Lilah Morgan

Sun, 28 Sep 2003 19:31:08 GMT

The meeting is over. Angel made his decision, the idiot.

I've alerted the Partners, and they're allowing me to remain here until they summon me for a very long debriefing. I've decided that I'm going to spend this time over at Wes's, with a large bottle of rum. Don't bother contacting me- for the first time in twelve years, I'm turning the cell phone, pager, and ThinkPad off. For the next two hours, I'm not going to be able to be reached. If you need something, you can go fuck yourselves.

They should have just given me the god damn LA firm.

Give Me a Reason

Sun, 28 Sep 2003 15:24:33 GMT

Well, today's the final day. Time's up, gang, but before we go, I've still got some things to say.

I've noticed within the past couple of days that everyone's been walking around as if they're already on Death Row. And why not? You've all worked your asses off this summer, and you some of you got back everything that you'd sacrificed, second chances with the people you gave up for the world. And now you all seem to be ready to do that again. Just give it all up, and do the "right thing".

The right thing. It's a funny term, isn't it? There's so many definitions of the right thing- Wesley thought taking Connor was the right thing, and if the prophecy had been true, and Angel was going to slaughter his baby son, it technically was. You all seemed to think following Jasmine was the right thing, until Twig there got contaminated and saw the truth. Cordelia thought that if she sacrificed herself for Angel's sake, became a demon, and even ascended to the status of Higher Being, that she would be doing the right thing. Yet all of those times you've done "the right thing", you've been screwed over. Wesley was tricked, and Angel lost Connor, Jasmine was really after some sick free-love form of world domination, and Cordelia ends up trapped in a coma after giving birth to the anti-Christ.

You'd think, however, that you all would be rewarded vastly for all of what you've done, that the rewards would outweigh the price. For all you've done, you'd think you'd get to live like kings, and get your happily ever afters. In the end, you've lost everything. Friends, family, lovers, all that you hold dear, the Powers seem to enjoy stripping from you, as if you all are the subject of some big cosmic joke. Don't get me wrong, I usually love watching you all in pain and agony over this, but since I'm now apparently part of it, I'm not enjoying. And now that all of you- of us- have the chance to possibly take on that happily ever after, and live with their loved ones, their family, take the reward you've always deserved, and you all are still so caught up on doing the "right thing" ... I'm starting to think you deserve the punishments you receive, for your idiocy.

I know you all see this as some form of mass murder, but let's put things into perspective. Firstly, there are billions upon billions of universes out there, and they die off, self-destruct at random, and I doubt anyone who really matters even bats an eye at it. This would just be natural selection, the way of the universe, the natural order, whatever you want to call it, taking place and the only difference would be is that someone finally decided to give you all a break.

And let's say you do choose to reset the world. What's guaranteeing that Fate doesn't decide to fuck you all over again- and this time, there's no offer, no deal, and you're stuck on the planet as it dies off. And I'm not saying that it's a definite thing that will happen, but let's take a look at your track record here. Sure, there might be the off-chance that you get back, and it ends up being paradise, but really. The Powers don't give that out until you're dead, run into the ground, and that's only if you've managed to fuck the right people. As far as I know, you all sure aren't on that list. So make your choice, but don't forget what I've said: You've all been offered to take that reward, and it's better than anything the Powers would ever come up with. Don't waste it only to lose everything in the end.

Tue, 23 Sep 2003 03:14:52 GMT

I'm not going to mince words, it's not my style, and it won't do anything. After many hours of research, involving every department available, we found that if the S'opi S'alz continues on the rack it's on, there is nothing anyone can do to stop it. We did find, however, two loopholes to the entire thing. Neither of the options are great, but one is more preferable to the other.

The first option is incredibly risky. It would take a lot of magic, a lot of power, and I have no idea just what the consequences would be. The Senior Partners would have to basically restart the period of time that the S'opi gained all of it's strength during- meaning the summer we just spent- and basically go back to May, when the S'opi was't established yet to prevent it from doing so. If this route is taken- and it is the less desirable of the two- then everything that happened may be lost. Angel, you could end up- most likely would- losing Cordelia and Connor again- and there would be no guarantees that you would ever wake up, Cordy. Everything that happened, everything that we gained could be lost, and we might not get it back. People who we thought would be here, second chances might be lost.

However, there's another way. We could allow the Partners to move us to another identical dimension than this. Our loved ones would be there, safe, and while the S'opi would destroy this world, it wouldn't matter, because our entire lives would be there, ready to pick up where we left off. We'd be completely off the hook, and able to move on with our lives, and keep everything we hold dear to us.

So, there's your decision that the Partners have put to you. You don't have long to make it, only a couple of days before the window closes. Sacrifice everything, or go to another dimension and keep everything you've worked for.

Better think fast.

Sun, 21 Sep 2003 15:49:38 GMT

You know, I'm actually finding this whole thing slightly amusing. The Good and Plentys may have finally met their match- I mean, when something like the Prevost turns on it's tail and tells you you're royally fucked- and not in the fun way- well... I have to say, it makes me feel all warm inside. Except for that "Everyone's Going to Die" part. Because frankly, I'd rather keep Wes living- he's the necrophiliac, not me, and it's just not going to be satisfying if someone else kills Cordelia. And again, back to the Wes part. Had some more big plans that I wanted to finish before something like this would fuck everything up again.

I'm going down to the Partners, Angel, and I'll see if we have anything in our resources that we can use to stop the S'opi S'alz.

Grrr...

Wed, 17 Sep 2003 21:04:42 GMT

I'm going to Canada. To the fucking middle of nowhere Canada. Today. And something tells me that no, I won't get to find some incredibly hot Mountie to fuck ~~or dress Wes up like one~~.

I'm not being paid enough for this. This wasn't in the god-damned contract. I don't do snow. I don't like snow. And I'm charging my new mink jacket to the company account. Fuck them all. If I end up committing a homicide, I'll enter a plea of insanity. Not like you can try a dead woman, anyways.

(Lover, after this? I suggest that we actually do something that isn't saving the world. That's not a date. Now, if you're bringing on the apocolypse...)

Crazy 'bout now

Sun, 14 Sep 2003 06:05:23 GMT

Had a very successful day- spent most of it in bed with Wesley, as I like it. However, since Morrigan and I are meeting here for drinks tonight, I figured it would be best if I sent him into the office to research, with instructions to return back here in a certain amount of time, and if not, I'll go there and remind him of why he wants to be here.

Hmm.. might have just given him incentive to stay there. Oh well, not that I mind.

Also, think I forgot to mention that Morrigan was coming over tonight. Hmm. Well, he'll be too involved in his research to notice (I hope), with luck (and distraction) on my side, I'll be spared the 20 questions tonight.

Before she comes, I'm going to take a quick shower and see how fantastic I can make myself look in 20 minutes. Not that I don't ever look fantastic (though I admit, the bangs were a mistake.) On that note, the water is warm- time for me to indulge myself in that five-head shower I have.

ETA: Noticed that Wesley and I haven't done anything lately together. Had an idea shoot into my mind, especially after viewing these beauties, however, can't decide which one would work for what I have in mind. Hmmm...

Your fingertips on my lips...

Fri, 12 Sep 2003 19:35:50 GMT

You know, two-day long stays at the Home Office aren't fun. Well, they are in the way that you come back feeling all tingly and refreshed, and with a renewed sense of purpose- oh, no, wait, that last one was due to that long meeting with the Senior Partners about getting back on track and reminding you what failure would cost. It's not like they have anything to worry about- they gave me my position for a reason and I haven't let them down ~~lately~~, now have I?

However, I did come back to find out that Lindsey's perverted Evil Hand is running for Govenor, and somehow it got Wolfram and Hart to endorse him... The Partners will have a field day with this. Hand, you and I might need to have some sort of a conversation (is there any way you can keep the topic from the rest of the body?) Anyways, apparently now Cole and Lindsey are snarking even more at each other- I'm suspecting it's because of the Hand's attempts to get Morrigan to play trophy wife. Kyle and I are taking bets on how long before Cole and Lindsey are caught in the janitor's closet together.

Speaking of Morrigan, I haven't seen her for awhile. Should call her and invite her for drinks. Kyle, let me know when I have time on my schedule.

And while I'm on the subject of meetings, Angel, I do need to brief you on some things that were discussed to me at the meetings- when would be a good time? I'll be availble until this evening- I agreed to help Wes research and I think it's due time that I made good on my promises to ~~distract~~ assist him.

Damnit

Wed, 10 Sep 2003 16:59:01 GMT

Cordelia had a prophecy about some sort of Big Bad. Whoopdee doo. I'm sure the Good and Plenty's will nilch it in no time. In the meantime, I'll be out of the office for the afternoon- meeting with the Home Office, and then I'm going to drop by Wes's office and try to help him out.

Or, more likely, distract him from researching into having sex. What can I say, I like attention.

Angel, we should also probably have some sort of talk soon. Let me know what works back. And your son? Turned out so much better when you brainwashed him instead of Holtz.

Kyle, reroute all calls concerning cases to Turner and McDonald. Not like they do anything productive, anyways.

Going to ruin my black mascara

Fri, 05 Sep 2003 06:29:55 GMT

You know what's a bitch? Incredibly drunk and depressed boyfriends who appear in your living room in a slightly suicidal state.

Yes, I found Wes. In quite such a state, I must admit. Came home after searching every bar in the city to find him right there, with a knife, talking about that bitch Justine (note to self: When I run into her next, teach her how to properly slit a throat- using herself as a model.). I was worried that Connor would fuck him up, but not... last time, yes, he was past depressed, but that anger, that lust for vengance kept him going (and I made sure to put it all to good use.) This time... was... well, to put it mildly, he frightened me. I can handle Wes, handle being the only thing out there for him, but seeing him like that, talking about wanting to damn himself with me? Poetic, yes, but let's face it, Sexton and Baudelaire are more my style than star cross'd lovers. Besides, I've worked damn hard, too damn hard to have everything get shot to Hell like that, and especially not with him riding the bullet.

Stupid idiot. If he'd-

Anyways, managed to calm him down, got him to go to sleep (but not before he vomited all over my carpet), and decided to stay with him in case he tried anything. Last thing I need to come home to is blood on the walls, and ... Right, not going, there. Full stomach and whatnot. Anyways, Gunn, he's fine quite well rested, actually, and Angel, I'll be managing my cases from home for awhile longer, unless you want to risk him going AWOL with a knife again.

And I swear to God, Angel, next time you have one of these brilliant "Hey, let's erase all the times I fucked up as a parent!" ideas? I'm going to give you a bath with holy water. And garlic oil. Because in my eyes? This goes on your shoulders, as the firm completed their end of the deal. Nice job, Ace.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need a quick nap- playing nursemaid is so exhausting and satisfying.

I am a poster girl with no poster

Sat, 30 Aug 2003 06:23:45 GMT

Well. Wes seems to be past not picking up the phone, and downright avoiding everyone. I'm a little beyond worried, since I can't imagine he's had the greatest past couple of days. I've dropped my theory about this being about our fight- if it was just about that, he would have at least come back for incredible make-up sex, but I'm starting to think that he's not having a good time dealing with all of the memories that he must be regaining. You know, especially that one about him stealing Angel's one and only son from him and henceforth setting many horrible things in motion, including my death and an apocolypse (or three). If it was me, I'd be out celebrating with a drink right about now (Well, except for the part with me dying), but Wesley, of course, has that convienent conscience that is not only damnably sexy in some strange way, but also go and give a damn about others.

In all defense of my lover, I'm still trying to remember how exactly this was a bad thing, you know, the taking Connor away. If I can remember, there was a (false) prophecy about Angel killing his son, and a talking (burger) loa to back it up. You would think Angel would have the common sense to see that even if Wesley's way of carrying it out wasn't exactly genius, his intentions were pure (slightly disgusting that he can be so noble and that I happen to be-... deeply care for him). But then again, that would actually require Angel to take energy away from brooding and making his hair permanently stand on end like that.

So now I'm left feeling incredibly worried. I've checked all of his usual haunts, and unfortunately, the key to his place was left at my old apartment when I was killed- besides, I doubt he's actually there. I just... I remember how he was last time, when Angel turned on him, and... I just want to know that he's okay (pathetically enough). Which means I'm going to have to swallow my pride ~~and my hormones~~ and pay a visit to the only other person who would have any idea where to find him(other than me). It's a long shot, but it's worth it. If not, I'll have to call out one of the SWAT teams to do a search. Angel did take a Brooding-Cause-My Girlfriend-Just-Woke-Up-And-Is-Pissed-Even-Though-She's-The-One-That-Committed-Mass Murder Day, leaving me the boss by de facto.

Kyle, same orders as usual. Send all clients over to McDonald- not like he actually has a life besides this place and the hand.

Remember the days

Thu, 28 Aug 2003 05:26:09 GMT

Well, it's certainly been an eventful few days. You know, what with me falling into a coma where I was trapped for a time in my worst nightmares, only to be "saved" by the very bitch who helped send me to my grave by stabbing me in the neck. Not that I'm bitter, or anything. Or, I won't be, once that contract with the ~~hit man~~ conflict negotiator comes through. Woke up to find myself feeling... good. And it was a weird feeling for me, being as how I hadn't ~~had sex for awhile~~ ~~killed anyone~~ had anything decent to drink. Had hoped a certain someone would have come home with me to take advantage of actually being able to celebrate by falling asleep on my new sheets, but apparently, he's not the only one still a little sore from our "conversations" a week ago. Still, I wouldn't have minded him answering my phone calls, or dropping by my office, or, pathetically enough, even sending me an email. Hell, I might even be willing to play on his terms if he would at least...

Anyways, spent this week trying to clean up some of the messes left behind by this. Kept a certain situation on careful monitoring- I'm not happy to report that the bitch is waking up, from what I've been told. Which is unfortunate, because now I can't kill her in her sleep. On the upside, it's so much more fun when they're awake. Must make a point to contact some old acquaintances of mine.

Am heading out now- still enjoying this newfound thing called "sleep", without the horrible nightmares or suddenly waking up to find out I've been forced to have sex on a desk with my lover's former best friend, ~~all the ideas now are kept in my head~~, I'm going to be in therapy for the rest of my life from that.

... I think it's time I stopped by Wesley. I don't care if he's avoiding me because I wounded his fragile ego. I'm Lilah Morgan, the last person who dared to give me this type of shit ended up decapitated.

Besides, I'm starting to get worried.

Kyle, if Wesley calls, patch him through to my cell. And someone find out where the Hell Turner has been? Tell him to get in here if he wants a job.

Tue, 19 Aug 2003 02:19:19 GMT

It's so quiet.

I hate the quiet, makes me feel crazier-

Please don't let them-

I can't-

Why are you-

Stop!

Please...

Wes...

Thu, 14 Aug 2003 04:20:48 GMT

Oh... fuck!

And I'm so lonely I don't even want to be with myself

Wed, 13 Aug 2003 05:54:48 GMT

Well, there were some nice parts to the night, such as having some champagne with Lindsey- not much real conversation, we were both too tired from these God-damned dreams to do more than drink. Unfortunately, all the more pleasant parts are going to be overshadowed by the conversations I had this evening, particularly with the one I tend to share my bed with. Guess he's really got a thing for angst and causing pain to the world around him, maybe it makes him feel better? Fucked if I know, the bastard. Thinks he can just say those things...

Funny, how much words can sting. Always been a bit impervious to what people say, I've found that I've always managed to shut them up fast. But what he said? Wasn't quite prepared. Not quite sure what the fuck he wants from me. If he even wants me, or if it's just about taming the bad, evil Hellbitch. Sorry, lover, that I don't take kindly to being soft, to being seen as weak. In my industry, the weak are usually found in the Little Champions Dog Food Processing Plant. But it doesn't matter to you, does it? I'm not allowed to be defensive, or keep up some semblance of "walls" or whatever an overpriced quack would label them. And I don't know what cuts me deeper, your words or the sudden lack of caring about me. Sure was a quick turn around for you, Wes.

But I guess none of this really matters, after all, I'm dead, and it's a matter of time until you're finally rid of me. You don't need to humour me or pity me. I know you might see me as the lowest thing on this Earth, but I'm still a little above that, because it's obvious that you're doing just that by acting like you give a flying fuck. Really, no thanks.

However, I'm beyond the point of exhaustion, and I've said all I can on this subject. I'm going to re-apply my mascara and find a car home, where I'll attempt to keep my sanity with massive amounts of alcohol.

Don't you wanna take a ride with me?

Wed, 13 Aug 2003 03:46:20 GMT

So, press conference went off fairly well. The prosecution looks like arses, the firm just made quite a killing, Linds and I got to preen on TV as we took our victory, and I'm feeling rather satisfied with myself. ~~Well, I'd be a little more satisfied if I actually got some satisfaction, but-~~ Still haven't heard much from Wes. Never really got back to him about the accident, but I wouldn't mind him dropping by. Dreams are making me feel a little restless, if that's what you want to call it. 'Sides, I feel like a celebration is at hand. Haven't truly had a case for awhile now, too busy wrapped up thwarting the Good and Plentys (and I'm still drawing a blank as to how a group as deficient as that. I mean, really, if Cordelia Chase can pull one over on them...), and I might be on a slight power trip from smashing them under the heel of my Manolo Blahnik. Sue me.

I'd win.

Lindsey, care to come by to finish the debriefing? I've got a bottle of 1993 Dom Perignon champagne that needs to be finished off. Doubt I'll be able to finish it off, besides, nothing like reliving old times.

I don't wanna say I'm sorry....

Tue, 12 Aug 2003 05:49:31 GMT

So, ended up being saved from that little incident the other day on I-10 by Morrigan, who I managed to get ahold of after the accident Since a certain someone seemed preoccupied with God knows what-, and the good news is I'm not being charged with anything- helps when you know the officer, and said officer owes you a couple. He seemed a little concerned, what with me complaining of a stiff neck (Wonder why...), but chalked up my behaviour to me getting too wrapped up in my work, what with my "big case" with Linds.

(Speaking of which, Lindsey, got a call from the D.A.'s office today, looks like they're going to annouce that they're dropping all charges sometime tomorrow. Might want to get something together and schedule an "impromptu" press conference after they drop the bomb. Leave a message and we'll work it out later.)

Back on my previous rant, the Roadster is totaled, and while money isn't a big issue, the piece of shit of a rental car they gave me is. Managed to upgrade to a company car, but I'm going to have to go car shopping, as soon as I think I'm stable enough. I'm okay for the most part, the accident only left me feeling a little loose, and there are healers here for a reason. I have to admit, felt a little abandoned there on the side of the road for awhile. Not like I need him, I'm not that type, needy, I told him this- Christ, over a year ago. Makes you want to stop and reflect, luckily, reflection, self-introspection? Not one of my strong points. I'm more about moving on and getting the Hell over it- something my co-workers seem to know nothing about.

And I realize that he's accusing me of pushing him away. Not like I don't hold a job and am trying to keep it- some of us don't have get out of Hell free cards cause they're personal friends of the boss. Yes, so things did get a little... intense, and some things were admitted that caused some changes between us. Pardon me while I get a little defensive, whole new territory, I'm being attacked with Hellish nightmares from all sides that involve me becoming somewhat catatonic afterwards and with a slight addiction to prescription medication, and you're suddenly seeing me as weak and fragile. Not exactly something I know how to take, or something I want to get into. Doesn't matter, not like you'd even listen, and I'm not quite drunk enough yet to go there.

By the way, interesting little email this morning. Angel, this might interest you, I've had my people looking into these dreams that are plaguing us, and this is her final reply.

Subj: Investigation into current events at L.A. Office
Date: 8/12/2003 23:26:45 PM PDT
From: Mahmood, Kadira [Offices of Metaphysical Resource and Outreach, Home Office]
To: Morgan, Lilah [Executive Liason of the Senior Partners, Los Angeles Office]
Priority: High
Encryption: On
Sent In-Network

Ms. Morgan,

Despite my extensive efforts and my exhaustion of all of the resources Wolfram and Hart has made available to me, I've managed to discover very little about these dreams that are plaguing you and your fellow "associates", as you may call them. Though we had already established that there was a strong psychic connection between you, Mr. Angel, Mr. Gunn, Ms. Burkle, Mr. McDonald, Mr. Wyndham-Pryce, and Mr. Turner; we were unable to break this connection in any way, or even get it to exhibit any type of stress that could be caused by our efforts. Obviously, this reaffirms my beliefs that we are dealing with something that is completely out of Wolfram and Hart's area of expertise, and I strongly advise that you look into solutions that are outside of the firm's influence, as the answers may lie here. I apologize for being the bearer of bad news, and if there's anything else I can do for you, let me know and I'll be happy to take care of it for you.

Kadira Mahmood,
Offices of Metaphysical Resource and Outreach, Home Office

...

Kyle, please alert any visitors that I have that I'm unavailable unless they have an even stubble to angst ratio and they look somewhat concerned; I'm suddenly feeling the strong urge to bond with my last bottle of vodka in a pathetic attempt to forget about just how very fucked we are. Thank you.

Sun, 10 Aug 2003 05:20:00 GMT

Well, isn't this just the perfect fucking way to end probably the worst three days of my life. I'm currently writing this from the side of Interstate 10. On one side of me is my car, which is partially embedded in a cement wall. On the other side is a police officer, wondering what the Hell he should do with one of LA's most feared lawyers who once got him off for drugs and prostitution charges. And I'm wondering just what the Hell I've done to piss someone off this much. I mean, really. I might be an evil Hellbitch, but this is a little much.

So, Thursday, Linds and I ended up having lunch with some clients of ours who are currently being prosecuted for running a small demon brothel- pretty open and shut case. Lunch went incredibly well, and the press managed to see us dining together, which prompted a later call from the prosecution about a plea bargain of some sort- I'm pretty sure Lindsey and I will go for just getting all the charges dropped, but it's nice to know that the State of California still has dry heaves whenever they find out they're teamed against Lindsey and I.

Anyways, all is well, Lindsey and I are heading back to the office in a nice Wolfram and Hart limosine, when suddenly, it hits us. I guess whoever's sending us these dreams felt that since I was bonding so nicely with the rest of my office, my old partner and I should, too. Thanks, I'll make sure to return the favour (whoever the fuck you are) by hiring the best torture "artist" that I can find. Bitch.

In the dream, the first thing that I notice is that I'm scared. God, am I scared. My heart feels like it's in my throat, I'm sweating, shaking, it's completely dark around me. The room I'm in smells like paint, and I hear someone. Talking. He says, "You can't come out into the open, can you? - No, you hide - you deceive." I freeze, pressing my body lower against the ground, I realize I'm lying down, under a bed. The voice is deep, male, familiar, so very familiar. There are footsteps, and I realize he's walking into the room, and I feel my body tremble. "It's nothing new. It goes all the way back to Eve. - You and the serpent plotting behind our backs. - 'Here, honey, eat this. It's just an apple.' - That's the problem with your sex - you're all weak, and you're all dirty and you won't be satisfied until you've brought each and everyone of us out of the garden and down into the muck with you!" His voice rises in anger, and I hear something SLAM! into wood, tools crashing down onto the floor, and I can't help but cry out, terror taking over me.

The room grows silent, and I know he's going to catch me, oh God, oh God, please, please don't let him hurt me, what was that prayer, I don't pray, not normally, not since I was a little girl, but I want to now, and I see his shoes standing right in front of me. He starts to move away, and then I feel air on the back of my neck. The matress is gone, and I see Lindsey's cold eyes staring down at me.

No, please don't, please, please...

"Why do you make me do this?" he asks, and he leans down, wrapping a hand around my neck, pulling me out, can't breathe, God, I can't breathe! and I whimper, a pathetic little sound I never knew I could make. He looks at me, pinning me against the wall, and I grip something in my hand, something cool, small, round- and pointy.

Thoughts start to come in my head, and he leans in, a feral look in his eyes that I've never seen- and I've seen Linds in his darkest colours.

The. Bastard. Will. Not. Touch. Me. He. Will. Not. Touch. Me. Leave. Me. Alo-

And we're both flying fowards, back in the limo- apparently our driver looked in the rear view mirror, saw that Linds had me in a chokehold and that I was moving to stab him with something... (where the fuck did I get a nail from?) and decided to put a stop to it right quick, since the drivers have all apparently gotten memos about the dreams. Linds pretty much freaked the Hell out, but before he could say too much we were there, back at the office, and I made my escape quickly. Bastard. And I realized that oh yes, once again, I got to play Fred, and that my life? Officially hovering around rock bottom.

I decided to avoid Lindsey for a little while, till he's done apologizing and throughly drunk. Preferably, I'd be drunk too, but...

Friday isn't much better, because not only did I get the distinct feeling that Wes is avoiding me (and what the Hell have I done now? What, i'm not allowed to be busy and you know, actually do my job. Nope, gotta stroke his ego, and yes, I realize I'm being testy, and that I should try to find out what the Hell I've done now, but... not now, do not have the energy to deal with this.)

Right, Friday.

/firewalled against all but Angel and myself

Angel and I continued our field trip fun up to Connor, where we finally got to meet with him. Let me tell you, the kid? Much better off without knowing about his vampire heritage. Nothing seemed wrong with him, he mentioned the mysterious headaches that his mother seemed to constantly fret about- kid still needs to get laid, if you ask me. And a haircut. Other than the headaches- which started only recently, interestingly enough, there was nothing really there but Angel brooding. Constantly.

Jesus Christ, does he need to get over it.
/end firewall

And then, after a long sleepless and lonely night at home, I decided to go into the office to work on my cases- since it's not like I have the energy to do anything else, and sleep is out of the question. I'm not even in my usual workclothes- not like anyone works but me on a Saturday, so what the Hell do I have to worry about?

Nothing. Until I start to drift away as I head down Interstate 1, and my head falls back as I fall asleep. I don't remember much, I had just started to fall asleep, when I woke up to a lound smashing noise, and I fly forwards, only to have the airbags catch me, and I'm spinning around, fighting for control, and finally, I stop, and see what I've done.

I managed to swerve into the cement wall that lines the freeway at 40 mph. My neck feels like Hell, I'm pretty sure I'm a little loose, and I'm shaking with anger. Because I have just fucking totalled my car, all because of these God-damned dreams and this is alla ltitle too much and why why why why WHY is it always FUCKING me? WHY? This is all a little too much, and I just can't take this, and I just want to fall down and never, ever get up again, and I just want this all to stop, because I am past my breaking point.

And now, I need to call someone to pick me up. And despite all of the things in my head telling me "No, you shouldn't let him see you like this", all the warning bells and sirens, I want him. I actually, for all it's worth, need him here. Now.

Thing is, I don't know if I can give in that little thread of pride that I've been hanging on to for this long. But part of me thinks that I've already let go.

Hmmph.

Thu, 07 Aug 2003 03:02:47 GMT

Spent the morning on a pointless conference call with clients that aren't comfortable speaking with Angel. Have no idea how he intends to sort out Wolfram and Hart's less moral clientele, until then, I'm stuck soothing the egos of our more important clients. Nothing that I'm not used to, after all, his office used to be mine. Anyways, the conference call ended with me making lunch arrangements- McDonald, I'm going to need you for this one, and the inability to put Wes back in his place for insinuating that I was a sidekick comedic character with low intelligence and lower pedigree. He knows how to make a girl feel good.

Speaking of which, my Wes has decided that I'm becoming all too fragile. While this is a little... touching... I might say, and a new look for me, I don't like being viewed in this light. Let me assure you that I've been holding myself together very well with the help of Vicodin and you don't need to worry about me- I'm a Big Evil Lawyer, I can ~~assassinate~~ take care of my own demons. Though, I have to admit, having to deal with my own baggage, along with everyone else's in the firm's, is making me wonder if the ~~mass homicide~~ group therapy route isn't such a bad idea. After all, I look like a peach compared to some of these people.

/firewalled against everyone but myself

Would have gone to make Wes pay for that earlier, but was hit by a dream as I hung up, ended up in a corner of my office, shaking like a leaf from the sheer terror of it. Dreamt I was Angel, or better yet, Angelus, and had was busy torturing Drusilla before turning her. Watching her... taking pleasure in the killing, drenched with blood, her screams gave me such a rush, I felt so, powerful, so... God. I had no control over my body, my actions, my feelings. And then I woke up, and I felt sticky, and realized that there was blood. Everywhere. I have no idea where it came from, but I suddenly was hit with... this feeling, like I had done it, and I couldn't get her screams out of my head... it took me awhile to feel okay, 7 pills, to be exact. But I don't want them to know, if Wes realizes how unstable I am, surely the rest of them must, also.

Besides, I can't have him seeing me this way.

/end firewall

Think I'm going to have Kyle schedule a massage for me this evening, since the office is going to be cleaned. ~~Wish I had not worn the white Armani today...~~. Also, it appears that the scholarship candidate's mother scheduled an interview Friday, Angel. Looks like another fun filled field trip for us.

Our trip up north proved absolutely fruitless yesterday. Connor was at a doctor's appointment for migraines, apparently, and while his father seemed nice (causing Angel to grow more silent than ever- a feat I thought was impossible), I think he was a little skeptical until he read the brochure. A free ride always seems to make people more friendly. Anyways, his mother seemed very willing to have her son talk to me Friday, so it's up north we go...

Did find the headaches slightly intriguing, being as how Connor's father mentioned that Connor just started getting them, and they're getting increasingly worse. Will have to make sure that's not a side effect of the deal.
/end firewall

Think I'm going to go down to the cafeteria for a bagel and read over some files there, since the cleaners are here. If anyone needs me, you can find me there.

Wed, 06 Aug 2003 01:49:03 GMT

Interoffice Memo

Subj: Unavailability
Date: 08/05/03 17:45
From: Morgan, Lilah
To: Wyndham-Pryce, Wesley; Turner, Cole; Burkle, Fred; Gunn, Charles; McDonald, Lindsey (file)
CC: Angel
Priority: High
Encryption: None
Sent In-Network

In case you already didn't know, Angel and I will be unavailable this afternoon due to our obligation to interview prospective students north of LA for the Alfred and Mildred P. Benningworth Scholarship, awarded to students with high SAT scores in math and a keen interest in science. Will be back later on this evening, but will not be able to be reached via cell phone or email until then.

-Lilah

I wanna push it right over the line.

Tue, 05 Aug 2003 16:16:58 GMT

According to the geeks in the Home Office who're in Metaphysical Resources and Outreach, on a scale of one to ten, this? Gets an eleven in the "Not Good" rankings. I knew after flying back against hard objects that it wasn't good, but they said... this might be out of our park. And by ours, I mean Wolfram and Hart.

Let me recap: I ended up doing a spell with Morrigan, and it's not what the News makes it out to be. At all to see if I could detect any metaphysical influences on Wolfram and Hart ~~other than our own~~, and not only did it end glowing to the point of a small nuclear reaction happening (leaving the pictures completely disintegrated), but she and I both got thrown back- her into the couch- lucky bitch -and me into the fucking entertainment center. Went to the Home Office to file my report, got this in my email this morning.

Subj: Report #LA190284, filed by Morgan, Lilah
Date: 8/5/2003 08:54:02 AM PDT
From: Mahmood, Kadira [Offices of Metaphysical Resource and Outreach, Home Office]
To: Morgan, Lilah [Executive Liason of the Senior Partners, Los Angeles Office]
Priority: High
Encryption: On
Sent In-Network

Ms. Morgan,
Your report from last nights inquiry by magick as to the problems plaguing many of the employees at your office was handed to me as a request to find matches for that type of power in our database. I regret to inform you that from what it appears, Wolfram and Hart does not have access to one singular being or item that could pull that type of force from so small a connection made. This will be extensively researched by my team outside of Wolfram and Hart, in the meantime, the Senior Partners will be alerted if you feel that it's necessary.

Whatever you're dealing with up there, Ms. Morgan, is incredibly dangerous, and I suggest that you and your charges tread very carefully with all spells and magicks not sanctioned by the Partners- they may be manipulated against you.

Regards,

Kadira Mahmood
Offices of Metaphysical Resource and Outreach, Home Office

So, basically, I'm getting the feeling that we're more screwed than ever, and that it's high time for a meeting. Hopefully, Angel and I can talk about this a little on our "outing" this afternoon.

the way you make me feel is...

Tue, 05 Aug 2003 04:36:58 GMT

Right, so, last night? Not exactly one of my shining moment, no. But you go live through everyone in your fucking office's worst fears, plus your own? I'd like to see you hold up as well as I am. Not that I'm doing well.

That delete button is looking mighty tempting at this moment. However, it did... there were some positives out of it. And I normally wouldn't let you see me like that, much less let you do that, but... I think I might just let you get off, just this once.

And my, my, my... aren't there some interesting developments? Maybe it's time I pay someone a visit.

And I'm waiting for your move, boss.

there will be no white flag above my door

Mon, 04 Aug 2003 03:33:04 GMT

Things would be easier if I didn't feel so insane right now.

Went out with Wes the other night, for dinner and the show. Turned out to start off like a royal disaster, didn't end incredibly better. We ended up going to a place I've been to a couple of times, unfortunately, the idiot maitre'd first lost our reservation (which I listened to Kyle make. He's a smart boy, especially for an intern, and he doesn't intend to fuck things up- especially by pissing me off.) and then attempted to "make it better" by sitting me next to DreamBoy and his Freak. So, not only was dinner a collection of witty repartee that ended with me drunk, ElectroSlut pissed off (and could the girl have worst taste in clothes? I know she was wearing Dior, but that outfit? Should have been a fucking crime to wear.) and Gunn and Wes doing the cockfight thing, but with me out two hundred bucks- all nicely put on the company card.

I'd just like to deny Gunn's parting comment, on the record. Wesley would win, obviously, now, I know this as a fact.

But the damage had been done- that much alcohol left me feeling bitter about the entire debacle, about everything, lately. I barely felt like I was there, and I think Wes might have been a little concerned, but I'm not the sharing type. Why should I be? I'm exposed enough, but there's no real point in me shedding my layers. For all of the things he does that makes me feel right, something else is done to unhinge me a little more, to remind me of what I am in his eyes, in all of their eyes, but what can I do? After all, aren't they right, didn't I deserve this? Lilah was a bad, bad girl, and ...

Stop it, Morgan. You will hold yourself together. After all, that's why I came down here, isn't it? Told Kyle to tell everyone I was busy, and not to let them in my office- after my last dream, there's some blood on the floor that janitorial services hasn't gotten to yet, and some of my pills fell on the floor. Almost feel bad for the bastard, he didn't leave the safety of his fraternity for this.

The floor is nice and cold here, feels nice against my skin. Cold is a feeling I'm still getting used to, after all that time spent in the blazing heat. The file cabinets are cool, too, against the skin on my face, which feels tight and dry today, even though I've put on enough moisturizer, a whole bottle. The papers in my hand feel smooth, though, so non-threatening, so simple, every thing that I'd ever worked for, dreamed of, every piece of myself signed away in this damnable thing, and for what? All these years of trying so hard, always failing, Daddy would be so disappointed. Probably is. I wonder if he remembers when he tried to burn it all away, and I wanted to laugh- things aren't that simple, not for me. I'm getting what I deserve, he knows, I know... I want him here, but I don't want him to see. Can't let him know what I'm like, when he's not around and there's no one to see me fall, when I shake and tremble, curling up into the floor and wishing I could be anything but here. Because I still have my damnable pride, and I'll exit this room, soon, soon, just let me get myself back together, and paint on the smile with a wand coated with MAC lip colour, and they'll look at me, and not even bother to hide their smirks and I'll pretend that it's all okay, cause really, when was the last time it was okay, Lilah? until I can find another place to duck away.

I'll just stay here a little longer, just awhile. Don't want people to wonder more than they do, but I'm just too tired to move, to leave. Not like anyone will come in here, anyways.

In my head, the flesh seems thicker

Fri, 01 Aug 2003 03:06:44 GMT

Ugh. Starbucks is currently out of white mocha, chai, frappucino mix, breve, soy, most varieties of non-decaf coffee beans, and their Summer Bliss Bar. And someone keeps stealing the office's espresso machines. I'm putting a price on his head, and anyone that feels like adding to the pot, feel free. I'll be damned if they take my last source of caffeine from me.

Of course, this morning I finally gave into sleep around 6 AM, and ended up dreaming that I was Gunn. (Really not helping!) Was back, way back, I guess when he first got introduced to Team Angel, and I was standing there, in some abandoned warehouse or parking garage, and there was a girl talking to me. A vampire. She was telling me about power, and freedom, and I wasn't even listening to the words she was saying, really, I just felt such a deep... pain. Like some big part of me was being cut away, and disbelief, something about a sister, my sister running through my head. She talks about us, our family, keeping it together, letting go of the guilt, taunting me. She offers me eternity, and for a second, I want to take it. Just give in, let go. My head lowers to the ground, staring at my shoes, and I know what I have to do.

I never knew a thought could be so painful.

She walks over to me, embracing me, and I feel my baby sister in my arms, cold as ice. I raise the stake that I don't remember having in my hand, and tell her goodbye. I push it into flesh that's soft, and watch her fall away into a pile of dust. Leaving me alone without someone to watch over, because I couldn't protect her. And I hate myself more than the vampires who killed her, who did this to her, for that.

You know, if they were going to have me dream about him, at least I could have been ~~naked~~ ~~shirtless~~ ~~going for round two on the desk~~ less emotionally scarred at the end. I feel like I've lost someone that I never had, and it's making me feel all... strange. I don't like it. One bit.

On the upside, Wes is going to let me make all of this whole "dream sex" crap up to him. Not that there was anything to make up, because there was a lack of control, and it's not like I liked it. Cause I didn't. Right. Anyways, it will be nice spending time with him again, I've missed not having around these past couple of days. Yeah, I'm a little on the pathetic side, but I don't have the energy to be my usual lovely self.

And it's sad, because I think I slept better when I got to wake up next to him.

Thu, 31 Jul 2003 02:51:30 GMT

/Firewalled against everyone except for Angel

So, my little shared dream fiasco with Gunn wasn't the only thing sent to me last night. I got another one. Different from the rest. I was Wesley, lying on the hard dirt ground and I could feel blood rushing down my neck, sticking to my skin. Let me tell you something, my lover's mind is not a fun place to be. I may be a vicious bitch, but never have I felt such hatred for one single person, which figures, since he did lock the stupid bitch in a cage for three months. As I lay there, I felt so... isolated, so alone, lonelier than I was when I myself lay dying on the floor from a neck wound. Funny how we get matching scars. And in all that pain, that hatred, fear, loneliness, I kept on thinking about Connor. Needing to get to him, having to find him, something about Connor being important. The dream ended with me blacking out, and I woke up saying, "Connor." Which I technically shouldn't be, because the dreams, the memories, they don't exist, not really. Wolfram and Hart's little mindfuck should have taken care of that. Meaning whoever is in charge of these dreams might know about Connor, which is much less than reassuring.

And feeling so alone, that much pain, that much... it makes me almost glad he doesn't remember. Almost.

I might need to go talk to Captain Trenchcoat about this. Just what I need.
/end firewall

Other than that, last night drove me a little up the wall. Went home, alone, managed to catch some Ally McBeal reruns in an attempt to ~~soothe my hormones~~ send me to sleep- with the wish of dreaming about dancing animated babies. Unfortunately, the episode featured Taye Diggs in a suit, which I normally wouldn't mind, but sent me scrambling for my Practice tapes and Dylan McDermott.

Fucking dreams will drive me insane by Friday. I'm starting to consider being transferred back to Hell. I'm starting to envy Kermit in Liberace for being in Tokyo, the rat bastard.

Why is it always fucking me?

Wed, 30 Jul 2003 04:19:02 GMT

So, on most people's to do lists, they have normal things. Grocery shop. Laundry. Commit murder one and plant the evidence on your partner. Not embody your boss and have sex with his girlfriend in a dream. But no, let's not stop there, cause it get's better. Someone gets to play said boss's ex-girlfriend.

So, today was boring as usual, until about an hour or two (maybe three?) ago when I was so rudely interrupted in my office by Gunn, who apparently is making a career out of (attempting to) terrorize sleepless evil lawyers. He came into my office, completely uninvited, threatened me, broke my coffee mug, trashed my computer screen (and ruined my study of kama sutra in the workplace, not that I... erm... sex is not a good topic right now) and pinned me to the wall, and started rambling about how I must be the one causing the nightmares, because yes, I'd just love to torture myself to dream about death, and ... . Apparently, Irony felt like being a real bitch today, and suddenly, Gunn's shivering. And I'm holding him. Comforting him. It was like my body was being hijacked, and I was just watching, not really there, but also very there. It's not a sensation easily described. Suddenly, I'm calling Gunn "Buffy", and I'm Angel, Angel of all fucking people in this universe. I think I liked Fred better. Soon we're exchanging vows of love, and making out. On my desk. Which lead to a lot more on my desk, which is currently being incinerated.

All a dream. All a dream. Naked sumo wrestlers.

And I'm waking up, and it's lightning and thunder, all Hell breaking loose, yadda, yadda, yadda. I feel like something inside of me is breaking off, no, being ripped away, burning, searing pain and I collapse to the floor, screaming, and then this... peace takes over me. And I'm hit with a rush of confidence, power, I can feel strength rippling through me, and all those maliciously evil thoughts that I only act on fifty percent of the time? I'm getting the urge to act on them always.

Because I wasn't Angel. Nope, I was the less-broody, soul-free Angelus. I could tell by the sudden urge to wear leather pants. Which did lead to a fun session of getting "Buffy" to cry, and shooting her down, which was all fun and games except for the fact that I was a vampire, with brains of a chipmunk and that as soon as I turned to walk away, I was me, Gunn was Gunn, and three things occurred to me.

1. I was just Angel.
2. Wes is going to make the decapitation fetish look fun
3. These dreams are going way, way too far and must be stopped, very, very soon.
~~4. Despite it not being Wesley, Gunn wasn't that bad of a choice at all. I mean, he's not lacking in any departments, or-~~

I'm going to go get resources to give me another computer screen, get a large vat of coffee, ~~splash some very cold water on my face~~, raid Security, keep all incriminating videos for safekeeping yes..., and I swear to God, if Gunn comes near my office again, I'll shoot him on sight. Because it might have been all a dream, but...

Maybe now I should go find Wes. Hopefully, he won't catch wind of this. Not like it matters, because it was Just. A. Dream.