Vlad sat in his roof top garden, gazing out over Milieux ( Read more... )

After the incident in Blackadder's office, or rather ex-office, Blenner had returned home. And, if he had cut a... noticeable figure as he'd strode through the streets of Milieux, dripping plant matter with the apocalypse burning in his eyes, Blenner was beyond caring.

He'd gone home, scrubbed himself raw, paced, called Walter, and paced some more ( Read more... )

Vlad was stretched out on the sofa, flipping through the latest thick manila envelope the Ruthven had forwarded him. He perused the stack of newspaper articles, documents and magazines until he came upon one in particular ( Read more... )

Vlad sat at his desk. Several fat envelopes from his lawyers had arrived today. Vlad had a fairly good idea of what was in them, so they were still sealed shut. Vlad wanted to wait for the right time to open them. And, since Walter was not there, this was clearly not that time ( Read more... )

After spending a respectful amount of time at Thelma's memorial service, Vlad and Lucy returned to the apartment ( Read more... )

Class ( Read more... )

He'd never known such a quiet war. Yes, the fire roared as its flames ate London. Yes, the zeppelin thrummed overhead. But, there were no screams, no wails, no pounding heart beats ( Read more... )

The kitchen was stocked with five different kinds of pasta, olive oil, a strainer, and enough ingredients to make any kind of pomodoro, rosee, or cream sauce the heart could desire ( Read more... )

Accepting defeat had never really been Vlad's forte. So, here he was, giving that omelet thing another try.

He was very good at the chopping parts, at least...

[For Walter. And NFB on the off chance of IBS.]

It was Saturday evening, the last day of a very, very long week.

The curtains were drawn, and TV was emphatically off.

Blenner was at his desk, reviewing this week's lesson plan.

Or at least that had been what he'd intended to do.

[For the TA]