It was a nice towel, Wesley decided. It was soft and fluffy and hugged him warmly a new-age father figure he'd never had - especially needed on what had been both the most glorious and strangest day of his life. He'd - finally - taken revenge on the man who'd killed his father. Sort of. Technically, of course, he'd been the one to kill him, but the way he saw it he'd been used purely as a weapon by Sloan to do the Fraternity's dirty work.
He dried himself then shoved on his clothes and emerged from the bathroom to find Eliphia. That was her name, the girl. He wasn't entirely certain that he was awake yet. In fact, he'd many times turned the temperature to its coldest attack and let the icy drips splatter on his back. The pain and shock were so intense that he'd surely have awoken had they been generated by only his imagination. He'd not awoken and so, by Sherlock Holmes logic, he must have been awake already.
"So," he opened, too fed up to extend pleasantries, "How d'you suppose we should get me back?"
"Well, first off, yes I do have a lovely home, thanks so much for asking," Eliphia's words spelled an insult but sounded vaguely like flirtation, "Second of all, how am I meant to know how to get you back?!"
But they were about to find out.
The instructions were not written down. What Wesley and Eliphia discovered was not a scrap of weathered paper or a beaten scroll that disintegrated upon unravelling. It was still in the process of creeping out of the television screen and so Wesley and Eliphia did not in fact notice it at first. Eliphia had made tea and Wesley had been so overcome with guilt at his earlier gloom that he had thanked her so profusely for the tea that he almost outdid Mr. Tumnus's rambling about how glad he was to finally have a purpose for a handshake. Eliphia was glad that he'd lightened up, for she'd always hoped that after he gets his revenge on Sloan, Wesley would finally be happy. At least now he had a purpose. To get home. She hoped he didn't leave too soon.
It was Eliphia who noticed it first. She'd just swallowed the final dregs of her tea and slammed the mug down onto the coffee table with such force that Wesley assumed she was still begrudged towards his ill humour. He attempted to apologise but Eliphia hushed him and motioned to the slither of cloud-like semi-mass that was crawling out of the television screen. Then Wesley saw it too. It was almost menacing, but it did not seem harmful. It was more that there appeared to be malice in its mystery, in the way it gave no indication as to what it was, or its business either.
Then they heard the Voice. Except it wasn't a voice. It skipped the whole transmission step and jumped straight into their heads. Eliphia glanced at Wesley. His whole form was rigid. His stolid forearms were tensed as were the tendons in his neck. Even his floppy hair was still, unwavering. Wesley was not scared. He was defiant. Eliphia knew she had to be the same way - or at the very least attempt to be. She braced herself as the words took shape.
They were not spoken, but gradually Eliphia knew exactly what they contained within them. There were no exact words, just meanings. They could almost be taken for assumptions if Eliphia could not tell from Wesley's stricken face that he was experiencing the same thing. His courage was not flawless, but it was admirable. Eliphia did her best not to tremble as she learned of the Realisation Phenomenon.
He dried himself then shoved on his clothes and emerged from the bathroom to find Eliphia. That was her name, the girl. He wasn't entirely certain that he was awake yet. In fact, he'd many times turned the temperature to its coldest attack and let the icy drips splatter on his back. The pain and shock were so intense that he'd surely have awoken had they been generated by only his imagination. He'd not awoken and so, by Sherlock Holmes logic, he must have been awake already.
"So," he opened, too fed up to extend pleasantries, "How d'you suppose we should get me back?"
"Well, first off, yes I do have a lovely home, thanks so much for asking," Eliphia's words spelled an insult but sounded vaguely like flirtation, "Second of all, how am I meant to know how to get you back?!"
But they were about to find out.
The instructions were not written down. What Wesley and Eliphia discovered was not a scrap of weathered paper or a beaten scroll that disintegrated upon unravelling. It was still in the process of creeping out of the television screen and so Wesley and Eliphia did not in fact notice it at first. Eliphia had made tea and Wesley had been so overcome with guilt at his earlier gloom that he had thanked her so profusely for the tea that he almost outdid Mr. Tumnus's rambling about how glad he was to finally have a purpose for a handshake. Eliphia was glad that he'd lightened up, for she'd always hoped that after he gets his revenge on Sloan, Wesley would finally be happy. At least now he had a purpose. To get home. She hoped he didn't leave too soon.
It was Eliphia who noticed it first. She'd just swallowed the final dregs of her tea and slammed the mug down onto the coffee table with such force that Wesley assumed she was still begrudged towards his ill humour. He attempted to apologise but Eliphia hushed him and motioned to the slither of cloud-like semi-mass that was crawling out of the television screen. Then Wesley saw it too. It was almost menacing, but it did not seem harmful. It was more that there appeared to be malice in its mystery, in the way it gave no indication as to what it was, or its business either.
Then they heard the Voice. Except it wasn't a voice. It skipped the whole transmission step and jumped straight into their heads. Eliphia glanced at Wesley. His whole form was rigid. His stolid forearms were tensed as were the tendons in his neck. Even his floppy hair was still, unwavering. Wesley was not scared. He was defiant. Eliphia knew she had to be the same way - or at the very least attempt to be. She braced herself as the words took shape.
They were not spoken, but gradually Eliphia knew exactly what they contained within them. There were no exact words, just meanings. They could almost be taken for assumptions if Eliphia could not tell from Wesley's stricken face that he was experiencing the same thing. His courage was not flawless, but it was admirable. Eliphia did her best not to tremble as she learned of the Realisation Phenomenon.
