Notes and Private Rambling.
What is it you hope to accomplish here? Any of you?
[Warden Filter]
I wonder, by asking our inmates to change, what we ask them to sacrifice.
...
I trust you will all afford me the same courtesy I have given you, and allow me to handle my inmate as I see fit.
If you see him causing further commotion with his journal, I advise you to ignore him. He is most assuredly feeding on the attention he receives.
[Private to Mozenrath]
You may come to my room to retrieve your gauntlet. We will talk; as such, I suggest you make time in your hectic schedule.
[Private to Shego]
Exactly what is your relationship with my inmate?
[Private to Tony]
I have laundered and patched and removed the blood from the clothing you lent me. I can return it at your convenience.
[Private to Martha]
We should talk.
[Private to the Admiral]
My thanks for Simpering Dustmop.
I have another request, if you would. I require several texts:
(Have a list of magical and non-magical books here.)
[Private]
Between the incidents heralding my return, my inmate's choice in rebellion, and my ongoing battle of witlessness with House, I came to realize today that I haven't thought of her in a week. I supposed, at first, that it was due to my preoccupation with this ridiculous prank war - but surely my thoughts have not been consumed solely by deciding whether I should turn that idiot blue or tie him up and throw him overboard?
I read her letter for the first time since the day I "graduated", and felt nothing. I ought to have been angry, or hurt, or anything at all. I ought to feel something, but thinking of her, as I have done so many times for as long as I can remember, gives me an ache in my temples. How mundane.
It would seem I'm sick of thinking about a dead woman who never would have wanted me.
Is this what we get when we inmates leave? Is this our reward? We no longer have a purpose? A point to our lives? I devote twenty years to her, and I have nothing to show for it but a letter. I don't feel anything.
Perhaps I am a better person for it - but even good men are often at a loss for how to live, it seems.
...
Piper left recipes to several of her potions upon her departure. I have deemed them all utter tripe, but have decided to save them for posterity. Doves, indeed.
My clothes have been slowly making their return to my wardrobe, though the pair of trousers from the rosebush will need to be replaced. Have I made mention how deeply and completely I loathe House?
As for Martha Jones...I hardly know what to say, except that she has made it quite clear that she has taken certain comments of mine to heart, despite my inebriated state at the time. I am sure that there is some decision to be made in the future, but for now I will, of course, wait and see what comes of the Doctor's presence.
Perhaps there is nothing more to this than a passing whim on her part.
[Warden Filter]
I wonder, by asking our inmates to change, what we ask them to sacrifice.
...
I trust you will all afford me the same courtesy I have given you, and allow me to handle my inmate as I see fit.
If you see him causing further commotion with his journal, I advise you to ignore him. He is most assuredly feeding on the attention he receives.
[Private to Mozenrath]
You may come to my room to retrieve your gauntlet. We will talk; as such, I suggest you make time in your hectic schedule.
[Private to Shego]
Exactly what is your relationship with my inmate?
[Private to Tony]
I have laundered and patched and removed the blood from the clothing you lent me. I can return it at your convenience.
[Private to Martha]
We should talk.
[Private to the Admiral]
My thanks for Simpering Dustmop.
I have another request, if you would. I require several texts:
(Have a list of magical and non-magical books here.)
[Private]
Between the incidents heralding my return, my inmate's choice in rebellion, and my ongoing battle of witlessness with House, I came to realize today that I haven't thought of her in a week. I supposed, at first, that it was due to my preoccupation with this ridiculous prank war - but surely my thoughts have not been consumed solely by deciding whether I should turn that idiot blue or tie him up and throw him overboard?
I read her letter for the first time since the day I "graduated", and felt nothing. I ought to have been angry, or hurt, or anything at all. I ought to feel something, but thinking of her, as I have done so many times for as long as I can remember, gives me an ache in my temples. How mundane.
It would seem I'm sick of thinking about a dead woman who never would have wanted me.
Is this what we get when we inmates leave? Is this our reward? We no longer have a purpose? A point to our lives? I devote twenty years to her, and I have nothing to show for it but a letter. I don't feel anything.
Perhaps I am a better person for it - but even good men are often at a loss for how to live, it seems.
...
Piper left recipes to several of her potions upon her departure. I have deemed them all utter tripe, but have decided to save them for posterity. Doves, indeed.
My clothes have been slowly making their return to my wardrobe, though the pair of trousers from the rosebush will need to be replaced. Have I made mention how deeply and completely I loathe House?
As for Martha Jones...I hardly know what to say, except that she has made it quite clear that she has taken certain comments of mine to heart, despite my inebriated state at the time. I am sure that there is some decision to be made in the future, but for now I will, of course, wait and see what comes of the Doctor's presence.
Perhaps there is nothing more to this than a passing whim on her part.