LJ as I write them. Lucky you ;)
Not betaed, not titled yet, but here's part one for your enjoyment. Oh - the whole thing takes place post Home and Chosen, so consider yourself spoiler-warned accordingly.
The first thing that Wesley noticed was catastrophically wrong was the grass.
"Angel, no - " he said, thrusting a hand out to stop Angel in the classic move of soccer moms everywhere who fail to believe that seatbelts will protect their children from sudden stops. "Wait."
But it was no use. The elevator doors slid shut behind them, leaving them in the darkness of early evening, with only the sound of crickets and perhaps bullfrogs to keep them company.
"This isn't good," Angel said.
"Not as a rule, no," Wesley agreed.
"I mean," Angel continued, looking around, "not unless they *really* redesigned the cafeteria."
"I don't believe they did," Wesley said, having to admit to himself that it wasn't *entirely* out of the realm of possibility. Stranger things had certainly happened. The griffon in Marketing, for instance.
"They could've," Angel said, either reading Wesley's thoughts or on the same wavelength with them. "Not like I go there often enough to check."
"I'm sure they would have sent you a memo," Wesley said, deciding that he was going to cast his confidence down that route. "You know their fondness for paperwork."
"As though I doubted we worked for evil," Angel said. He sighed, rubbing a tired hand over his face. "Okay. *Not* the office. So... what? New dimension?"
Wesley knelt down. He ran his hand over the grass, letting the blades tickle his fingertips. "No. Earth."
"That's good."
"England, to be precise."
"That's bad," Angel immediately said. Then frowned. "Wait, how do you *know*?"
"The vegetation," Wesley said. He stood up, wiping the dirt from his pants. "Don't you recognize it?"
"Yeah 'cause my time in England was a big, fat study of the plant life," Angel said, then immediately corrected himself, "Well actually there was this *one* where if you put it into a brand-new cut it would -"
"I'm not getting a signal on my mobile," Wesley said, having long ago learned when to simply ignore the vampire's nostalgic nature.
"Well we're in England," Angel pointed out.
"Angel," Wesley said, patiently and not for the first time, "our current cellphone plan is courtesy of one of the greatest forces of darkness that has ever been known in this or any other dimension. Which means that not only do we get unlimited calling during nights and weekends but we could also get a signal in the middle of the Earth's *arse* if we were so inclined. Something's wrong."
"And the *phone* thing was your first hint there?" Angel asked. When Wesley simply shot him a look in response he immediately held up his hands in apology. "Okay. England. Evil, non-cally cell phones. It's bad, I'm with ya. But you're the one with the big brain and the research materials. Tell me how we can fix it."
"Give me a moment," Wesley said. He reached into his satchel and pulled out the one book from his office that he happened to have with him. He flipped it open, then realized the dusk around them, though light enough for him to see by, wasn't nearly bright enough for reading. He flicked his right wrist and felt the familiar weight of a flashlight materialize into his hand.
"Um - " Angel coughed.
"Yes?"
"Not that this is the point, but how exactly to you go to the *bathroom* while you're wearing that thing?"
"It comes with toilet paper," Wesley said, enjoying the satisfaction of knowing that the vampire would never be able to tell if he was joking or not.
"Oh," Angel said, nodding as if he'd guessed that the entire time. "Okay. So - good. Research. I mean there's gotta be billions of books back at the office about world-hopping or teleportation or - *oo*, maybe something on gateways because I remember there was this one time that - "
"Instruction manual for operating the lift, please," Wesley told the book.
Angel deflated. "Guess that could work too."
Wesley watched as the blank pages filled with the diagrams and directions for how to use the Wolfram & Hart elevators. He turned to the index, found the part about the White Room, then the subsequent passages on all the *other* places one could take the lift to if the right combinations of buttons were pressed.
"Anything good?" Angel asked.
"Angel, I don't suppose your photographic memory can recall whether or not you inadvertently pressed 4, 11, 39, 18?"
"I hit 'Lobby'."
"Then *something* good," Wesley said, turning the page. "At least we're not in a Hell dimension."
"You *seen* the lobby lately? Or England for that matter?" Angel asked. He then frowned, turning his head to look in the distance. "Huh."
Wesley tried to look the same way, but darkness blocked his view before he could see whatever had caught the vampire's attention. "What?"
"Haven't seen one of *those* in a while," Angel said.
"What?"
Angel's head tilted, as he studied whatever it was curiously. "Car. Peugeot. Nice one."
Wesley made a non-committal grunt as he continued to study the book. A part of him wished he could get in touch with Fred. Electronics were far more her area of expertise than his.
"Surprised they're taking it out," Angel said, turning back to Wesley as the car apparently vanished from even his preternatural sight. "Old car like that - "
"We're buggered," Wesley said, snapping the book closed.
"*Not* the words I wanna hear," Angel told him.
"Neither one of us hit a pattern to activate any of the commands I've found in here," Wesley said.
"So how'd we get here?" Angel asked.
"Simple," Wesley said, "the lift's broken."
"Oh *great*," Angel said. He rubbed his eyes again. "That's what we need. Elevators that can take us to a room that's outside of the realms of space and time or to, apparently, *anywhere else* that are *broken*. *This* is gonna end well."
"I'll have to do more research," Wesley said. "Try some of the other books. See what I can find to activate whatever portal dropped us here."
"I'm not hearing words that sound like 'Don't worry, Angel, we'll be home in three minutes'," Angel said.
"You'll have to miss your meeting," Wesley acknowledged.
A twinkle of humor sparked in the vampire's eyes. "Yeah, well, damn *that* all to Hell."
Wesley smiled at that, then turned back to his book. He tried to think of where to start. Rapgar's Cross-dimensional index? Allawai's Codex? The Three Volumes of -
"Someone's coming," Angel said, squinting into the distance again.
Wesley turned to look. He saw three figures walking towards them along the same road that Angel's car had apparently taken. They were dressed in tweed, and one of them carried a shotgun that Wesley hadn't seen since he'd looked over the mantle in his grandfather's country home.
A thought which had twitched at the back of his head since the mention of Angel's meeting suddenly flared into life and demanded his attention.
"Angel," he said, carefully, "what time is it?"
Angel began to lift his wrist to check his watch. Wesley shot his hand out and covered it.
"No," Wesley said, meeting the vampire's eyes. "What time do you *think* it is?"
Angel paused, concentrated, then ventured, "Hour past sunset?"
Wesley shook his head. "That's wrong."
"That's what it *feels* like," Angel defended.
"Angel, it was four in the afternoon when we were in Los Angeles," Wesley said. "There's no possible way that it's - it's - "
"Seven," Angel supplied.
"Seven in the evening *here*," Wesley finished.
"You asked me what it felt like," Angel said.
"I know," Wesley looked down the road. The figures drew closer, and the sense of familiarity increased with every step. "That car you saw. How old was it?"
Angel thought about it. "Dunno."
"When was it *made*?"
"1910?" Angel guessed. "Maybe 1905? Why?"
"Hullo!" One of the figures called.
Wesley hastily turned off his flashlight and made it disappear. He tossed his book back into his satchel. "Angel, if what I suspect is correct we may be well and truly buggered."
"Why?" Angel asked. He tensed, ready for a fight. "What?"
"Pryce?" the man called, "is that you?"
"Wes, how does that guy know - "
"He doesn't," Wesley said, turning to face a man he'd only known of from photographs. "He knows my great-grandfather."
"That doesn't make sense."
"Just trust me," Wesley told him as the figures drew nearer.
Whatever else Angel might have said was lost as Wesley suddenly found himself inside of a tweed-coated bear hug.
He just hoped he could remember his family history well enough to get them out of this.
***
"Pryce, you old trout!" the man said, thumping Wesley on the back. "I haven't seen you since boat race night!"
Wesley extracted himself from the embrace as soon as he could and managed to look apologetic. "Yes. Well. I've - " he quickly remembered how strange he and Angel must look compared to the others, particularly Angel in his leather coat " - been traveling. America. The West."
"You don't say!" the man said. "You'll have to tell us all about it. Oh, I'm sorry. Let me introduce you. Forget my own head next." He pointed to his two companions. "That's Reginald Little of the Derbyshire Littles and that ugly wart over there is Spenser Waterbury. Reggie, Spense, this is - "
Wesley quickly offered his hand. "Wesley Wyndam-Pryce."
As he suspected, the name was immediately recognized. "Oh yes," the one called Reggie said. "You must be Jonathan's - "
"Second cousin," Wesley supplied, thinking of a relationship close enough to his great-grandfather to matter, yet far enough that the man wouldn't be expected to recognize him on sight should he be lurking around. "Yes. You know him?"
"Met him at the garden party at Cheswick last year," Reggie said. "When he stayed with Teddy. Stout fellow."
Wesley felt a stab of relief that he'd guessed the first man's name correctly. "Indeed."
"So what brings you to our corner of the earth?" Teddy asked.
"Travel," Wesley said. He tried to stitch together everything he'd been told in an effort to place them in time. If his great-grandfather had last been seen at the Cheswick party and Teddy thought *he* had been at the following boat race night, then the next item on the list was - "I came back for the Heppenstall dance."
"Last week?" Spenser asked.
"But my ship was delayed," Wesley recovered. "And - erm - lost my luggage. Nasty business, really. But I decided to forge through and pay my respects regardless. Heavens, I can't even remember the last time I've seen dear Linda."
"Lydia?"
"Her as well," Wesley coughed. "I say, look at the time. Have we missed the dinner gong already?"
"Good lord!" Teddy said. "Indeed. Come along. We can't have Pryce missing out on some of Antoine's gastronomic delights now, can we? Oh - " he stopped, running smack-dab into Angel, who'd managed to fade into the shadows for the duration of the conversation. "I say. Dreadfully sorry. Didn't see you there."
"That happens," Angel acknowledged.
Wesley realized he was in the position of having to offer an introduction. He almost wished for his glasses again, longing for something that he could fuss with to buy himself some time. Or at least to keep himself from having to meet Angel's eyes as he did it.
"Ah yes," Wesley said, as though he'd just remembered. "Everyone, this is Angel. My man."
"Excellent," Spenser said. He immediately deposited his shotgun into Angel's hands. "I was getting tired of carrying that."
Angel shot Wesley a look. Wesley followed Teddy to the house, trying desperately to ignore it.
This was definitely not one of their better weeks.
Not betaed, not titled yet, but here's part one for your enjoyment. Oh - the whole thing takes place post Home and Chosen, so consider yourself spoiler-warned accordingly.
The first thing that Wesley noticed was catastrophically wrong was the grass.
"Angel, no - " he said, thrusting a hand out to stop Angel in the classic move of soccer moms everywhere who fail to believe that seatbelts will protect their children from sudden stops. "Wait."
But it was no use. The elevator doors slid shut behind them, leaving them in the darkness of early evening, with only the sound of crickets and perhaps bullfrogs to keep them company.
"This isn't good," Angel said.
"Not as a rule, no," Wesley agreed.
"I mean," Angel continued, looking around, "not unless they *really* redesigned the cafeteria."
"I don't believe they did," Wesley said, having to admit to himself that it wasn't *entirely* out of the realm of possibility. Stranger things had certainly happened. The griffon in Marketing, for instance.
"They could've," Angel said, either reading Wesley's thoughts or on the same wavelength with them. "Not like I go there often enough to check."
"I'm sure they would have sent you a memo," Wesley said, deciding that he was going to cast his confidence down that route. "You know their fondness for paperwork."
"As though I doubted we worked for evil," Angel said. He sighed, rubbing a tired hand over his face. "Okay. *Not* the office. So... what? New dimension?"
Wesley knelt down. He ran his hand over the grass, letting the blades tickle his fingertips. "No. Earth."
"That's good."
"England, to be precise."
"That's bad," Angel immediately said. Then frowned. "Wait, how do you *know*?"
"The vegetation," Wesley said. He stood up, wiping the dirt from his pants. "Don't you recognize it?"
"Yeah 'cause my time in England was a big, fat study of the plant life," Angel said, then immediately corrected himself, "Well actually there was this *one* where if you put it into a brand-new cut it would -"
"I'm not getting a signal on my mobile," Wesley said, having long ago learned when to simply ignore the vampire's nostalgic nature.
"Well we're in England," Angel pointed out.
"Angel," Wesley said, patiently and not for the first time, "our current cellphone plan is courtesy of one of the greatest forces of darkness that has ever been known in this or any other dimension. Which means that not only do we get unlimited calling during nights and weekends but we could also get a signal in the middle of the Earth's *arse* if we were so inclined. Something's wrong."
"And the *phone* thing was your first hint there?" Angel asked. When Wesley simply shot him a look in response he immediately held up his hands in apology. "Okay. England. Evil, non-cally cell phones. It's bad, I'm with ya. But you're the one with the big brain and the research materials. Tell me how we can fix it."
"Give me a moment," Wesley said. He reached into his satchel and pulled out the one book from his office that he happened to have with him. He flipped it open, then realized the dusk around them, though light enough for him to see by, wasn't nearly bright enough for reading. He flicked his right wrist and felt the familiar weight of a flashlight materialize into his hand.
"Um - " Angel coughed.
"Yes?"
"Not that this is the point, but how exactly to you go to the *bathroom* while you're wearing that thing?"
"It comes with toilet paper," Wesley said, enjoying the satisfaction of knowing that the vampire would never be able to tell if he was joking or not.
"Oh," Angel said, nodding as if he'd guessed that the entire time. "Okay. So - good. Research. I mean there's gotta be billions of books back at the office about world-hopping or teleportation or - *oo*, maybe something on gateways because I remember there was this one time that - "
"Instruction manual for operating the lift, please," Wesley told the book.
Angel deflated. "Guess that could work too."
Wesley watched as the blank pages filled with the diagrams and directions for how to use the Wolfram & Hart elevators. He turned to the index, found the part about the White Room, then the subsequent passages on all the *other* places one could take the lift to if the right combinations of buttons were pressed.
"Anything good?" Angel asked.
"Angel, I don't suppose your photographic memory can recall whether or not you inadvertently pressed 4, 11, 39, 18?"
"I hit 'Lobby'."
"Then *something* good," Wesley said, turning the page. "At least we're not in a Hell dimension."
"You *seen* the lobby lately? Or England for that matter?" Angel asked. He then frowned, turning his head to look in the distance. "Huh."
Wesley tried to look the same way, but darkness blocked his view before he could see whatever had caught the vampire's attention. "What?"
"Haven't seen one of *those* in a while," Angel said.
"What?"
Angel's head tilted, as he studied whatever it was curiously. "Car. Peugeot. Nice one."
Wesley made a non-committal grunt as he continued to study the book. A part of him wished he could get in touch with Fred. Electronics were far more her area of expertise than his.
"Surprised they're taking it out," Angel said, turning back to Wesley as the car apparently vanished from even his preternatural sight. "Old car like that - "
"We're buggered," Wesley said, snapping the book closed.
"*Not* the words I wanna hear," Angel told him.
"Neither one of us hit a pattern to activate any of the commands I've found in here," Wesley said.
"So how'd we get here?" Angel asked.
"Simple," Wesley said, "the lift's broken."
"Oh *great*," Angel said. He rubbed his eyes again. "That's what we need. Elevators that can take us to a room that's outside of the realms of space and time or to, apparently, *anywhere else* that are *broken*. *This* is gonna end well."
"I'll have to do more research," Wesley said. "Try some of the other books. See what I can find to activate whatever portal dropped us here."
"I'm not hearing words that sound like 'Don't worry, Angel, we'll be home in three minutes'," Angel said.
"You'll have to miss your meeting," Wesley acknowledged.
A twinkle of humor sparked in the vampire's eyes. "Yeah, well, damn *that* all to Hell."
Wesley smiled at that, then turned back to his book. He tried to think of where to start. Rapgar's Cross-dimensional index? Allawai's Codex? The Three Volumes of -
"Someone's coming," Angel said, squinting into the distance again.
Wesley turned to look. He saw three figures walking towards them along the same road that Angel's car had apparently taken. They were dressed in tweed, and one of them carried a shotgun that Wesley hadn't seen since he'd looked over the mantle in his grandfather's country home.
A thought which had twitched at the back of his head since the mention of Angel's meeting suddenly flared into life and demanded his attention.
"Angel," he said, carefully, "what time is it?"
Angel began to lift his wrist to check his watch. Wesley shot his hand out and covered it.
"No," Wesley said, meeting the vampire's eyes. "What time do you *think* it is?"
Angel paused, concentrated, then ventured, "Hour past sunset?"
Wesley shook his head. "That's wrong."
"That's what it *feels* like," Angel defended.
"Angel, it was four in the afternoon when we were in Los Angeles," Wesley said. "There's no possible way that it's - it's - "
"Seven," Angel supplied.
"Seven in the evening *here*," Wesley finished.
"You asked me what it felt like," Angel said.
"I know," Wesley looked down the road. The figures drew closer, and the sense of familiarity increased with every step. "That car you saw. How old was it?"
Angel thought about it. "Dunno."
"When was it *made*?"
"1910?" Angel guessed. "Maybe 1905? Why?"
"Hullo!" One of the figures called.
Wesley hastily turned off his flashlight and made it disappear. He tossed his book back into his satchel. "Angel, if what I suspect is correct we may be well and truly buggered."
"Why?" Angel asked. He tensed, ready for a fight. "What?"
"Pryce?" the man called, "is that you?"
"Wes, how does that guy know - "
"He doesn't," Wesley said, turning to face a man he'd only known of from photographs. "He knows my great-grandfather."
"That doesn't make sense."
"Just trust me," Wesley told him as the figures drew nearer.
Whatever else Angel might have said was lost as Wesley suddenly found himself inside of a tweed-coated bear hug.
He just hoped he could remember his family history well enough to get them out of this.
***
"Pryce, you old trout!" the man said, thumping Wesley on the back. "I haven't seen you since boat race night!"
Wesley extracted himself from the embrace as soon as he could and managed to look apologetic. "Yes. Well. I've - " he quickly remembered how strange he and Angel must look compared to the others, particularly Angel in his leather coat " - been traveling. America. The West."
"You don't say!" the man said. "You'll have to tell us all about it. Oh, I'm sorry. Let me introduce you. Forget my own head next." He pointed to his two companions. "That's Reginald Little of the Derbyshire Littles and that ugly wart over there is Spenser Waterbury. Reggie, Spense, this is - "
Wesley quickly offered his hand. "Wesley Wyndam-Pryce."
As he suspected, the name was immediately recognized. "Oh yes," the one called Reggie said. "You must be Jonathan's - "
"Second cousin," Wesley supplied, thinking of a relationship close enough to his great-grandfather to matter, yet far enough that the man wouldn't be expected to recognize him on sight should he be lurking around. "Yes. You know him?"
"Met him at the garden party at Cheswick last year," Reggie said. "When he stayed with Teddy. Stout fellow."
Wesley felt a stab of relief that he'd guessed the first man's name correctly. "Indeed."
"So what brings you to our corner of the earth?" Teddy asked.
"Travel," Wesley said. He tried to stitch together everything he'd been told in an effort to place them in time. If his great-grandfather had last been seen at the Cheswick party and Teddy thought *he* had been at the following boat race night, then the next item on the list was - "I came back for the Heppenstall dance."
"Last week?" Spenser asked.
"But my ship was delayed," Wesley recovered. "And - erm - lost my luggage. Nasty business, really. But I decided to forge through and pay my respects regardless. Heavens, I can't even remember the last time I've seen dear Linda."
"Lydia?"
"Her as well," Wesley coughed. "I say, look at the time. Have we missed the dinner gong already?"
"Good lord!" Teddy said. "Indeed. Come along. We can't have Pryce missing out on some of Antoine's gastronomic delights now, can we? Oh - " he stopped, running smack-dab into Angel, who'd managed to fade into the shadows for the duration of the conversation. "I say. Dreadfully sorry. Didn't see you there."
"That happens," Angel acknowledged.
Wesley realized he was in the position of having to offer an introduction. He almost wished for his glasses again, longing for something that he could fuss with to buy himself some time. Or at least to keep himself from having to meet Angel's eyes as he did it.
"Ah yes," Wesley said, as though he'd just remembered. "Everyone, this is Angel. My man."
"Excellent," Spenser said. He immediately deposited his shotgun into Angel's hands. "I was getting tired of carrying that."
Angel shot Wesley a look. Wesley followed Teddy to the house, trying desperately to ignore it.
This was definitely not one of their better weeks.
