Room 324, Saturday Early Evening

[wwiii]

Warren had just about had enough of... everything. After heading Karla off at the Causeway, after getting his bearings and picking himself off the ground and trudging back to his room, he'd done more... well, more moping with the rabbit. It wasn't until a few hours wore on that he reached for his phone, thinking maybe he'd call someone, or check to see if maybe there was new news about... anything at all, that he realized that there was a message waiting for him.

Not five minutes later, Warren's wings were pressed up solidly against either wall, his chest was heaving, and he was staring blankly at the remains of his phone, punctured clear through by his claws, and sitting splintered on the floor.

It wasn't like there was anybody left who was going to call him, after all.

Warren was done, damn it. He was just... fucking done with it.

[Open with some slight SP heads-up, since I'm still animating and running largely on energy drinks.]

Comments

[wwiii]

"She left me a note."

That was consideration, right?

... Okay, no. The note just made him angry about the whole thing. Which, granted, was better than moping. But only marginally.

[wesleynotponcy.livejournal.com]

Sorry, Warren, give Wes a second, here.

"A note," he repeated. "After ev--" Sigh. So much sigh for you, Karla. "That's -- completely inappropriate."

[wwiii]

"Maybe," Warren sighed. "But her reasoning for it was sound enough. I would have tried to talk her out of it."

So, hey. At least she knew him.

[wesleynotponcy.livejournal.com]

"And she ought to have realized that perhaps it might've been intelligent to listen to what you had to say," Wesley countered. Seriously, Karla, what the hell?

[wwiii]

"... I kind of think that being intelligent about it wasn't really her top priority, honestly."

Warren shrugged a little.

"Either way, there's no running off to disappear for anyone to do now, right? So... it happened. Okay. It's done."

[wesleynotponcy.livejournal.com]

Dammit, Warren, why did you have to be so reasonable? Assigning blame probably wouldn't kill you.

Probably. You know.

"And you're -- all right?" Wesley shook his head at the ridiculous question. "I mean -- of course you --" Wait, no, that wasn't any better. "Can I help at all?" There. That was something.

[wwiii]

Warren shrugged a little.

"Just let her know about Bobby and Sookie," he murmured. "Make sure she's not going to spend the rest of her life moping around after this."

A pause.

"Be a friend to her. She's going to need them now more than ever, I think."

[wesleynotponcy.livejournal.com]

"Right," Wesley promised, nodding. "I'll -- I'll do that."

He paused for a long moment, then asked, "Would you -- er, would you prefer -- er, should I go now? Or...?"

[wwiii]

And... and another shrug. Good day for shrugging, today.

"I'll be fine," he said, with a little smile that was just a bit forced. "But she was... well, not doing so well, last time I saw her. She matters more."

[wesleynotponcy.livejournal.com]

"I'd hardly say that," Wesley pointed out mildly. "I've no doubt that she's just as affected by this as you are, but I wouldn't say that makes her any more important."

[wwiii]

There. There was Warren's wry, tired smile.

"She is to me."

And that was all that mattered to him, just then.

[wesleynotponcy.livejournal.com]

All of Wesley's arguments fell away then, because that was -- not something he had it in him to contest.

"Oh," he said, softening some. "Yes, of course she is. My apologies."