Who in the hell thought it'd be a bloody fine idea to take my jacket? Andrew, if I find you playing dress up in it...

River. Illyria. Anyone. Seems to be I'm bored, and need a bit of entertainment.

Little holiday get together wasn't all that bad, in the end. After so much closeness and spending entirely too much time as a human, m'just about ready to tear into a beastie. Way too much bloody pent up energy on my hands, and I think I've had just about all the dancing I can handle. Can't blame a guy like myself for getting restless in a place ( Read more... )

Well, well, well. Looks like this place has some promise after all, if there's talk of a party. Dancing aside, I've always been pretty fond of things like this. Not all that sure 'bout the costume business, though. When you happen to be like myself, there isn't a whole bloody lot you can find to dress up as. Always open to any suggestions, though.

Seems to be that the place Alice gave me to stay isn't all that destroyed. Makes things a hell of a lot easier, that way ( Read more... )

Asked for excitement, but this really wasn't what I had in mind. Probably should find a better place to be, then outside watching all the commotion take place.

Andrew, you aren't dead yet, are you?

( Private//Hackable to any mind readers or computer genius types )

Too many attitudes all crammed into this sodding place. Only a matter of time before someone boils over and things go to hell in a handbasket. People need to realize they're nothing special, here. Everyone's here for the same reason, and we all need to stop whinging and get 'round to the atoning business ( Read more... )

Andrew?

You have under ten minutes to live.

Buffy, pet? I'm sorry, but he has to die. Painfully.

Parts and bits are being traded 'round, it seems. Glad my bits and pieces are all intact and normal, otherwise there'd be some Gods going down. Done it before, can do it again.

Everyone's playing with themselves like no tomorrow. Just wait and see, some man turned woman is sodding well going to end up pregnant.

Well hello, hello. What have we here? No slayer, no slayerettes, no Scoobies. Promising. No Passions, though. Damn. Unless anyone has access to a telly?Andrew's not yippin' at my heels like some kind of rabid chihuahua. A lacking of that is a sure sign that I've either found my way into Hell or some alter demension. Not that big of a deal in either ( Read more... )