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"Uh, Nina?"

This wasn't right. He knew the hotel — his hotel — like the back of his hand. He could walk the corridors blindfolded, even those in parts of the building that they had barely inhabited before the great move to the Law Offices of Wolfram & Hart. And while the Hyperion had managed to avoid sustaining heavy damage or infestation like a majority of the buildings in Los Angeles, hell wasn't nearly this well-kempt. Especially not where his former mailing address was concerned. The carpets were vacuumed, the floors had carpets, mirrors and glass polished to a glare-free shine...

Not only did he appear to be in the wrong hotel, but the wrong dimension, and that was a problem. A big one.

This was the last thing he needed, whether it be an actual case of dimensional displacement or some trick the Senior Partners were pulling on him in retaliation for overthrowing the Lords. Not that they needed an excuse to meddle in his life. They were the masterminds behind his newfound liveliness in spite of what the heavy glamour that hid his humanity from everyone had to say about him. Angel was alive, but it was important that everyone still believed he was a vampire.

It's like he told Wes; there's only one way to get out of hell. Act like nothing's changed.

Which was why he stared at what he could see of the buffet table across the way, but made no move to approach it. Eating actual food in public? Dead giveaway. (No pun intended.)

He should probably find shoes. Somehow, walking out of his room in nothing but a t-shirt and sweatpants had topped his list of poorly thought out life choices this morning.

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This chick is sitting in one of the plush couches in the lobby, scribbling notes in a journal, her book bag settled on the floor in front of her, her feet curled up underneath her. She probably looks older than the last time Angel has seen her. Because she is. And at this point she's used to people just appearing, especially in the lobby. It's become one of her favorite hobbies here, seeing someone appear, watching their confusion, helping where she could and meeting and learning about new people and places.

Pausing in her scribbles, she looks up at the new face. This face wasn't new to her. This was the face of someone who had hurt everyone she cared about including herself. But really, she's past it. Mostly. People make mistakes. People die. Things happen. She stuffs all of those emotions threatening to spew out into the open air deep down inside.

"Weird, right? I give it three stars cause while it isn't Trump Tower, it isn't a Motel 6 either." Her lips twist thoughtfully. "Not that I've ever been to Trump Tower, but I imagine it would be more impressive. Less hum-drum and more posh, not the Spice Girl."

To his knowledge, the last time Angel spoke to Dawn, it was while soulless and checking on the status of a Slayer's-in-town rumor that was circulating around between all the bottom feeders. Technically, that was the first time he ever spoke to the girl, as she was brought into creation sometime after his departure from Sunnydale. He remembered her, of course, but he knew that those memories weren't real. He had no right to judge that, what those monks did, for he'd sanctioned the same regarding his own son when it came to giving Connor a better life. He allowed not only his son's memories to be altered, but those of his friends and everyone who knew him. Sometimes, that sort of thing was necessary.

Doesn't make running into what appears to be Buffy's little sister any less awkward. She's taller, and less lanky than he recalls. Probably around his son's age now.

"Uh— I'm, um— Spice Girl?"

"Still not into pop culture references, huh?" She can deal with that. Kind of. She's not very good at keeping said references down to a minimum. Honestly, it's a Summers thing.

She shifts uneasily and then forces a small smile in his direction. "You're good you, right? Not evil you?" She's pretty sure she would be dead if he were Angelus but it's good to get confirmation on things, right?

They always thought he was evil again. While he couldn't necessarily blame them, the assumption wasn't really all that appreciated. He'd done his evil time, but out of the total of two times he'd gone bad since those gypsies cursed him, Angel had only done one soulless stint near the Sunnydale crowd. The only people with Sunnydale roots to tango with him the second time around were Wesley, Faith, and that thing that had been inhabiting Cordelia. But that didn't count for much.

He bites back the anger thinking about that brings forth. It's not Dawn's fault, and the question is relatively valid — better safe than sorry. She's right, though. Were he Angelus and not Angel, he would've already broken her neck and stored her body in a convenient closet for Buffy to come across later.

"No, not evil. I'm me. Good me. As good as it gets... me." Literally, but he wasn't about to clue Summers the Younger in on the truth Buffy had stumbled upon.

That makes her smile, an all around glad smile that things are on the up and up... and maybe even better. Because as good as it gets is a special kind of Angel lingo that could elude to some really good things for him. She's a firm believer in redemption. Buffy had taught her that through everything that had happened with Willow. And even through more than just that. So she believes that everyone deserves good things if they're working toward repairing or changing whatever things that might not look so good in their past.

She nods and taps the tip of the top of her pen against the journal in her lap. "Buffy's here too." Thank goodness. Because Dawn wasn't sure she would be handling this place quite so well without her sister here. "Have you seen her?"

Good is relative. Angel's alive and that's a good thing, but it's also a very, very bad thing. It's what he's always wanted and the last thing he wants all rolled into one, a burden more than it is a gift. A curse of it's own. He isn't human because he earned it, because he shanshued, or finally did right by the world. No, he's human because Wolfram & Hart knows that right now, while Los Angeles is damned to hell, is when he needs his demon the most. So they took it away from him so he'd be easier to control.

He liked to think he was still giving them a good run for their money, vampire or not. It would take more than the removal of his fangs to keep him down.

"Yeah, I ran into her earlier."

Which had been something of a train wreck. He thought she was some manifestation of Wolfram & Hart's, the firm's newest way of screwing with his head, carrying on with the assumption that she already knew things she shouldn't until it was too late. Buffy knew what he was, knew that he wasn't a vampire anymore, and in a panic, he'd sworn her to secrecy. How long that cat's going to stay in the bag, he doesn't know. But she knows and to be honest, he isn't quite sure how he feels about that.

He's too used to only Wesley and his dragon knowing. The only two that ever should. Everyone else had to believe the lie. Nothing's changed.

Unfortunately 'nothing's changed' to Dawn isn't necessarily a good thing with Angel. But she'll believe it wholeheartedly because one; why would anyone lie to her? And two, Dawn is oftentimes just that naive to believe anything that someone with a familiar face will tell her. Whether that's Angel or Buffy in this instance remains to be seen. For the time being, she'll cling to the fact that he said he's good and let it be.

She nods, waiting for him to say more about his run in with Buffy. But there was nothing. Not an it was good to see her. Not a testament to all the awkward ever. Nothing. "I forget how opposite of chatty you are. But I'm just gonna assume it was awkward and that our run in is way more fun." With that, she grins wryly at him.

At least while something has definitely changed, Angel himself remains firmly planted in the good without any risk of going bad. The only way that would be accomplished is if he had someone sire him. And, not going to lie, while he'd entertained the thought of getting someone to do just that... As much as he wanted — needed to be a vampire again in order to get everyone out of the hell he dropped them into, his soulless self likely would only make things worse. Spike would become a professional Illyria and Angelus wrangler, and that would be ultimately counterproductive, nevermind subjecting his son to that again...

Anyway— Chatty? Yeah, he's not always the most chatty. Internally, there's a constant running commentary, but externally? Silence. Usually. Sometimes. Depends on who he's talking to and Buffy's little sister? Well, that's the cherry on top of this particular slice of awkward.

"Saying hello and then asking to be stitched up kind of have that awkward effect." He lifts the edge of his shirt up, revealing the bandaging wrapped around his torso.

It'll take much longer to heal than it should (good ol' human healing, how he hates the), but there's no harm in being honest about the fact that something big and nasty ripped into him. Happened all the time, human or not human. He was a magnet for such things, especially when he strolled right up to them and waved a flaming sword in their faces. That'll do it, alright.

Dawn's nose wrinkles at the sight of the bandage, concern lacing her features. Yes, she knows that Angel has super healing (or did) but still, she doesn't like seeing anyone injured. "Yay for super healing, right? Sometimes I wish I had it cause hello I'm the queen of clumsy so nice to meet you."

She looks back up to him, ever the curious one about all things supernatural. "What sort of oogly boogly was it?"

"Demonic T-Rex."

At least, he was pretty sure it was the T-Rex. The wound Buffy stitched up for him had been jagged. If the She-Skip had been the one to graze him, the cut would've been a lot cleaner.

"Wish I was making that up, but demon dinosaurs are apparently a thing."

Her brows rise, eyes wide, as she imagines a demonic t-rex. Really, it isn't that hard because they've seen all manner of things in their time so far and Dawn has a really good imagination. "Wow. You've been dealing with craziness too. There's a dinosaur room here, like seriously Jurassic Park kind of room. I thought it would be cool and then the dinosaurs just got scary."

She glances down at his stomach again. "You'll heal though, right? You'll be okay?"

"Things with sharp teeth and a strong desire to rip through you with them tend to lose their novelty after the first few seconds."

Except when it came to his dragon, but the massive beast was a rare exception to the rule, just like he'd been when he was still a vampire with a soul. Now he's just a human wearing a lot of glamour to make him still appear vampiric to those not in the know.

He nods. "Yeah, it'll mend." In time. In more time than it was going to take, but it would mend.

She looks relieved that he'll be okay. Cause whatever it was that had done that to him sounded nasty. She could kind of picture it in her mind but to be fair, her imagination tended to embellish things when given free reign.

"Well just be careful which rooms you go in. Look before you leap kind of thing." The moment the words are out of her mouth, she rolls her eyes and gives him a pointed look. "I know, I know... pot, kettle, black. But seriously. You'd think I'd be a professional by now, but really I'm only so good at tending wounds."

Having her show concern and relief for his well being is new, but Angel's experience with Dawn wasn't always pleasant, given his history with his sister back in Sunnydale. He knew those memories were false, but he couldn't exactly be the judge of the monks' false constructions. Angel had consented to the altering of his own son's memories and that of his friends for the greater good of it all, for all their sakes. It was the only way to protect his son, to protect them. Much like it was the only way for the monks to protect the key that Dawn really was somewhere deep inside.

Or so he assumed.

"As long as you know how to wrap a decent bandage, I think we'll be okay."

"Good cause that much I can do." She offers with a lame sort of smile. Honestly, she could probably do more in that area, but Buffy shielded her so much that Dawn rarely saw the worst of the injuries that the Slayerettes had ever gotten or that Buffy herself had ever gotten. The most actual blood flow she had been around was when she had slit her own wrists, scars she still bore, when she had been wounded in the battle for the Seed, or when they had been battling the First Evil and several of the girls had come back bloody. And even then Buffy had tried to ship her off with Xander.

"So I'm thinking pocket dimension." She adds randomly, wide eyes looking around the lobby to indicate that she's talking about this entire place. "Or a dimensional hub in an all roads between worlds lead to here sort of way." Which was also a possibility.

"Do you need help finding your room or anything?" She asks, willing to do whatever he needs to settle in. Dawn, always helpful. Or hindering by helping. Depending.

"Or a holding dimension. Place off to the side of an infinite number of worlds to be misplaced in until you find the proper way back — though I wouldn't recommend trying to jump through a fireplace without verifying its wrathfulness."

...room? He hadn't even thought about finding a temporary place to rest his head. (Because everything here was going to be temporary in his book, as he was bound-determined to get back to hell and his son.) He'd slept or a few hours on Buffy's bed after passing out from a combination of alcohol and exhaustion after she stitched him up, but a bed of his own... Yeah, he should probably look into getting one of those. Somewhere he could be quietly human without anyone there to burst his faux vampire bubble.

"That depends on how game you are for going room shopping with me."

That another good theory. Dawn nods and quickly pulls another journal from the inside of her bag, flips through the pages and dots down Angel's idea on a new page with a few quick notes. All of it done with a purple glitter gel pen. "Good theory. I have a list. Well, it's a small list, just those three things on it. But three things makes a list, I think." She caps the pen and puts both journals away.

"Really?" The invitation to go with with him to find a room is unexpected. She had been pretty sure he wanted to get away from her as quickly as possible. That's what she gets for assuming things. Sometimes she falls back into those insecurities she had when she was younger, the ones where everyone leaves because their stuff is more important than her stuff, the ones where she's a nobody in a world of somebodies. But her eyes light up and she nods, clasping her book bag closed before she stands up. "I'd like that. The rooms are super hotel-y, but you also have to be careful cause some of them go into different worlds. Have you seen any of those yet?"

“You do know that I live in a hotel, right?” Claiming the Hyperion as home again comes naturally to him. Wolfram & Hart had never felt like it; he always felt like a temporary resident renting out a penthouse with a spectacular penthouse view (really spectacular) for an extended number of nights. “Super hotel-y is the standard.”

He shakes his head. “Not yet, but this isn’t my first trans-dimensional tango.”

She smiles a bit at that. She had known he had lived in a hotel at one time. She didn't know if that was still true or not. In her time it's way past the last time she had heard that he lived in a hotel. Maybe that could help her place which time period he was from. Maybe that was just wishful thinking. Either way, she was happy to spend some time with Angel and get to know him as more than what she knew him as and for him to do the same with her.

They start walking toward the elevators. "So you've litterally trans-dimensional tagoed from one hotel to another?"

“Very literally. Open a door in one hotel, only to step through it and find yourself in another. For a second, I thought I was on one of the floors we didn’t frequent very much.”

No he didn’t. He’d suspected instantly that things weren’t as they seemed, but the effort he puts into the light potshot at himself and the warm chuckle that follows is there. Things Angel’s gotten better at and has always been capable of doing: holding a decent conversation. Back in Sunnydale, he just didn’t have much to say that wasn’t relevant to the task at hand.

"As far as lots in life go, I'd say hotels are not a bad one. Unless they're dives cause then you never know what kind of ick you're getting into." Dawn rambles as they walk. If there's someone who's willingly hanging out with her to listen, she can ramble their ear off. "Luckily this one's kinda cool. Sometimes scary, but sometimes cool. And who does the sometimes scary better than ex-Sunnydale peeps, right? I just said peeps. Trying to be hip and cool." She glances at Angel. "So much failure on the hip and cool front, right?"

He steps into the elevator, shoving his hands in his pockets and waiting for her to push the button to whatever floor she's looking to take him to.

"I like Barry Manilow," he admits. "I think your peeps have one-upped me in the hip and cool department by at least a dozen."

Dawn presses the button for the top floor. After careful deliberation she and her sister had chosen the top floor of he hotel. The elevator car starts to move and Dawn looks to Angel. "Buffy and I decided to live on the top floor right by the exit stairwell cause of strategies. If this place starts to go all wonky, we can get to the stairs. But also we're away from the lobby where most people seem to arrive just in case people like Hell Goddesses come looking for Slayer or Keys."

It was out of her mouth before she could stop herself. Buffy had told her not to talk to anybody about her keyness since someone might take it upon themselves to use her. Or try to use her. "Keys I mean, that open doors cause you know this place is full of them. Doors."

"I know," he reminds her as the elevator doors closed behind them, "but I won't say anything."

As for where she and Buffy have decided to make a home for themselves in this place, he knows about that as well. Buffy had taken him there while he was still half-convinced this was Wolfram & Hart screwing with his head again in a crude attempt at making him lose it. She'd stitched him up in there and he'd passed out in her bed — not with her in it, of course. He hasn't stepped foot inside it sense, doesn't plan to again, and isn't letting Dawn in on the fact that he's been there before.

Dawn gives him a grateful half-smile. It's actually nice to feel like someone else here gets it and is on her side. Buffy's a sure thing, most other people were fifty-fifty. But Angel seemed to be alright now. "Plus there's the fact that the top floor is mostly abandoned. That's nice too. Less noise. You'll probably like it."

The elevator doors sweep open and Dawn steps out, looking left then right. "There's stairwell exits at either end and one in the middle that goes down and down and down. But we're over there to the left." She looks up at Angel, and my goodness she always forgets how tall he is. "I guess it depends on how close or far away you wanna be." Personally, she wants him close in case anything happens. But look at her holding her tongue for once.

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chuisle - 2014-04-09 01:47 (UTC) - Expand

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