It's that time of year again, isn't it? And we could all use a celebration. Well, come on-- no need to go green with envy.

( Gifts for the Dracula pups: )

Typist: Arthur's typist fails, obviously, and so this is a bit late. And I shall be a bit slow in commenting, as I'll be away until Sunday. Sorry!*let's just say it's still Wednesday, then, Wednesday afternoon, perhaps, though if it had become Wednesday evening or Wednesday night, Art wouldn't have noticed. he's not well today-- indeed, how could ( Read more... )

Well. It's certainly been a while, hasn't it? Jack, Jonathan, Quince, you boys still around?

I don't know about where you are, but it's sure getting a bit of a chill around here. I don't recall London being quite this cold.

I've drinks if anyone would like to stop by.

*takes a deep breath and straightens his waistcoat*

Lucy? Lucy, if you see this, I--

I don't hate you.

I spoke with Quincey, and he said-- Oh, Lucy. Please talk to me.

I wouldn't do this if I didn't love you.

( Read more... )

*crosses self solemnly*

I thought that since Lucy... well. I 've often thought that there could be nothing worse than that, than to have to look upon the woman you loved, to-- well, we did what had to be done, terrible as it was ( Read more... )

Typist: In which Arthur, Harker, and Quincey get slightly drunk and the DF mansion is hot.

( 'You'll make me quite uncomfortable if you stay fully decent.' )

*rubs at his forehead ( Read more... )