log; ongoing; closed.

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When: June 7th, some hours before dawn.
Rating: It'll be PG, just in case.
Characters: Angel (atoner) and Illyria (ancient_smurf).
Summary: So, Faith and Illyria had a little fight. And it was very little indeed. Angel is not entirely pleased, though.
Log:

It was not particularly cold outside, considering the time of the night - and Illyria much preferred the open sky to the restricted space of the manor. Outside, she could smell the fresh air, listen to the sounds of nature rustling about her. There was also the infernal ticking, though she was getting used to it slowly but surely. It disturbed her, made her want to rip her ears out. But it was true, what the ancient creature had told her. The ticking was a heartbeat. It was, on some level, interesting. She stood just outside the manor, her eyes scanning her surroundings for potential enemies first, then for anything else. Being ambushed would be an amusing past time, perhaps, but she had already fought one, meaningless battle today. She would prefer to enjoy the rising dawn without disturbances. Oh, but that girl had been mildly entertaining. So had Wesley. It was a curious sort of entertainment, though, and one she still did not appreciate. Human beings, seeking to assert themselves, to control and to master, accepting confrontations too difficult and too dangerous for them to win... They tried and failed. To some, it would have been amusing. To Illyria, it was like watching failure upon failure and it tired her, like failure always did. Pathetic, to think that a mere human girl - enhanced strength or not - could win a fight against her. She was not a bad challenge, for mild practice. If she had not been so overwhelmingly controlled by her conflicted emotional state, she might even have been more interesting than the white-haired halfblood, though it did not say much. Standing rigidly, her human shell so small and stiff compared to her own body, Illyria watched the darkness grow just a bit thinner. Dawn was at least another two hours away. She watched the green sway beneath her feet and wondered briefly what it would have told her about this world if she had been able to hear it still. She missed that ability, though it was by far the easiest one to do without. Here, far away from the human infestations of her former kingdom, she was starting to wish for more again, feeling ambitions rising to the surface that she had kept at bay, wanting to change for the sake of a world that did not belong to her anymore. Meaningless. And yet. She was not ready to throw all her learning away. Her internal infestation was an ever-present ache, affecting her judgment and making her line of sight shaky. It would not do for a god, to know so little about herself. For a king of gods, it was unforgivable. She would simply have to endure, for now.

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[atoner.livejournal.com]

There were numerous situations that Angel found himself balancing. Spike. Illyria. Faith. Sylar. Even Wesley, at times, proved to be trying; every moment of interaction reminds Angel of what he lost, of never being able to see his friend again. Trying to strike the balance is difficult, trying to figure out what weight should have leverage over something else concerns Angel, but he still tries to take it in stride. Act casual, act like it's nothing—the very core of his person led him to reaching out and helping as many people as possible, believing in as many as he could, while still maintaining that part of who he was. It's difficult at times, even now, knowing his failures and what had come to pass, knowing what could come to pass for those around him, but Angel is not someone without trying to find himself on steady ground. Work out a way and move forward. The conclusions themselves may be difficult ones, and they may not always be the correct ones, but Angel knows not to stray from his path.

He knows he can't stray. Or rather: he needs to believe that.

So balancing it is, offering to casually make eggs for Faith before pulling meat out of the fridge and taking it to the tigers. It's like a routine, pass through the halls of the mansion and act like nothing's wrong. Glance at the pile of paperwork he's left on a desk and keep his head in the right place. It's a list of things that need to be done. Angel doesn't mind them, and he doesn't mind his friends being around—or even the trying individuals like Illyria. Trying though she may be, and trying though others may be, it keeps him busy. Familiarity, too, is something he doesn't mind, but Angel's not wont to admit that Illyria is a particularly welcomed reminder of home. In fact, he would rather skirt around the issue and keep their friendly atmosphere.

Maintaining that is another part of the list, though. Angel steps out into the night air after noticing that Illyria wasn't inside, hands brushing over his pockets as if he wishes to slip them inside, but he quickly decides against it. He carries himself out until he notices her. It's like Angel to sneak up easily on someone, and he does the same with her, breaking little of his routine in order to glance in the same direction of where she's looking. He has no doubt she notices him, but he doesn't say anything—not yet. He's seen the worst of what she could become, understands the necessity behind being careful around her, but he also knows that she's far from that point right now. It is one thing he is confident about, but will always be careful when he perceives; just as she is far from being that, he has Angelus always lurking beneath the surface, waiting to be brought out by the people in charge of this City. And if he has to worry about that, then he has to worry about what they could do to Illyria, skip her forward or skip her back and bring her free reign upon this place.

Worrying is a part of the balance, after all. Worrying makes the balance exist.

Quiet it is, then, with Angel crossing his arms and bowing his head, and waiting for her recognition. She thinks too highly of herself for this to go any other way, and while seeing her, being around her, the mere reminder of her is painful, because of the loss of Fred, he has to keep his head in the right place. He's always had to. They're counting on him to be who they believe him to be.

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She does not turn as he approaches, well aware of his presence but too preoccupied with her own thoughts to shift her attention right away. She understands his role as a leader, as the one who takes responsibility. She does not understand why he seems to ascribe so little importance to the aspect of power which is carefully linked to the position of a ruler. He seems to care so little about advancing himself and she blames it on his lack of heritage, on his pitiful blood connection with the human existence. A warrior, yes, of some standing. But a leader? The thought bothers her.

She speaks softly, keeping her focus on her surroundings as he comes to a halt: "Did the girl stay for the night?"

Why he let Wesley's charge stay in the first place, she does not understand. Then again, she knows that he does not care much for Illyria's presence and all the same, he tolerates her. Not that he could ever throw her out - but there are many places to stay here and she would have simply found her own place.

This human girl... She shuts her eyes for a moment, letting memories surge through her very briefly. It is unclear. But they have history, they must have. If she bothered to search through enough memories, her answers might be clearer. However, she remembers Wesley's words, despite not caring overly much for them. She does not want to melt together with the girl and lose herself in the process. She simply concludes that he must have a reason for letting the girl stay, something besides his strange sense of obligation that she does not understand nor care for.

`

[atoner.livejournal.com]

"She did," Angel tells her. "She might be stay for a while." The approach to Illyria is different from the one he uses with Faith. The Slayer needs calm tones and understanding, because she's volatile in a different way; she doesn't think she's better, doesn't reign supremely on a superior stance that carries her. If she did, Angel would have a different way of dealing with her. And it's likely he wouldn't be so understanding if that were the case, but Faith was different. Illyria was, too. "What happened—the fight—it won't be happening again." His tone is flat, but direct, enough for her to pick up on the fact that he was being clear, without actually making an order. "As I'm sure you've already made your point."

If Faith were here, Angel imagines she would be displeased with his approach. He does his best to play into her solemn disposition with how he speaks, but ensuring that he doesn't talk over here while still standing his ground. While he did not scold Faith for starting the fight, he does not scold Illyria—nor would it bother. It would be like speaking to dead air, with her only growing irritated with him and taking it as an antagonistic approach. At least, that's how he perceives the potential in this situation. Angel has a feeling he isn't too far from the truth.

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She looks at him, finally, and cocks her head. She recognizes his style. No direct orders, no real commands - an attempt to coat his wishes in diplomacy. She is not impressed. To her, there has never been successful leadership with the inclusion of compromises. He is the exception to this and it bothers her. There's a core within her, though, that is easily sated in this regard. She knows he is powerful. She knows that he is a leader. Or perhaps the girl knew.

"I fight if I wish," she says, a hardened edge creeping into her voice. "Though I shall leave her be if she does not challenge me again."

Yes. Those are memories, memories saturated with trust and admiration. She pushes them away, clearing her mind as best as she can. It is only partly effective. They will linger all the same. She has always rebelled against leaders, especially weak ones who allow her the chance but towards him, against him, it takes more.

[atoner.livejournal.com]

"Of course you do." His tone goes a little sharp, and he already takes a few steps back and turns a little. Angel does not wish to draw out this conversation any longer, but he imagines there is always that possibility. "She won't make another attempt. Faith is smart." Sometimes. He doesn't know what state of mind she could have one day or the next; with the influence of Sylar, the one that keeps her from lying but also keeps her from telling the truth, it's hard to tell. But he has to count on that knowledge, count on what he knows, to have that balance.

"I know you don't like things here. I don't blame you. But I'd rather this be the only time we stand here like this." Once again, it isn't scolding—it's the truth. His approach to his situations is something she would never pursue, but he knows how to handle things well enough. He has to ensure that things won't change, even if there is a slim chance that they will. After all, there is no sure fire fix for things in this world with the ticking clock that reminds them, every day, that the City is changing, moving to a point: they just don't know what.

[abdicate-you.livejournal.com]

Looking away, she considers his words. It is his earnest attitude - the way he seems so devoid of manipulation. It inspires trust, perhaps, in some creatures. For Illyria, it is a source of further mystery. Leaders are never without an egoistical motive. She wonders what he is motivated by because it is so difficult to see. His actions seem generally selfless, but she considers herself difficult to fool in this regard.

She thinks about the girl, 'Faith', with her anger and arrogance. Beating her had been oddly satisfying, considering the fact that she had not posed much of a challenge. Perhaps she was smart by human standards. It did not mean much to Illyria.

"Would you have me step down from such challenges in the future? Or are you merely concerned for this one girl?"

She is curious. Often enough, she does not entirely understand what they seek of her. They might not achieve it - she doubts she would ever do anything mainly to please them - but it interests her all the same.