Starring:
Summary:
Fred finds strange writing in blood on Wesley's wall.
Date It Happened:
The Writing on the Wall
Location
The Hyperion is quiet. It would seem like the lobby is empty. The lights are on, but it would seem like no one is home. The Angel crew seem to be all out helping those helpless in the mean streets of LA. That is until a piercing shriek rings out through the lobby. It sounds like it's coming from Wesley's office. The sound is short-lived but gripping as if someone just got the fright of their life.
And Frank, well. PI work in his off hours isn't really -necessary-, but he's frankly an addict. He just happens to be nosing around, in search of the afterhours security, when that sound echoes through the lobby. He doesn't hesitate, heading for the apparent source.
The office that Frank is heading toward isn't really all that different from other offices. Other than the medieval weaponry on the walls. And the books in demonic languages. And, well, the blood on the walls in a strange cryptic text. And Fred standing in the center of the room quickly starting to climb on a chair in order to get a closer look on what is going on what's been written there. Shoving her glasses onto her face, she looks at Francis with alarm and trepidation, feezing on her chair. But she doesn't say anything just yet. It's like she's waiting for Francis to make the first move.
He looks at her, in turn. "What happened?" he asks, as if the LAPD's response time to violence were always about fifteen seconds. He doesn't flash the badge, but it's visible at his waist, as ever. "Are you alright?" Frank's tone is matter of fact, like he can bluff through the fact that he's not actually supposed to be here, yet.
As Fred is part of an investigation agency and she certainyl didn't call the cops, she eyes Francis with something very akin to surprise and suspicion. "I didn't call you," she says, taking in the badge at his waist and his question. It's hard to hide a wall written in blood, but she's not exactly trying to hide it. "What do you want?" Then, after a second, she straightens and crosses her arms, still standing on the chair. "I'm fine. It's not mine, see?" She holds up her hands to show no cuts anywhere.
"No, you didn't," he allows, quietly. Apparently prescience is now a service offered by the Los Angelese police. "I was actually on my way here for something else," He glances around the room carefully before moving further in, lest he disturb evidence. "Any sign of anyone else, beyond that?" he wonders, nodding at the writing on the wall, apparently unperturbed.
"Something else?" The police need a private investigator? That seems odd to Fred. And Fred is pretty good on knowing what's odd or not. "Nooo, they're all out at the moment." Holding onto a sort of swab and a tray, she wobbles on her chair. "It's just me! And the stain on the wall. Don't worry about it, though, I'm sure it was just, um, the, uh, decorators. They've got a sense of humor for sure."
He dares to wander over, touch the writing. "That's human blood," he says, after a tentative sniff, detecting that unpleasant metallic scent. "Did you just find this now?"
"Well, it kinda took me by surprise, yeah." Fred is suspicious of Francis and why he's here. "Hence the whole screamin' and the like. Um, why'd you say you were here again?" Because he's LAPD he should be out trying to save people. Not figure out blood stains in weird languages on their walls. Not that this isn't weird, it's just not so weird to her so much.
"Had a call there was some sort of disturbance here," he lies, blithely. "Seems they were right. That wasn't you, was it?" She gets a guileless glance from the blue eyes.
That may be a good lie, but Fred hasn't heard of any sort of disturbance here. Not until she just screamed. And that'd be a pretty good response time between yelling and calling and police if he just came. "Oh, there's lots of disturbances 'round here, but not much you should get a call about!" Waving at the wall shakily, she laughs in a nervous sort of way. "This is just a prank, I'm sure. Don't mind this!"
Francis levels a stern look at her. "You're sure you weren't the one that called?" he persists, quietly. "Hell of a prank to play."
"No, I don't like to talk to strangers much," Fred tells Francis seriously, the giggle in her voice gone. That part's serious. "Well, you know, people see an old hotel, think that it'd be fine to just write in blood all over it in some weird demonic language." Pause, wait, should she have said that? "Or, uh, graffitti?"
Quite likely, no, she shouldn't've. "Demonic?" he asks, more quietly, as if there might be listeners, even here. "You really think so?" There is no poohpoohing the idea of the demonic. Well, he is a fairly devout Catholic…
"W-well," Where is Wesley to start rattling off something confusing? Or Gunn, who would know what to do? Or Angel, who'd come to rescue her at this juncture. But, it seems like it's just her. "Some weird language written in something like blood. I wouldn't exactly call it heavenly! Not that I'd really know what a heavenly language would look like." She still hasn't gotten off that chair and she just eyes the wall again. "We'll just hire someone to get all the blood off. I hear blood's hard to get out of everything. Hopefully not walls, too. You'd know about that as a police officer, wouldn't you? You wouldn't have any special 'getting blood off of wall' recipes would you?"
"Club soda. On cloth, anyhow," Francis says, pulling a notepad from his pocket, and hastily starting to copy down the writing on the wall. "I don't know about drywall," he adds, flicking her an amused look. "Got experience with demons?" He's apparently serious.
When Francis starts copying everything down, that's when Fred finally hops off her chair and makes for the doorway. "Oh! What a great idea. I'm sure we have some around here somewhere. No need to copy any of that crazy language down, I'll have it all cleaned up in no time, I'm sure." As for the demons, she shakes her head quite thoroughly. "Oh no, demons? What are demons? I mean, that's just crazy talk!" Wait, what if he needs help and is trying to be a customer? Backtrack, Fred, backtrack. "You don't know anything about them, do you?"
"Club soda. On cloth, anyhow," Francis says, pulling a notepad from his pocket, and hastily starting to copy down the writing on the wall. "I don't know about drywall," he adds, flicking her an amused look. "Got experience with demons?" He's apparently serious.
When Francis starts copying everything down, that's when Fred finally hops off her chair and makes for the doorway. "Oh! What a great idea. I'm sure we have some around here somewhere. No need to copy any of that crazy language down, I'll have it all cleaned up in no time, I'm sure." As for the demons, she shakes her head quite thoroughly. "Oh no, demons? What are demons? I mean, that's just crazy talk!" Wait, what if he needs help and is trying to be a customer? Backtrack, Fred, backtrack. "You don't know anything about them, do you?"'
At about that moment, the front doors of the Hotel lobby open with a loud clatter and in walks an individual dressed in black. While he doesn't himself look injured, his clothing definately looks like it may have seen better days. Keen hearing picks up a familiar voice in the office, leading him to head in that direction. After a moment he opens the door - why, its Angel!
In his hand he has what can only be described as a head … because it is a head. Evil-looking with more eyes than it should have and a shape that is definitely not human. Demonic, actually. It is a demon head. He holds it up.
"Fred, have you got anywhere I can put a — "
Oh, a visitor.
"Prop? For our … short film?"
There's Francis. There's Francis' complete refusal to surrender his aplomb. The look he gives Angel is just leaden with skepticism, and he continues to hastily sketch on his pad, taking down the demonic inscription. "Filming, huh?" he says, voice studiedly mild. The face….well, somewhat familiar, courtesy of Wolfram and Hart, but he doesn't react to Angel's appearance beyond that.
"Oh! Angel!" Fred is so relieved to see him there. Someone else to deflect Francis' skepticism and the like. "This is…" Actually, did she get Francis' name? She's not sure, but she doesn't remember it right now. "He's from the police." As for the demon head, she just kind of blinks at it. "Um. I think you can put that on Wesley's desk? There's, uh, someone left us some sort of prank on the wall." Namely, bloody graffiti in some obscure demon language. "He said we could probably get the stains off with club soda."
"Oh," Angel says, looking at Fred before he puts the head right there on the desk like Fred suggested. He even makes a point of angling it to look towards the door so it can scare the hell out of Wesley when he finally gets back. Heh heh heh. BUT ANYWAY.
"Graffiti, huh?" he asks, looking at the wall, "Those … " Oh god, who does graffiti? "Damn kids." Safe.
"Francis Doakes," Francis supplies, smoothly. And now that he's done with copying down that inscription, he slips the pad back into his jacket pocket, and offers a hand to Angel. "You weren't the one who called, were you?" His tone is all innocence.
"Someone called in a disturbance on us," Fred explains for Angel. Apparently she's just taking Francis' word for it. Why shouldn't she? "It mighta been because I hollered pretty loud when I saw the blood on the wall and thought maybe someone'd killed Wesley or Gunn and made a mess of the office, but no one else's here. You know, with all the movie props for our, uh, films, it can get a little scary in here?" She's not sure how she's lying, but she's trying!
"So nobody killed Wesley or Gunn?" Angel asks of Fred and, despite himself, he fails to keep from sounding casual about the question. He looks at the writing on the wall, tilting his head to one side.
"Maybe they were filming a scene in here that wasn't on the uh … " Movie terminology! Um! "The … scene … sheet … thing."
He gives Fred a casual look that to an outsider might look like 'right?' but, to those who know Angel, really means 'HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELP!'
Francis looks increasingly dubious, glancing between them, pen poised over the pad. "What's the name of the movie being filmed?" he asks, tone airy and apparently offhand.
"Not that I know of! I mean, I haven't seen 'em, but I haven't seen a body lyin' around, either. Unless you think they took it." Fred looks at Angel with a kind of helpless look on her face. She hopes that there isn't anyone dead, but she just keeps making things worse. She doesn't know much about filming movies. Or what any kind of movies in the past couple of years would be called. She wants to help Angel, but she doesn't know the name of it. "Oh, we wouldn't know something like that," she laughs nervously. "We're really fine, here. We can clean this up with that club soda you talked about and get back to filming. With our, uh, movie props."
"It's a, uh, horror film," Angel puts an arm around Fred's shoulders to signify what he at least believes to be the general stance of two people who are friends, "About … demons from Hell eating people." Very original, Angel.
He squeezes Fred's shoulder for a moment, "Fred and I've been making films for years, right, Fred?"
All he needs now is a shovel and the digging of his own grave would be complete.
"That explains the demonic writing, I suppose," Francis says, innocently, glancing up at the writing again.
"Yeah. Wesley and Gunn are, uh, character actors!" Still on the chair, the drape around the arms may be a little awkward for Angel, but he's tall and Fred isn't all that much, so it would still work. Of course, the very fact that he's putting an arm around her is enough to make her face light up like a Christmas tree. "Oh, sure! Tons of movies! Angel and I love making movies!" She beams and grins. "They've gotta have lots of demonic writing in them for them to be scary, right?"
"Yeah," Angel agrees, nodding his head, "Plenty of demonic writing. For the atmosphere, y'know?"
It is slightly awkward to be stooped how he is to put an arm around Fred but he must appear like a friendly fellow and so awkwardness be damned. Fred's lit-up face goes unnoticed (or mercifully ignored) for the moment.
"Yeah. Just sometimes comes as a bit of a shock when you're not expecting a set to be … set up yet, you know? Fred gets a bit of a shock sometimes."
He gives her another friendly shoulder-shake.
They're both lying. He's sure of it. But there's not much Francis can say. Or do, with the both of them standing there. "Well, good it's merely a prank. Let me know if there's any further trouble," he says, tipping a nonexistent hat, and moving to make his way out.
Of course they're both lying. How else can they explain a demonic prophecy written in blood on the wall to the police? Fred just keeps beaming and is shaken. "I do, it's true. Easily surprised Fred, that's what they call me!" Another laugh and a wave off hand. "We will, of course! Thanks for the concern, officer!"
"Yeah, thanks," Angel agrees, turning around to follow him with his best approximation of a beaming smile and continuing to look chummy with Easily Surprised Fred, "Hope we didn't cause you too much trouble."
"Not at all," Francis says, sunnily. And with that, he's gone. Letting himself out as if he had no doubt of where to go.
Oh, Heaven. That is what this may be. A chummy Angel, fooling the police, a team! Fred continues to just beam and wave as Francis leaves, standing on her chair, enjoying the moment. After he's gone, she turns to the vampire, "D'ya think he bought it? I thought we'd lost him at the movie props, but I don't think he'd have left if he didn't think we weren't really in the movie business!"
"I doubt it," Angel says with a shrug, slipping his arm back from around Fred's shoulders, "But what's he going to do? Not like he's going to find a cult or serial killers in the basement."
Oop! Wait, "You were believable, though. I almost thought you were a movie producer for a minute there." Safe.
There's a bit of slump in Fred's shoulders when Angel removes his arm. It was all for show. But, she doesn't let much get her down. She's already turning back toward the prophecy on the wall. "I hope so. Because, whatever this is, I can't think blood on a wall is good news."
"Probably not," Angel agrees, crossing his arms over his chest and hunching his shoulders slightly as he looks at the prophecy, "But you never know. Think you can scare up a translation?"
"I don't even know what it is. It just looks like someone tossed up spaghetti against the wall, but the spaghetti is blood and not really spaghetti-like at all." Fred frowns. "I'm not really any good at demon languages, other than Pylean. And this definitely isn't Pylean. We're gonna need Wesley. If he wasn't killed and used to smear this all over the wall and then made off with." That's a worrying thought.
"I just saw him half an hour ago so I doubt it," Angel answers by way of comforting Fred, "But if you want to give it a shot, feel free. I'm sure Wesley won't mind you going through his books."
"Oh, that's good." Fred lets out a sigh. Finally climbing off the chair, she moves for the books. She's not really going to be able to work through this all, but she'll do it for Angel. "I'll try. But, we should find Wesley."
