2440/The Obligatory Familial Threat

The Obligatory Familial Threat
Date of Scene:	04 September 2017
Location:	The Hyperion Hotel
Synopsis:	Sam Winchester touches base with Wesley Wyndam-Price at Fred's request.
Cast of Characters:	Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, Sam Winchester
Tinyplot:	Blood on My Name

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Wesley Wyndam-Pryce has posed:
Wes hasn't been jumping heavily back into things since his return from abroad. First, he slept for a couple of days, then he was manic for about 24 hours when he realized he missed an ingredient in the salve that was healing his magical wound, and...then he slept again. So that has left him both out of the loop, and out of trouble.
One of the ways to get back on your feet after the mystical equivalent of the flu is to get moving again. The Hyperion has a shooting range, because of course it does. Or rather, it functions as a shooting range even if it's not perfect. He's currently wielding a crossbow like a practiced expert. He lets one arrow loose towards the target. It flies true.

Sam Winchester has posed:
Sam had sort of wandered through the Hyperion halls looking for either of the people he's been sent to talk to. It's just a day or so after the rescue of Claire Temple when he does come. He ends up seeing the shooting range, and the person occupying it, through the top floor window of the room he and Fred sometimes share. He pauses to pack her a bag of familiar things, clothes, her toiletries, figuring that while she hadn't explicitly asked him to do that it's a good idea. He puts that in the car, habitually thinking like someone who often needs to leave places quickly, and then walks around back.

The tall man calls out well before he is in range of being able to threaten Wesley, with his hands up and out, though not out of range for Wesley to threaten /him/. "Hello, are you Wesley?"

Wesley Wyndam-Pryce has posed:
Wesley may have once been a clumsy Watcher (and he still has bouts of clumsiness when he's lost confidence) but now he's pretty quick. He swings the crossbow around, but doesn't point it, but it's held at the ready. His finger moves aside and he lowers it, apparently deciding Sam isn't an immediate threat. Someone probably showed him a picture of the Winchesters to make sure they didn't get a crossbow in the face.
"I am, yes. You must be Sam." He sets the crossbow aside and steps forward to offer his hand. His brows go up a little at the young man's height. He's fairly tall himself. It's not often he looks up at people.

Sam Winchester has posed:
Sam shakes it with a kind of ready, friendly affability that reflects itself in his quick, boyish smile. "Pleasure to meet you. I hope I didn't startle you."

His shake is firm but not too firm, not at all meant to intimidate. He ignores the crossbow as nothing more than a sensible precaution; he would have actually aimed it at an intruder's heart for a few moments, so Wesley is the kinder of the two of them. "I've heard a lot about you." And he has, in fact, heard a lot about both Wesley and Angel; this is no lie.

Wesley Wyndam-Pryce has posed:
"Son, if you startled me, you would have a piercing you didn't want," says Wes. It's that sort of half-joke that he's not very good at that comes off as awkward. Ahem. His shake is firm in return.
"I'm afraid I can't say the same, but I've been away. I haven't had time to catch up. But I have heard that you and your brother have been working with Fred. Something about...a man with a metal arm?"

Sam Winchester has posed:
Sam's eyebrows lift slightly at 'son'; the man's not /that/ much older than him, but he grins anyway, sheepishly. He still looks like a /boy/, he knows, if an exceedingly large one, and maybe 14 years later there is a huge perspective shift that makes that work. How the Hell would he know? At this rate he'll be lucky to make it to 22. And looked at in a certain light? He actually never truly made it to 13.

He asks about the man with the metal arm, and he nods. "Yes, he was a tortured war hero named James Barnes, a WWII veteran metahero who still looks...well. Not much older than me. He was brainwashed into believing he was someone else, and we helped him. We also helped a nurse that was in trouble because of the people that did this to him. But...they were dabbling with magic, and the spell they used was pretty nasty. Fred's okay, she wanted me to come and say she was okay, but it gave her some nightmares and she wanted me to let you know she was staying at my place for a few days. She didn't want you to worry."

Wesley Wyndam-Pryce has posed:
That, and Wes wouldn't be Wes if he didn't counteract the fairly cool crossbow first impression with a dorky English academic second impression. It wouldn't be half as bad if he didn't wince at himself so much.
"Well, it seems things have been quite busy in my absence." When he shifts, the odd scrape on his neck becomes visible below the lapel of his button-up. It's healing, but it definitely looks like something a monster made. "Well, I appreciate her concern, but I do believe she also knows how to use one of these." He pulls his phone out of his pocket and wiggles it a bit. "That was hardly a message that required a messenger, so I gather you must be here for some other reason."

Sam Winchester has posed:
"My guess? She wanted you to meet me so you wouldn't worry about her staying with //me//," Sam says. It was a matter he had given some thought to on the drive down from Hell's Kitchen, after all, because he, too, wondered why she didn't just call him. "Unknown quantity that I am. Angel and I met briefly, so I imagine, given the time of day, she figured on us meeting this time."

Or she also just really wanted him to get her toothbrush, but he rather thinks it's the former. She'd mentioned this, not the toiletries and clothes; that was more of an afterthought on his part. He himself has no motive...if it made her feel right for him to come out here personally, then coming out here personally is what Sam Winchester is going to do.

Wesley Wyndam-Pryce has posed:
"Ah," says Wesley. He takes a moment to examine Sam. He may be forgiven for thinking he's getting sized up by a member of his girlfriend's family. Once upon a time, a look like that would have come with jealousy, but he's moved on from that. It doesn't mean he cares for Fred any less, mind, just that he cares in a slightly different way.
"Well, do you think Fred wanted us to talk about anything in particular? You do have met at a disadvantage if she's been speaking about me."

Sam Winchester has posed:
/I don't think she's that with it./

But Sam doesn't say that out loud. And he certainly doesn't seem to mind being sized up. The purpose of the meeting.

"I don't know about that," he says slowly. "But she did mention you were an outstanding magical researcher. This spell I just mentioned? Its stumping me. I don't understand what the endgame was with the thing. Everyone targeted by it ultimately resisted it, which is what we want, but that means I don't get why all the resources were poured into creating it in the first place, and not knowing is driving me a little crazy. Maybe a fresh pair of expert eyes on the problem will help."

Wesley Wyndam-Pryce has posed:
"Ah, so there's the ulterior motive. Or perhaps a moment of bonding?" Wes smiles a little. "Not that I mind helping, of course. It's rather what I do. Tell me," he folds his arms across his chest. "Are you aware of the Watcher's Council?"

Sam Winchester has posed:
"I am not," Sam admits, tilting his head to one side. Eager to learn something new, something he didn't have before. "What's the Watcher's Council?" He seems unruffled by the tease about the ulterior motive, simply flashing a quick half of a smile in reply, something there and gone in half a second. Hazel eyes warm a bit; regardless of what Wesley may decide about him, he likes this scholarly man well enough.

Wesley Wyndam-Pryce has posed:
Wesley says, "@emit "Well, it's a rather long and complicated history, and I'm not certain you'd be interested in the minutae. But the short of it is, it is a council that oversees mystical threats. The libraries are quite extensive, and the training, though far more academic than it needs to be, is is quite excellent." Wes shrugs one shoulder. "Think of their training like the Oxford of magical academia. I passed the academic portion of the training, but they were rather disappointed with my practicum." His forehead wrinkles as he digests the bad memories.
He clears his throat. "The short of it is, I'm rather well-equipped to help in these matters. Tell me more about this spell.""

Sam Winchester has posed:
It never ceases to amaze Sam that there are practitioners out there with resources, schools, and backing. After all those years hiding, working the underground, running into hundreds of cases in all these small towns that nobody else seemed to know about or care about. And here there is WAND, there are Watchers Councils. He could have gone to school /and/ been a Hunter, he supposes, had anyone known a thing about a thing. Instead, he got born into this weird underground tradition that actually is a thing, a loose network of good old boys and gals doing their thing across America.

"First, the runework," Sam says. He picks up a stick and says apologetically, "There was zero time to take a photo."

But he has a good memory, and he starts reconstructing most of it. "This was on a hospital bed. It activated when we picked the conduit up off the bed-- Nurse Temple. She was out of it, looked like she was reading some sort of script. The two together triggered the effect."

Wesley Wyndam-Pryce has posed:
It is quite true. When you combine academic nerdery with a family history of monster hunting, you get Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. Still with daddy issues, though.
Wes tilts his head at the rune taking shape. "Runic magic is quite unusual. Runes are so prevelant in popular culture that warlocks neutralized many combinations because people were triggering real magic as they just tried to decorate belts at Renaissance Faires." His eyebrows lift, then fall. "A gentleman once transformed himself into a dwarf after he decorated a loincloth in a potent combination of runes." He shakes his head. "I digress. My point being, it takes an adept practicioner to create magic with runic symbols."

Sam Winchester has posed:
"Volkov summoned an actual hydra. I'd say he's got the goods," Sam murmurs as he finishes it. "That's all I remember of that. Now for the effect."

He just has to figure out how to describe it. "The magic bit into each of us, and we all saw things. I don't know exactly what everyone saw. It seemed to draw from the person's worst fears and insecurities. But there were...hints, clues, that the place wasn't real. And a choice, point. A decision point where you could accept that reality and /make/ it real. For example I..."

He falters. "Well, there was a choice point."

Wesley Wyndam-Pryce has posed:
Wesley watches Sam as he describes the spell. He furrows his brow and then says simply, "I see." It's a concerned pair of words. "So you have mind magic and reality altering magic. I'd say 'the goods' is an understatement. Volkov?"

Sam Winchester has posed:
"Misha Volkov, yeah," Sam says quietly. "He's bad news. But I can't tell you too much about him. He's part of an organization called Hydra. They're apparently some sort of Nazi terrorist offshoot with strong interests in both alien technology and occult dealings. Aspirations of world domination." He is not about to admit that most of his contact with this man was as his prisoner, not to someone he barely knows, though he supposes it is somewhat relevant. Instead he says, "I'm not sure how much personal mana he's packing. My guess? More than a hedge wizard, less than, say, a natural witch or member of the White Council. My read on him is he's old, and he's patient, and he's made the most of decades of research."

Wesley Wyndam-Pryce has posed:
"Fred, in one of her delightful stream of consciousness moments, did mention something about Hydra. My life being what it is," Wes shrugs, "I did assume it was an //actual// beast. But that sounds like this is both literal, and figurative. So you can't say the bad guys don't have a flare for the dramatic."
He is lost in thought for a moment, as years of academic study comes to mind. He seems to zone out for a moment, then comes back to the present with an intake of breath. "Well, I do have several books detailing runic magic of this type. It's very possible I will be able to give you some idea of his actual capabilities. And if we're fortunate, perhaps the source and method of his magic. That is, assuming he gets his power in the usual way. Even the Council can't seem to keep track of all the nonstandard practices that seem to crop up."

Sam Winchester has posed:
"There were bodies all over the lab where we got Claire. I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't get a fair amount from blood sacrifice," Sam says grimly. "But I appreciate your efforts. Whatever you can come up with would be really helpful, because I have never seen anything like that, and I feel like it's important to understand what would have happened had someone taken the choice that //didn't// result in them waking up in the real world. He put a lot of time, effort, and energy investment into that spell. I doubt we were all supposed to come to personal ephiphanies and walk out of there, you know? As it is, I have to wonder if it was slightly flawed because we all //did// get out of there. I'm grateful. But I have to wonder."

Expect the worst, and all your surprises will be pleasant.

Wesley Wyndam-Pryce has posed:
"Or perhaps he gained something from the supposedly failed endeavor." Wes drifts off into thought again for a moment. This is a real problem for him to chew on, the likes of which he hasn't encountered in a little while. "Even if it was a simple failure, he will no doubt try something again. And perhaps that something won't fail."
He walks over to a small table and picks up a notebook. He begins to jot down some notes. "I do hope you're taking steps to protect yourself. Are you familiar with wards and simple protection spells?"

Sam Winchester has posed:
"I'm a hedge," Sam says with a nod, "Specializing in both those things." He rarely describes himself that way...Hunters, on the whole, tend to wrinkle their nose at such tools, and many look askance at Sam for his willingness to pursue them. But Bobby does, and Bobby is even better at it than Sam is, and Sam has seen it work to great effect. He feels a stab of affection for the old man; he decides to call him in the car and touch base, just to say hi.

Meanwhile, here is Wesley, with insight Sam hadn't thought of. He looks duly impressed and says, "I also hadn't thought of that."

What could it be? A piece of their pain? A line to their souls? A bit of energy? This conversation is bearing fruit already.

Wesley Wyndam-Pryce has posed:
"Good. A valuable skill to have." Wes tears the page out of the book and hands it to Sam. The text is in Latin. "I trust you can read that, if not, give it your best go. Diction isn't that important." Then he points to a set of markings that look like modified runes. "Carve that into your doorframe. I can't promise this will work, but I've seen it ward off runic practicioners before."
"I've learned that supposedly powerful creatures and magic users rarely fail when they catch you off guard, unless they intended to fail. Perhaps he fed on your fear. Perhaps he's gathered intel on your fears so that he can send it back to you, magnified tenfold." He arches his brows and looks Sam in the eye. "If you've been in the game for awhile, then I don't need to tell you that it's never a good thing when your enemy gets into your head. Literally or figuratively."

Sam Winchester has posed:
"If I weren't so off my game," Sam admits, rueful and obviously upset with himself, "I probably would have seen that for myself."

He reads the Latin script. This is a spell he's not familiar with, and he absorbs it eagerly. "And for this, too." He doesn't confirm or deny if his diction is any good, but he seems like he at least feels more than capable of using the spell. He'll do that first thing; one does not turn down a gift like this likely. And he'll go see if Claire maybe would like her apartment so warded. He...thinks Mercy rather has her garage covered. Liam is something a step beyond a wizard, whatever he is.

His eyes are troubled, hazel and troubled, scared, even, though he seems the type who tries to be there for literally everyone else, so the eyes are the only place that fear may be found. He pulls out a card with a number on it. It just has the number, and his name: Sam Winchester. "Seems smart to exchange contact information."

Wesley Wyndam-Pryce has posed:
God damnit, Wes kind of likes this kid. He was prepared to be quietly disapproving of anyone who comes within a mile of Fred. He's one of the few people who truly knows what she's been through. But there's an earnestness to Sam that's lowering his heckles. Maybe the Winchesters aren't the trouble he first suspected.
Wait until he meets the other one.
"I both would and wouldn't recommend thinking like your enemy. It can make you lose sleep, but it can also save your life." Then he cracks a small smile. "I'm honestly not usually this much of a lecturer. Or I try not to be. But old habits are rather hard to break." Then he reaches to take the piece of paper with the spell back momentarily, as well as Sam's card. He sketches down his own number. "When I'm not out hunting, you can usually find me here. I'll do some research. Tell Fred if she needs a distraction, I can always use help with the book work. And her favourite taco place now delivers."

Sam Winchester has posed:
They are absolutely that kind of trouble, but usually only because they're trying to spare other people trouble, and make a shitload of enemies along the way...and because their emotions tend to blind them, and their loyalty to the few people they can trust blinds them further still. At least Fred is already on that list for Sam. Being Fate's bitch and a pawn in various apocalyptic schemes doesn't really help them out either.

"I don't mind lectures, they're how people learn," Sam says with a flash of a smile. He made it through Professor Odollon's long and boring history lectures, he can certainly stand a little additional perspective. "And I did ask."

He takes the number and programs it into his phone. He smiles fondly at the mention of her favorite taco place now delivering, and he says, "I'll tell her. It was nice to meet you, Wesley."

Wesley Wyndam-Pryce has posed:
Wesley may not be fate's bitch in the apocalyptic sense, but he does have rotten luck. Not much has ever worked out the way he wanted. But still, he perseveres. It gets to a point when all you have left is the fight.
He settles his hands into his pockets. "Well, if you ever want more lectures, I've got several on tap. Including a riveting one about bookbinding as it pertains to the containment of energies within spellbooks." He cracks a little half-smile. "Give Fred my best. And tell her to call me." Because if Fred doesn't feel safe at the Hyperion, he worries about what happened.

Sam Winchester has posed:
Sam kind of wants that lecture, and it shows. His features light up with interest.

But the reminder of Fred, and the clear end to the conversation, draw him back away from it here and now. "I will," he says warmly. "And I'll take a raincheck on that." Interest is interest. Angel had just kind of unnerved him, to be honest, though he'd caught him at a severely low point. Wesley he feels he can at least somewhat relate to, from this initial meeting. A fact which he'll pass on to Fred as he settles in...and does his best to make her feel safe.

Wesley Wyndam-Pryce has posed:
Wesley looks quite surprised at the lack of glazed over expression at the mention of bookbinding. That's usually the reaction he gets. People just want him to do the magic or to find the knowledge - they don't want to talk about how he got there.
He walks over to the crossbow and picks it up, apparently intent on resuming his practice. As he loads an arrow, he says, offhandedly, "And I'm sure I don't need to go into detail about the ways I'll hurt you if you hurt //her//." Casual. Almost //friendly//. But serious as well.

Sam Winchester has posed:
"Well," Sam says, looking over his shoulder. "I mean you could. I imagine you'd be inventive, and that lecture might be a little instructive on a hypothetical level. But first, I think she'd take me down before you got to me, and second, I'd sooner cut off my own hand."

And that? Sounds like nothing but the honest truth as he begins ambling back to the car he's driving. He walks backwards so as not to rudely turn his back on Wesley, not wanting to imply that he doesn't find the other man to be a threat. Indeed, Wesley strikes him as someone who really could give him a terrible sort of a day.

Wesley Wyndam-Pryce has posed:
Wesley doesn't say anything to that. Instead, he just watches Sam for a moment, then lifts the crossbow and points it at the target. He fires a shot, and the arrow finds a divet in the wood so that the target splits. The end of the arrow vibrates subtly.