tampered | log; closed.

log; closed.

When: September 5, midday.
Rating: G.
Characters: Winifred Burkle (

ancient_smurf).
Summary: With Wesley gone, Fred and Illyria meet up for a small chat about... this and that.
Log:

Meeting Winifred Burkle was not one of Illyria's most urgent cravings, but when she told Wesley that she was not a coward, it had been a very honest proclamation. She seldom bothered with lies or deceit; concerning herself, there was no need.

Concerning Fred... Well, with humans involved, it was bound to be complicated and this was no exception. Illyria had not known what the arrival of that girl would actually mean until the strong sense of nauseous guilt had started ruining her mood, like a constant itch. She knew she should ignore it to avoid making it worse; but of course, since her defeat back in LA, she had been unable to do so.

Writing and talking to the girl was bad enough. Surely, meeting her would be even worse.

But Illyria was not a coward. She did not run from anything. With Wesley's amulet hanging lightly around her neck, she approached her destination, her movements calm and controlled. She would finish this, one way or another. The girl would play her part, whether she wanted to or not.

With that in mind, she brough out her spare key and unlocked the door to the apartment, not bothering to knock.

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Fred wasn't exactly looking forward to this meeting, either. However, she knew it had to happen sometime, that they'd have to talk. Getting to pick the time and place was nice, at least- she had figured that Illyria would only demand.

She was trying to see this...person as something other than the thing that killed her. A demon that killed her, painfully and really rather too slowly. Evidence of her weakness. After all, the others had accepted her on some level, and it wasn't Illyria's fault she was brought forth when she was. But despite what her brain told her, she knew she'd had to push down the gut instinct to demand from her, too, an explanation or an apology or something.

She was in Wesley's bedroom, trying to steel herself, when the front door opened. For a bare moment, she thought Wesley might have come back somehow- she rushed out, only to find who she should've been expecting all along. She coughed, noting quietly, "I didn't know he'd given you a key."

The urge to demand wasn't there anymore. She just looked at the ground, then over at the fern in the corner. She hadn't done much to change Wesley's place, but she had added some plants and cleaned it up. In fact, the only mess left over was decidedly hers (just a few dozen notebooks of messy equations piled next to his bed).

She wondered where she should begin. "Hello, Illyria," she eventually said, looking back up. It seemed as good a place to start as any.

Stepping inside his apartment felt strange after having avoided it for the past weeks. She had tried to give him space - to be with her, to let this tiring mixture of jealousy and guilt die away without them noticing. It had not worked entirely the way she wanted to, but it had kept her busy and allowed her to learn a few things without having to rely on Wesley for guidance.

As she shut the door behind her quietly and turned towards Fred, she felt a very brief sense of uncertainty. This, in turn, annoyed her and made her look at Fred a bit colder than she intended. For the most part, Illyria did not really know what to think of her. She ignored her greeting, striding past her after a few seconds to lay the key on the nearby desk.

With her back turned, she said, "I have little use for it now." Staring at the desk, she found herself counting the few dust particles in the air unconsciously, forcing her focus back with only the slightest effort. "He did not want me to break down his door every time I visited." Her tone was unusually quiet, but she was not demanding or expecting anything and being here made her feel aimless.

Fred turned as Illyria passed her, and stifled a nervous laugh at the last statement. "Of course. That'd get fairly expensive after awhile, replacing doors, and it's not like we're at the Hyperion where you can just go grab another one..."

She trailed off when she realized she was babbling, albeit quietly. She sucked on her lip for a moment, thoughtful, then added, "He told me he had been acting as a guide for you. "Do you..." she paused, unsure whether she should ask. "Do you miss him, too?"

She detected Fred's nervousness and felt a surge of disgust, knowing that this girl, this babbling, timid, seemingly frightened girl had been chosen to be her vessel. Then, at her question, she stiffened, disgust turning into something else.

So difficult to decipher. Like most humans, possibly. However. Fred had meant so much to Wesley. More than Illyria could perceive, being ultimately unable to fully understand the scales of human emotions - but she was aware of it. Aware of her own limitations and the way Fred was, in this aspect, so much stronger than she appeared.

She turned towards her, meeting her eyes and staring at her for a long moment. There was not a tolerable way to answer this question, but on the other hand, she had not come here simply to leave the key and go. "I do not 'miss'", she said, a harsh emphasis on that last word. "It is a waste of energy, lingering on the past and what used to be." Stepping closer, she cocked her head slowly, staring at Fred, unable to decode her. "He brought order to my life and thus I... did not dislike him."

More to herself than to Fred, she added, "He has been gone for a while. Even returning as a ghost or getting caught up in this dimension, he should remain dead to me."

Despite Illyria's harsh words, Fred caught the undertone of what she was saying. Perhaps that was something like feelings after all- she didn't know much about Illyria, certainly less than she'd like to. But one thing Fred did know was that she was trying to adapt to new feelings, that her friends thought she might be developing them.

Illyria's intense gaze meant she could stare back without fear of it being impolite. Fred had looked in the mirror countless times, and yet this was completely different. She remembered watching a Dick Van Dyke episode once that featured pod people, and she thought this was similar. But there weren't any walnuts involved here, just blue coloring what used to be her skin.

It wasn't something that should've happened. And yet Wesley brought order to her life, too. Fred was about to comment on it when Illyria mentioned a couple things. One of these things confirmed her suspicions and the other was probably more pressing. "He- he returned as a ghost?" she says, surprised. No one's mentioned this to her before. She's only heard Lorne vaguely reference the Circle of the Black Thorn. "But why? What would bring him back to the world as a spirit?"

Illyria's eyes widened slightly at Fred's questions - to her, sharing information was usually a given between allies and yet, Wesley had not told her? Or perhaps she had not asked. Too busy, the two of them, spending time together. It did not make her feel jealous. She did not want that kind of relationship and she did not understand it either.

"You ask many questions," she said, turning away and walking to stand by the window. "Normally, I do not guide. It is beneath me." This meeting, too, should be beneath her by all rights, but she was slowly getting used to the way things had changed and this was just another difference.

She prided herself on her patience, however, and thus, she fought down an instinctual urge to either walk off or change the subject. "The Senior Partners threw Los Angeles into a Hell dimension and they brought Wesley back as a ghost, to acquire his assistance." She recalled him mentioning a contract, talking about wanting to break it and failing, giving up. As frail and hopeless as any human, at that point. "Ultimately, they wished to control Angel. Understandably so."

She was frozen to the spot, feeling as if all of the air had run out of her and forgetting that she didn't need to breathe. Wesley was going back, then. And that was what he was going back to? All of LA trapped in order to get at Angel?

"Oh, God," she said so quietly it was almost a whisper. "Oh God...I could never think of something so...so horrible to happen."

She feels a brief flash of anger that Angel and Wesley hadn't told her- but to be honest, she knows she had avoided learning about it as well. She knew it wouldn't end well, especially after she had gone. But she had no idea it would be that bad. She wondered, guiltily, whether this meant that Wesley would be able to come back to the City.

She wanted to cry, and one tear almost escaped. But she would not cry in front of the thing that killed her, whether it had wanted to or not. She was stronger than that, at least. And it wouldn't change anything, anyway. Nothing she could do here would change what they went through over there.

"Thank you," she said, her voice hoarse. "For telling me. I hadn't known."

Illyria turned abruptly, feeling almost bombarded with emotions. Sadness and anger, not in equal measures. Too much sadness. Too little control. Fred was such an emotional person and though Illyria had known this on some level, even before Los Angeles's descent into Hell, she had not come prepared for it.

It struck her, fleetingly, that happiness would have been less repugnant to her, even if it was Fred, the girl who had all the things Illyria could never have. Especially if it was Fred. Then again, Illyria brought order. Power. Control, to a certain extent.

She did not bring happiness, unless they begged her. Worshiped her. Gave her something in return.

This girl could give her nothing.

"It was bound to happen. We revolted against them and they responded in kind." Her voice hardened. "Control yourself. Your emotions are leaking out of you."

Her fingers curled inward, not quite into a fist but almost as if they were grasping at something. She was angry that her corpse was essentially scolding her for being upset that her friends met the worst fate she could imagine.

But at the same time, what Illyria said made sense. It was terrible, but it made sense. It was bound to happen eventually. Fred just didn't make it to the eventually part. Would she have been killed along with the rest of them? Would she have been shipped off out of harm's way, once they knew what was happening? Would it have even happened if she died? They were dreadful things to consider, but they were at least logical, natural progressions of their situation. It wasn't just...chaos. She couldn't deal with chaos.

The anger faded, but she still felt tense. She regarded Illyria warily, taking a step or two towards her. "That's all I can manage," she said, rather coldly. "You'll just have to..."

Her gaze dropped as she trailed off, and she sighed. This was not how she intended this whole thing to go, and what was it Wesley said? Illyria would tell her things she didn't want to hear. Well, that was the truth. "Do my emotions hurt you? Or are they just bothersome?" she asked, a little more gently.

Illyria didn't move as she watched Fred approach, feeling her emotions fade a little from the air. It was almost a relief to her senses, this awkward tenseness. Being near Fred, experiencing the way she felt, the way she lived even in death for the first time was a confusing experience for her.

She had judged her character so wrongly.

"Bothersome. You could never manage to hurt me," she said, absentmindedly. Her thoughts were elsewhere. The weight of the amulet around her neck felt noticeably heavy, for the first time since it was given to her.

Taking a step forward slowly, smoothly, she came almost nose to nose with her distorted mirror image. She spoke very quietly. "You are aware of what you mean to your friends. The power it gives you and them, in turn." The power to strike down a god at full strength. A power that Illyria would never be granted because it simply did not make sense to her.

These were the first words Fred heard that made her think this whole thing maybe wasn't a terrible idea, after all. If even someone like Illyria could realize something like that, maybe things weren't as hopeless as they'd been sounding.

"I know," she said, just as quietly. "It let us do things that were impossible, that no one believed we could manage. And I believe- I hope that thinking of me keeps giving them strength, even if I'm not there to give it to them myself."

She can't help thinking of what this apartment first looked that night she arrived, however. She couldn't completely trust it was true. She looked down for a moment, thinking. "They mean the world to me, too."

Reciprocal affection. Illyria listened, watching Fred without blinking and piercing events together in her head. What she had wanted to be, what she knew she could not ever become; Fred did not answer any questions for her now, but her words created certain connections. Connections that Illyria could understand, superficially, but as Cordelia told her, weeks ago - she still did not actually get it. She probably never would.

However. Her own limitations - and she did have them, though they did not matter to what she was actually created to be - had nothing to do with this girl. Physical flaws aside, of course.

Her expression did not soften, but when she spoke, her voice was steadier. "And so it will remain," she said, pulling the amulet off her neck in one, fluent motion. "You will take this and keep it. It is useless to me. I am too strong for this place." There was no pride or passion in her voice. It was a statement, nothing more. "You are weak through and through. And foolishly curious."

She held out the amulet, her eyes hard. She had been wrong, to assume that she could go anywhere, at any time, without making demands. This was an order in every conceivable way. "It will be useful to you."

Wesley had made it for Illyria but she was not a fool. She knew what he really wanted, what he was really protecting. It was not a demon, not even a demon god, worthy of much more than the respect of a pitiful human. Something else, that she did not quite understand. And while she had already hurt this girl as much as she could, inadvertedly, she knew that this place was dangerous to all weak creatures - be they alive or dead. Wesley had proved as much, getting hurt much too often.

It had a point, what she did now. She chose not to analyze it further than she had to; in the end, it would not matter what she did. She would still be Illyria, be herself and nothing more. Or less.

And she would leave this part of him behind.

Fred stared at the amulet, eyes wide with shock. She considered protesting. She was already dead. What harm could befall her that would matter? But if she meant it as a gift, even one of pure practicality, who was Fred to stick her nose up at it?

"Thank you," she said thankfully, reaching forward gingerly to take the amulet, looking over it carefully. "I'm sure it will." She looped it around her on neck and pulled her hair through, looking at it again once it was settled. A weak smile appeared on her face.

After a moment, she looked up again. "You know," she said, vaguely hesitant. The wavering tone was likely due to the news she'd received, still weighing heavy on her conscience. "If you still want a guide, or- someone to help explain my memories to you sometimes...there's probably no one better than me to do that. I'd be happy to, if it'd help things make more sense to you."

The amulet had never felt like a burden but all the same, Illyria felt an annoyingly liberating sense of relief, watching the amulet glint against Fred's neck. It was a difficult kind of relief to decipher; on the one hand, Illyria did not have to wear it anymore, knowing full well that she was only doing so because one human - a very special one, apparently - had made it for her. It was almost an insult to her, accepting a trinket that held no purpose (assuming that she needed protection was definitely an insult), solely because of its maker. Illyria did not form attachments in such a manner. Except she did. It was pitiful.

On a deeper level, however, she felt relieved to know that she had done something to ensure Fred's protection, even if she was dead already. It made that sharp stab of guilt feel less prominent which in turn made her feel slightly better about sharing an existence with the girl. And, more importantly, she felt she had done something for Wesley, even if he would not see it that way. She knew what he really wanted. What he really wanted to protect.

She had done something for him, this time without deception.

At Fred's suggestion, she scowled, walking around her and heading for the door. Accepting her help? She almost wanted to leave without looking back, but before reaching the door, she stopped. It was unfinished, still. She spoke without turning, watching nothing, feeling more than she wanted to. "I have no need for your help," she said and she meant it. "I want nothing more of you." And she glanced at her over one shoulder and added, in a tone that she did not entirely recognize, "Be safe."

She left without another word, without slamming the door. The open sky, then, was her destination tonight. As always.

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