soldtoarmenians: (1-serious)
There'd been moments of distraction that made it almost bearable, but saying goodbye to almost everyone today had still been exhausting. It was a strange, melancholy relief when the last of Xander's friends said goodnight and left him alone with Bridge.
soldtoarmenians: (latin)


Xander's already handwavily sent out e-mails letting people know his new cellphone number if they didn't have it already, and his UC Sunnydale e-mail address, and... when he's leaving. Which he finally has to say 'tomorrow morning' about instead of 'Friday' because they're one and the same.

Now... he's still packing. Posters, folders, last-minute items and just stuff he wanted to leave up for as long as possible to make the room acknowledge that for now, he still lives here. Every so often he and Bridge are taking a break to look at pictures or watch a dvd, because at this point he's on the flipside of where he was yesterday: if he packs too fast, the room'll be empty, and Xander can't quite take that, not yet.

You can't really say Jeremiah's taking a break; he'd have to have been working in the first place for that to be true. He's just going back and forth between supervising the packing and supervising the loafing.

The door is open. Xander's yearbook is on the desk next to Jeremiah, for anyone who feels like signing it.

__

[Open all day, or ping in tomorrow if needed since some importantomg people are unfortunately afk today. Good for slowplay until... it's done.]

soldtoarmenians: (sidelong)
Xander's really packing, this time, not just trying not to and failing. He doesn't want to, but the more he gets squared away now, the more time he'll have left to be with people, instead of doing this. And it's... going. Not well, but it's going. The only problem is he doesn't have enough suitcases, and they aren't nearly big enough, or maybe just not the right kind.

Cut for packing woe )

Some things *cough*, he can carry in his head, of course, even if he didn't get a picture. Thing is, the thing is that ... he's going to have to carry all of what matters most in his head.

Because there's no room in his luggage for the whole damned island, or even a miniature giraffe no matter how weetiny he is, and the one thing Xander would leave everything behind for if he could make it fit...

Well.

Stupid Samsonite.

[For Bridge.]
soldtoarmenians: (computer)
Dear Willow )

...well that killed... five minutes. Xander sighed. If he stayed in this room much longer, he was going to end up vacuuming the bedspread, he realized. Not that he could by any stretch of the imagination be described as a cleaning-freak - he'd just been trying to make the place reasonably nice for this evening, which in Xanderese meant 'at least not a disaster area.' Somehow that turned into a battle with the stuff he'd spilled all over while working on his project thingy, though, and in the age-old war between humans and glitter, it ain't ever the monkeyboys that win. The fact that Bridge was off with his Flight workshop and the whole non-disaster-area effort was in fact for his benefit wasn't exactly helping Xander avoid obsessing, either.

So he seriously needed to get out of here before he went stir-crazy. Town could be a thing.
__
[Linkdrop ahoy, no interaction here because he's off to watch SoaP!]
soldtoarmenians: (1-smallsmile)


He was trying to make sure that every minute he had left in Fandom this summer counted. Xander had the feeling someone like Willow wouldn't see it that way, because she'd be trying to cram every possible experience known to humankind into this last month, but... he was good with small and slow and relaxed, so when he remembered this, he'd remember loving it.

So food and fun in the fake snow, a comfortingly familiar dinner in an unfamiliar place, drinking games, making a rare trip to Caritas by himself when Bridge hadn't been feeling well, spending time on the beach with Rory, Callisto and Bridge, teaching his workshop, hanging out in the Common Rooms, playing carnival games and riding the Ferris Wheel with Bridge... It was as close to just right as anything with 'this last month' involved in its description was ever going to be. Not ever enough, but... right.


[*And no mental wherewithal to turn it into an e-mail, so yay lazy narration. Not open for interaction as he's about to wander off to the Common Room.]

soldtoarmenians: (computer)
Xander was sort of just sitting in bed checking e-mail, as you do, since somebody else wasn't awake and despite the ice cream-and-leftover-birthday-cake remedy he'd brought back last night, somebody else was in theory still sleeping off a headache.

To: xander.harris@fandomhigh.net
From: wrosenberg@ucsd.edu
Subject: New E-Mail Address, Poke, I'm Home, Poke, Rats I No Longer Have, Poke, Various, Poke, Sundry

Dear Xander )

*blinkblink* Xander hit reply and was about to open with asking if she was okay with the thing with the thing no longer being a thing, given other things with things and how they were no longer things, and other people's similar things with things, but then for some reason he became very interested in the fact that Bridge seemed to have a new freckle on his left wrist just below the edge of his glove, and by the time he started typing, he'd forgotten completely about whatever he was going to ask. Huh.

Dear Willow )

Dear Willow )

[Not open for IC interaction; teal dear and others are welcome to stop by and let your eyes glaze over OOC-ly. Bridgemodding with permission zomg.]
soldtoarmenians: (computer)
Crazy week? Doesn't even begin to cover it. There'd been running into Conner, Anders, and Z, which had lead to a trip to Caritas on Wednesday, then trying to convince Bridge he needed to OMG specify when complaining about teachers who made him take his shirt off in class on Thursday, then a picnic and later sneaking off from the Seahorse campfire on Friday. Then Saturday he'd been having a very nice wake-up call until they realized somebody'd stolen their voices, leading to much worried checking on people, being trapped in the dorms for the night and eventually a crazy-late chat-room experience -- followed by another night locked in the dorms on Sunday. Not that locked in the dorms was bad, per se, but everybody locked in the dorms and going stir-crazy from worry was an experience Xander could live without repeating.

So it really isn't too surprising that it's taken until now, when they're safe again, have their voices back and are back in the cabins, for Xander to get around to remembering that last week, he'd promised to um. Do something. For um. Somebody.

Which leaves him sitting in his alcove in Flamingo cabin with the curtain shut and headphones on, staring at his laptop. As you do when you're doing that particular something. In a cabin.

[For Bridge, for the moment. Possibly for later appearance by certain other peoples]
soldtoarmenians: (shop)
After a certain conversation last night in the Common Room (and no, not the one about dirty chips, though that had turned out to be oddly cool), Xander realized he... really, really needed to clean his room, if there was going to be visiting-by-people-not-Bridge happening. Not that he was a complete and utter slob, especially with his less-slobby-than-thou boyfriend hanging in so much, but things could be straightened and... put away and...changed, yes.

So he did that. There might even have been Bouncy Cleaning Music playing, and a frog rolling his eyes.

__

[For [livejournal.com profile] willbedone, but others are welcome to come by earlier or later.]
soldtoarmenians: (ow)
Xander stared at the package on his bed, which he'd just retrieved from the post office, a walk that his still generally-aching body wasn't real happy about. He'd had an idea what was in the package, though, and no idea how long it would last before spoiling. It was postmarked London, Florence, O'Fallon, and Castle Rock. It had stamps on it, but the date on them was slightly obscured by what he assumed were owl footprints. So yeah, he was gonna guess butterbeer and pumpkin juice.

He opened it carefully, or as carefully as his splinted-up hand would allow.

Butterbeer, pumpkin juice, and flobberworm larvae (dead). Joy.

He opened up his laptop. Dr Willo: )
soldtoarmenians: (weesleepy)
Unsent letter, written on the back of an Art History handout, in green highlighter ink. Mostly illegible, of course, but this is what Xander thinks it says:

Deer Willow: )
soldtoarmenians: (oldskool)
To: xander.harris@fandomhigh.net
From: willow.rosenberg@hogwarts.ac.uk
Sent: 20 April 1998 11:55 p.m.
Subject: re: HA! You're so not up yet. I win.

Helloooooooooo... Stally McStallerson...

~Willow
_
Dear Willow: )
Dear Xander: )
Dear Willow: )

Dear Xander: )
soldtoarmenians: (Default)
Xander was heading down to the 2nd floor common room. As you do. Really he was.

And then this happened. Followed by this. And finally this.

At which point? Shower and bed seemed a hell of a lot more relaxing than the Common Room.
soldtoarmenians: (facepalm2)


Xander: *has to be threatened with cookie confiscation before he'll even tell Best. Roomie. Ever. about date...stuff. Otherwise, says nothing, even to people who already know*

Bridge: *tells, like, almost everybody*

Radio: *tells EVERYBODY*

Xander: *sighs*

(Best. Roomie. Ever. : *has nightmares, presumably not about Xander's social development issues, though you never can tell around here*)

soldtoarmenians: (idea)


Tuesday:

History of Art wherein there is something resembling a conversation with Krycek.

Wednesday:

Shop, wherein there is lockpicking.
Magical Theory, wherein OMGWTF, MacBeth?
Kissy election results , wherein, well, kissy.

Thursday:

Creature Languages wherein there is Lobster Rod Rock.

soldtoarmenians: (computer)
To: xander.harris@fandomhigh.net
From: willow.rosenberg@hogwarts.ac.uk
Subject: Helloooooooo...

Dear Mr. Noncommunicaty: What's up? Did your friends get any use out of the stuff I sent you on Rita Skeeter? How are those classes you're so very much more than passing, pardon me while I point and laugh1? Have you licked the frog this week? Inquiring minds want to know.

Love, Willow

1 P.S. In a loving way, of course OMG! And have I mentioned SATs recently? In the last five minutes, hmm?

Dear Willow: )
Dear Xander: )
Dear Willow: )
soldtoarmenians: (Default)


Art History featured sharing of flags and teasinating of Rory with a side-order of backdrop-painting.

Music -- which Xander is not in, so he was not there, saw an appearance by the elusive Twinkie-thief. And some people in leather pants (and skirt yay go Ninja Vin Diesel). This is a complete coincidence. And also Xander was not there.

He was in the common room just long enough to follow Rory and a bunch of other people off to Bridge's place for a game of I Never. Which he totally won. Not because he was the last person to pass out, but because he was smart enough not to touch the spacevodka, and that so counts as winninating in Xander's book.

soldtoarmenians: (Default)
Creature Languages. In which the raven quoth pretty much everything but Nevermore.

The last rehearsal, OMG! Where things were rehearsed.

The 2nd floor common room. Where Rory cut her hair. Well, no, she didn't cut it there. But you get the idea.
soldtoarmenians: (Default)
Sleepy OMG
Shop, where Xander made something really complex and awesome a spice-rack.
Magical Theory. Pop quiz! Woe!
Lunch. With pie! And People.
Home again home again to deliver a present to his roomie, and discover there's been Darla action. :-o
The burninated 2nd floor common room, where Xander did not play porn on his laptop for the assembled multitudes and/or Jaye. Two twinkies say it never happened.
See? Radio says it never happened.
soldtoarmenians: (tv)
The Common Room wherein Xander meets Vladdie for the first time, introduces everyone to Jeremiah, talks to Rory and Parker about Angelus (and Parker about Darla), is introduced to Anders by Cally, and... is totally in the same room as Bridge but doesn't actually speak to him.

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