Well. It was done. No amount of wheedling, cajoling, pleading or dealing had been able to change his father's mind. Apparently his performance in last weekend's board meetings had been... less than stellar, and his father was taking that as his cue to more closely oversee Wes's education.

And so Wes is in his room, packing up his stuff and occasionally getting distracted for a few minutes at a time by videogames.

[ooc: Yup. Wes's last post in Fandom.]

Wes is just settling in for a fun-filled evening of goofing off and playing video games (he really needed to practice so he could beat Marco next time the two of them faced off) when the phone rings.

"Hey,"

"No, dad, I wasn't being disrespectful- I just wasn't expecting you to call here at school. No, I agree, I shouldn't answer the phone like that, even if I know it's just a friend calling. It won't happen again."

"...You cannot be serious."

"Sorry. Sorry. It's just- a board meeting? Me? Seriously? Don't you think I'm a bit too young for that sort of stuff?"

"You realise I'm gonna miss a class-"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'll be there. See you tomorrow, dad."

[ooc: eeeestablishy, as I must work like a crazy person this weekend.]

"No, seriously, dude, the third Aura game is totally better than the first two," Wes argues as he and Marco make their way down the hallway, both teenagers laden down with sugary snacks- aka necessary supplies for a night of gaming.

[ooc: for le roomie!

ETA: Yes, morpherboy and I are insane and the roomies are now vending machines while we are off at ComicCon. Machines will not dispense free product. Do not tip or rock machines. That is all.]

Feeling exhausted and yet strangely exhilarated by the whole fighting thing, Wes makes his way back to the dorms and his room.

The fact that his roommate is present in said room and in one piece brings a grin to his face as he steps inside.

"Hey, dude," he says, flopping down on the floor next to Marco, who's currently engrossed in a video game Wes doesn't recognise (not that he recognises *any* of his roommate's games, really, since the pinnacle of video game technology in Wes's time was pretty much the Super Nintendo.)

It's not that Wes had been oblivious to the events of the weekend. It's just that... well. Tiny little animals and people randomly turning in to ponies was one thing. A hostile takeover by the god of the dead was, quite frankly, in a whole other really scary league. Especially from the point of view of someone who'd led a pretty sheltered life up to this point.

Then, last night, his roommate never came back. Which was pretty much the kick in the head Wes needed to convince him that he couldn't just sit around and do *nothing*. Last night's radio had mentioned a meeting at town hall... maybe they were there again today. Mind made up, Wes heads out to see if there's anything he can do to help.

[eeeestablishy!]

"I don't understand," Wes says, a slight whine creeping in to his tone. "I've never had to go to summer camp before. And why a new school? The old school was *fine*." Boring, but fine.

"Your father just wants what's best for you, sir," Phillips, the Collins' butler and occasional limo driver, says with the long-suffering tone of someone who's put up with similar arguments many times in the past.

"And what's best for me apparently involves a redeye flight to Greece?" Wes asks. "I thought my father wanted me to go to an American school." Wes remembers *that* particular argument all too well- last September, his father had mentioned that he should start preparing for admission in to Harvard, and Wes had shot back that he hadn't even started his first year of high school yet and besides, he kind of thought school overseas would be cool. The argument... had not been pleasant.

"I don't get paid to question what your father asks of me, sir," Philips says. "I get paid to do my job. And right now my job is to see you to the airport safely."

"Couldn't even see me off himself, too busy with late-night meetings," Wes mutters under his breath. "Typical."

Hey, you've reached Wes Collins. I'm not here, so leave a message.