prodigalwatcher: (Watcher | Smug)
294 - Passing

Always a bridesmaid )

(531)
prodigalwatcher: (I Stand Alone)
276 - Are you an only child? Write about your siblings or lack thereof.

There were no other children in the Wyndam-Pryce household. In fact, I suppose if I were in a particularly melancholy mood, I might characterise my upbringing as there having been no children at all in that household. From my earliest memories, Father was insistent that I learn responsibility and the absolute supremacy of duty an honour above all things. I had a family name to protect and to do proud, and he was damned if I was going to become a man who did anything but.

From time to time when I was young, I did imagine that it might be a fine thing to have an older brother. I didn't only wish for a play companion, but for a mentor who could understand what I was going through and guide me through my more difficult times. An older brother, I believed, would know how best to be the kind of son that Father would value.

I suppose part of me wondered if having a sibling would also mean that when Father's ire was descending, it would be at least somewhat divided.

Having been around other individuals with elder siblings, especially those with older brothers and sisters involved in the same pursuits as the younger, I sometimes find myself glad I did not have one. So many of them found troubles with following in the footsteps of exceptional older siblings, standing in their shadows.

I had enough trouble for myself without having someone standing before me and setting an even more difficult example to emulate.

It's unclear whether the particulars of my sibling-free upbringing have contributed to my current personality and behaviours the way other influences have, although I do think it's an interesting question.

(285)
prodigalwatcher: (Against The Wind)
December 2008 - Phone

"Hello, Mother? Yes, it's Wesley."

Phone home )

(313)

OOC: This is a canon and RP-based response.
prodigalwatcher: (Against The Wind)
Wesley shook his father's hand. "You're sure I can't convince you to stay a bit longer?"

Shaking his head, Roger clapped his son warmly on the shoulder. "Not a chance. Your mother was delighted at the news of my retirement, and I understand she wasted no time booking us a holiday. Haven't had one in ages, and I'm certainly not going to disappoint her."

"Of course not," replied Wesley, the smile on his face at least a little genuine for the moment. "Have a pleasant flight, then, Father. Please call when you get home."

Roger nodded. "Thank you, Wesley. And keep me apprised of how you and Miss Summers will be coming along with the Slayers." Another warm, firm shake. "Goodbye, son."

"Goodbye, Father."

Wesley watched as his father passed through the security checkpoint and disappeared into the rest of the international terminal at LAX. Once Roger was out of sight, Wesley took a deep breath to centre himself and promise to find some way to relieve the stress of his deception. As he passed under the great glass wall at the front of the terminal, heading for the car park, Wesley drew his cell phone.

"Buffy? It's Wesley. Where can I meet you? There've been some developments that you'll want to know about."
prodigalwatcher: (What You Have To Do)
September 2008 - lyrics from "So Cold" by Breaking Benjamin

Hollow heroes...

You do what you have to do. )

(975)

OOC: This ficlet is based on current RP events and canon for Wesley, and is part of his current storyline in that context. The Roger Wyndam-Pryce referred to is [livejournal.com profile] pryce_the_elder.

Muse: Wesley Wyndam-Pryce
Fandom: "Buffy TVS"/"Angel"
prodigalwatcher: (Wes| Empty Apartment)
68 - "A family crisis brings out the best and the worst in every member of the family." - 'Cat on a Hot Tin Roof'

The phone call had come at 2:30 in the morning, London time. Roger Wyndam-Pryce, however, had been awake, having been poring over sheaf after sheaf of paperwork related to his "consulting" position with the still-nascent re-formed version of the Watchers' Council. While Summers' plan had been audacious for sure, and unarguably effective, and while she did have one or two relatively capable individuals in her coterie, none of them knew a damn thing about running an organisation like the Watchers other than Rupert Giles.

Indeed, Roger had been expecting to hear Giles' voice on the other end of the line, not some infuriatingly vague American policeman.

Homecoming )

(596)
prodigalwatcher: (Wes | Deep Thoughts)
233 - Surprise! Your... is at the door -- and at a most inopportune moment! Now what?!

When most boys are in their bedrooms with the door shut tight, fervently hoping that their father does not enter unannounced, they are more than likely up to something a great deal different than I was that day.

Surreptitious )

(541)
prodigalwatcher: (Against The Wind)
228 - Three A.M.

"On behalf of British Airways and your flight and cabin crews today, welcome to London. The local time is approximately eleven o'clock in the morning, and the current temperature is approximately fifteen degrees centigrade..."

I tuned out the rest of the captain's speech and instead focused on my watch, which I'd yet to turn from Los Angeles time, which was three o'clock in the morning. I yawned, feeling every bit of the jet lag and the long flight from California. The ticket had been an impulse purchase, made immediately after I'd gotten off the phone with Mother and Father.

Thoughts in Heathrow )

(553)
prodigalwatcher: (What You Have To Do)
57 - "... accept our failures, as well as our successes, with quiet dignity and grace." - 'Young Frankenstein'

All I really wanted was to be left alone.

Cold Comfort )

(364, not counting direct quotes)

OOC Note: This is a canon-based response, and does not necessarily reflect any muse version of these characters.
prodigalwatcher: (Watcher | Smug)
54 - "Destiny! Destiny! No escaping that for me!" - 'Young Frankenstein'

I was six years old when my father first brought me to the Watchers Council Headquarters in London. That morning, he had seemed in particularly gruff spirits, fussing uncharacteristically with my appearance and constantly admonishing me to be on my very best behaviour. Roger Wyndam-Pryce had never found difficulty with detailing to his young son just what sorts of hell would come down were I to dare and misbehave, and his warnings that day were most dire.

If Father's intention was to scare me half out of my wits well before the train arrived at Paddington Station, he had succeeded fantastically.

My trepidation, though, all but disappeared when we arrived. Although any decent London architect could tell you that HQ was a tall and sturdy pre-WWII era commercial building, still carrying the plaster and concrete decor on its unremarkable façade. To me and my six year-old eyes, though, it was a castle. A castle teeming with tweed-suited knights and adventurers whose calling in life was to make the world safe for damsels and children. They were good men, brave and true, and they had the courage to stand against the darkness and persevere.

Even as I sat quietly in the corner of Father's office, reading through a translated Grimorium and politely nodding and shaking the hand of whichever colleagues of my father's happened to stop by and even more politely refusing their offers of caramels and flake bars, no matter how much I really wanted them, I knew I was sitting in a place where people made a difference, a place where there were still heroes to be found.

And best of all, I knew that one day, I would take my place amongst them. Father had told me so.

(290)
prodigalwatcher: (What You Have To Do)
53 - "A good fort needs a gap. The enemy must be lured in. So we can attack them. If we only defend, we lose the war." - 'Seven Samurai'

For a man who seemed at best to tolerate my presence despite being consistently and vocally disappointed in me on every level, my father's voice seemed to come to mind with a peculiar regularity. As I sat gazing into a campfire on a world that was not my own in a dimension that was just as alien, I could hear Father's stentorian tones from decades past, as he tutored me in the subtleties of chess.

"You'll never win playing like that, boy. You have spent more than two thirds of your turns avoiding me, moving your pieces-- even your pawns-- out of harm's way. You've done everything you can to keep me from taking even a single one of your men, and by doing so have left yourself completely vulnerable. Chess is war, Wesley, as the Watchers battle against the darkness is war. You cannot fear sacrifice. Sacrifice is necessary to victory."

Father spent the next nine months trouncing me, twice a day. Eventually, I learned my lesson. I could not at the same time preserve my men at the same time I was doing what was necessary to win. It began with the first, painful sacrifice of a pawn, and then more. I didn't triumph, but I lasted longer than I had been before. As ever, I turned to books. I studied every text and article I could find on the subject of chess. I pored over transcripts of the great matches.

It was five years from when we first began to play that I won my first match against my father. He had nodded and made a quiet sound of satisfaction before leaving the table. We played only a half dozen times after that, to this day.

Father's lesson went unused, except in games against other Watchers, until I had come to Pylea. The rebels gave me command of their forces, and were trusting me to lead them to victory.

I would give it to them, even if they did not realise the cost.

"I'm only gonna say this once. The guys you send to create those diversions are gonna die."

"Yes they are. You try not to get anybody killed you wind up getting everybody killed."


(336, not counting direct quotes)
prodigalwatcher: (Weapon | Shotgun | Raised and aimed)
208 - Four

OOC: Shamelessly stolen from Inspired by the #208 prompts by [livejournal.com profile] queenemma!mun

Traditionally, demons and vampires and other supernatural creatures have been fought with traditional weaponry. Blades and bows, wood and steel against their fangs and claws. Whether this is a case of their visceral, mystical strength being met with the base ability of humanity-- tools and muscle-- or whether it is simply just the way things have been done, it is rare for those in that business to employ the modern tools of war.

Four people Wesley has shot )

(653)
prodigalwatcher: (Redemption)
39 - "That's all he ever wanted out of life... was love." - 'Citizen Kane'

Wesley wrote two letters on the day he died. While Illyria rested in Spike's apartment, he posted the first. The second, he burned.

A love that accepts. A love that adores. )

(904)
prodigalwatcher: (Wes| Empty Apartment)
197 - Is there anyone in your life who you feel is exceptionally wise? Who, and how did you meet this person?

It was the most important, most imposing door in the entire house. From Wesley's point of view, a bit more than a metre or so above the polished-smooth parquet floor, it seemed at least three of him high and two of him wide, and might have weighed a long tonne for as reluctant as he was to attempt opening it. The eight year-old had been through the door on occasion, of course, and he knew if he closed his eyes, he could picture the room beyond.

Inside, books lined every empty bit of wall that was not already occupied by a window, and those were likely to be hidden behind the heavy, dark green curtains. A pair of large, high-backed chairs stood to one end of the room, flanking a tiny wood-burning fireplace. To the other end was a massive wooden desk, stained a dark, rich red-brown that reminded the boy of the skin of roasted chestnuts. A green-shaded brass banker's lamp would be spilling a bright circle of light upon the surface of the desk.

And behind the desk, scowling more like than not, would be Father.

Ours is not to reason why )

(716, not including cut-tag quote)

OOC Note: Mun or Meta comments only, please.

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Wesley Wyndam-Pryce

February 2014

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