He needs to find a job, for something to do more than for the money. He's got enough of that to last him a while, but Nina's sick of him wallowing around the house. The lack of clothes other than underwear, not a problem. The boring self pity, big no-no.
No more being coddled, mister. Quit the languishing, get off your ass and do something with your life. Before it's over!
He's healing, Angel tells her, and grieving. She's sympathetic of course, but only to a point. You can mourn the loss of your friends and still be a useful member of society. When he's not too busy moping Angel's inclined to agree.
Just write something, she told him, it doesn't matter how crazy the idea is. It's all about the brainstorming. Gets the creative juices flowing and all that nonsense.
She even switched the laptop on, opened a blank document for him and plonked it down on his thighs. There is no excuse.
Angel eyes the cursor and it winks back at him expectantly. Blank canvasses never frightened him before, so why be intimidated now.
What's he good at, what does he like? What does he not like?
He drops his finger to the mouse pad and slowly swirls it around watching the pointer dance across the screen.
Something supernatural. CEO of an evil law firm perhaps? Angel rolls his eyes.
He's been up to his eye teeth in supernatural for the last 250 years. He's looking for normal now. Plus he's not sure given his current (and thus far permanent) humanness, that he's still cut out for the demon fighting. He caught himself shaving the other day and the nick still hurts, so getting beat up on a regular basis doesn't exactly appeal. Now more than ever the unsupercharged among the Scoobies and Fang Gang have earned a whole new respect.
Regular PI? Cop, federal Agent? FBI, you're under arrest. Stop or I'll shoot!
Except he might get shot too.
Ok, potential red flag there. If he's not careful he could turn into one of those people who's too scared to leave the house because they might get hit by a bus or struck by lightening.
Angel googles 'what should I do with my life'.
Internet explorer cannot display the webpage.
Well why the hell not?! He checks to make sure he's online. F5. Same result. Oh yeah, that's helpful.
And when he does manage to answer that question, he'll have to write up a resume in his 'very nice handwriting' (ooh, calligrapher maybe? Hand cramp, inky fingers. Maybe not.) - he wonders if Connor will be prepared to help him with that - apply for a job, go to an interview... Gah!
Why can't there be a scroll with a prophecy in it? The vampire with a soul, once he fulfils his destiny, will shanshu and become a… something something something. Is that too much to ask? Everything else important about his life seems to have been written down, so why not this?
He's just going to have to make some sort of pros and cons list.
Doctor? (Paging Dr Angel.) Dentist? Accountant? All out. Either boring or a substantial ick factor he's not willing to overlook. Also too many years of his life lost to his nose in text books.
Lawyer? Definitely not.
He could go to college, he's not averse to the idea and he can afford it. Contrary to what Cordelia thought, Mr 'I was alive for two hundred years and never developed an investment portfolio' actually does have some money. Maybe he and Connor could be on-campus buddies or something.
God, when did he become such a dork?
Something in IT. Nah. Everyone's in IT, he doesn't want to be a sheep.
He's good at languages, a cunning linguist so to speak (and officially one Bond movie away from formal couch potato status!). Maybe he should teach English as a foreign language. Like a gap year student. But the idea of being confined to a classroom and marking error riddled papers will wear on his patience.
Phlebotomist. They say you should play to your strengths, right? Well he's spent a quarter of a millennium letting blood, so Angel's nothing if not expert in that field. But although the blood wouldn't bother him, sticking needles into patients just might.
If he doesn't have a high school diploma how's he ever going to make it into Stanford? Or get any sort of job that requires credentials. He can't exactly get a reference from his last employers. And even if some of them are left alive he doubts that anyone'll be stepping up to provide him with a glowing recommendation.
Ok. Rethink. The skin on his broken arm is itching again and he reaches for a pencil, slides it beneath the cast and pokes the sensation into submission.
What does he like? Reading, food, sex, brooding.
Is professional brooder a remunerable occupation? Probably not.
He likes to read. He could read for books on tape. Or CD or blu ray or whatever it is they put them on nowadays. Only snag is you have to be a somebody to do that, and while technically he is, he's 'vampire with a soul' famous, not Stephen Fry famous. And that's the wrong kind.
Singer? Angel types LMAO, then deletes it.
He could open an art gallery. He has a few choice pieces he's collected over the years, people could pay to see them. Except he's not prepared to part with anything… so more an expensive museum then, if it's gonna be look-don't-touch and nothing's for sale. Ok, maybe he could work at a gallery and worry about selling other people's art. He'll just show them his art history degree and five years on-the-job experience…
Something with food maybe. Angel likes food. He's a good cook, for someone (formerly) on a liquid diet.
A sous chef? With his inexperience that'd just be code for glorified potato peeler.
Taster? He'll need to brush up on his knowledge of pretentious adjectives.
Burger flipper? Definitely not.
Server of double half-caff, soy milk, non fat, skinny mochafrappucappuccinos to yuppie early morning rat-racers? Also thank you, but no.
Bartender. Being up all hours, mixing cocktails, no problem. Listening to other people's problems and coming home smelling like booze, not so much.
Pest control. It's kind of what he's been doing for the last few years anyway, he'll just switch from large demonic creepy crawlies to the smaller furry variety. He could set up as a rat catcher extraordinaire, get his own tv show like that guy (whoever he is) with his trusty Jack Russell sidekick. He could do the trapping all on his own of course - he's had a lot of practise in that area - but it might freak the nice humans out so he'll need a terrier or something for cover.
Angel doesn't really like small dogs.
He glances left and checks his look in the mirror for the umpteenth time today - it's not vanity really, having a reflection is just a novelty that's taking time to wear off. The bruises and swellings are all but gone and Angel likes what he sees. He's still not convinced about the hair though.
He looks back to the screen.
Fashion model. He photographs very well in the right light. Not that people need the right light in these days of airbrushing and Photoshop. The dark broody stare is a favourite among teenage girls. And middle aged ladies. Sexy will never be out of style.
Angel picks up a chip and pops it in his mouth. Hello salty goodness! As he reaches for another his hand stops and hovers above the bowl. If he wants to be a model he'll have to give up the calorific high fat snack foods…
Ok, so screw modelling, life's too short not to enjoy its little pleasures. He's still in good shape, at least he will be when all his injuries are healed. He'll just have to do something a little physical to help counteract those pesky sat fats.
Bodyguard? Again, he might get beat up or shot.
Lifeguard? He can swim ok and if he gets a place on the coast he could literally fall out of bed each morning and be at work. There'd be hot beach bunnies and lounging by the sea all day. And sharks and sand in your shorts and skin cancer.
God, when did he become so negative?
LOL. Backspace, backspace, backspace.
He's tall, he's strong, he has the shoulders of a linebacker. Football player? He could make a fortune in endorsements, because let's be honest, big business loves a pretty face to sell it's product. And when he blows his knee out on the field, which invariably seems to happen, he can become an actor. Admittedly unoriginal but who cares.
But professional sportsmen start honing their skills at the age of like 4, so he's over 270 years too late. Pity.
Which brings him back to actor. Angelus was a pretty darn good one when he wanted to be. Oliver Simon might still think he's 'a beautiful, beautiful man' and offer to represent him. Except it'd mean learning lines, horrible hours, auditions, self-serving phonies. And scary groupies should he ever get famous.
Maybe he should work for himself again, do something creative with not too much stress.
Sketching portraits or drawing in chalk on a sidewalk at Venice Beach? No, that'll have to be a hobby. The starving artist label doesn't exactly appeal.
Glassblowing. Angel's always fancied that and he's not especially attached to his fingerprints. Or ironmongery. It'll keep him fit and he'll still get to beat stuff up every day, even if it's only metal.
Writer. The proverbial 'they' say you should write what you know.
Vampire diaries maybe? Wait, that's already been done. And even if his'd be different, people might not be all that receptive to the idea of a hero who maims and kills his way across the known world for a century and a half. Even if he is good-looking.
Vampires and werewolves then. But according to Nina that's also been done, although their's isn't exactly a romance. (Go team Edward!)
Children's author. The illustrations would be a piece of cake and he's certainly got enough real life experience to come up with some convincing storylines. Of course telling little Suck-a-Thumb the long red-legged scissorman will chop off his fingers if he puts them in his mouth may have fallen out of favour with modern-day parents...
Self help? Pfft. Angel's a paragon of how to lose friends and alienate people. Unless anyone wants tips on how to become a first class hermit it's probably not a great idea.
Sex manual. Nina suggested it the other evening. A book - 'What every man should know' or some such title - imparting his wealth of knowledge and experience on the subject to lesser mortals. He took the compliment gracefully enough but dismissed the idea immediately. Writing a sex manual, that'd just be weird.
He huffs a sigh and closes his eyes.
Maybe he should take an aptitude test. There's plenty of free ones online.
Except they ask stupid questions like would you prefer housework or fixing a car and what you really want to click c.) neither of the above, but that isn't an option. So you go for a.) because it's well, potentially less messy and you can have a sit down and a cup of tea when you get tired and it doesn't require specialised knowledge that you don't possess.
And when he's finished they'll tell him he should be in merchandising. And while Angel doesn't really know what merchandising is, he has a sneaky suspicion it has something to do with selling stuff and working with people and he doesn't particularly enjoy either of those things.
Perhaps he could just track down Lorne. He told him not to try but if he runs out of ideas he could go and 'sing'. Even in his head Angel adds quotation marks as he cringes at the thought. He was an investigator, how hard could it be to find someone?
We investigate, that's what we're good at.
It's what we suck at.
And let's face it, Angel didn't really investigate anything, he killed the monsters. For which he now lacks not only the physical strength, but also the will. He was always more of a lover than a fighter when he was human. Aside from the odd drunken barroom brawl.
Which brings him back to sex. No training required there, cunning linguist that he is, he's more than qualified.
He wants a job that pays well, isn't overly demanding either mentally or physically, has flexible hours with a little excitement, and utilises a skill he already possesses.
Great. Porn star it is.
Nina'll be thrilled.
He moves the cursor to the cross in the top right hand corner of the page and clicks.
Do you want to save the changes you made to "Untitled Document"?
Erm, definitely No.
Is Buffy still a guidance counsellor?