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The green goo on his pants is blood, he's pretty sure. There are entrails on his boots, slippery coils looping around his ankles, and the smell is enough that even he, with all that he has seen, done, and inhaled, can't quite stomach it. What keeps him from retching is the knowledge that adding more blood to the equation is not the answer, and would, in fact, only exacerbate the mess.
This is the last time he listens when Wes tells him that some obscure branch of a demonic family tree is composed primarily of small and, more importantly, tidy creatures who are in no way likely to vomit up the entirety of their acidic viscera as a means of self-defense. Jesus, what does that?
There's noise coming from the lobby. The temptation to lie down on the patio is almost overwhelming, but he has a son and a business to see to, and, somewhere, a shower. He opens the door.
Gunn is holding Connor, dangling a plastic stake above his head, much to Connor's delight. Where Cordelia had found it, he hadn't asked; something in the way she smiled suggested she would enjoy telling him more than he would enjoy hearing it. Fred hovers behind his shoulders, the uncomplicated happiness on her face such a mirror to Connor's that Angel can't fight the lift in his foul mood.
Wes is sitting at the desk, head buried in one of Angel's reference texts. He raises his head to acknowledge Angel's arrival, and his eyes dart helplessly to Fred, then to Gunn, and back to Fred again before he goes back to his book. There's something wrong there, something more than a thwarted romance, but Angel is too tired to deal with it right now. He can't tell people how to handle their love lives when he's covered in ectoplasm.
Cordelia is sitting on the couch, sorting through what can only be invoices, judging by the look on her face. Angel gives in to impulse and drops down next to her, goo and slime and stench rolling off him. She shoves him weakly to the side and makes a gagging face.
"Did you get a discount on those entrails? Is that why they're all over the couch?"
Angel sinks deeper into the cushion and flicks some of the goo off of his sleeve and onto hers. It's good to be home.
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exhausted![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small}
pleased
awake
blah![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
tired
accomplished
good
peaceful
exanimate
full
