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: (phone)
It's a very, very nifty phone. It takes pictures. It gets the internets. It sends text messages. It... doesn't actually have a calling plan, and Xander's not looking too hard at where it's stealing its signal from, just like he's not looking too hard at how it makes, or possibly summons, Twinkies at the press of one of its many buttons, some of which he hasn't even figured out the function of yet. It might brew mochaccinos for all he knows.

So of course one of the few things he hasn't done with it in the weekend that's passed since he got it is the one thing it was designed to do: make a phone call.

He's staring at it now. Kind of working on that.

cut for phone call )

[pre-played with [livejournal.com profile] bridge_carson; no interaction as Xander's taking off and Bridge-mun is afk. That Xander called home is okay for broadcast; unexpected guest on the other end of the line, no.]
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)
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: (computer)
He hadn't exactly snuck out (and up, and dear God did Xander hope nobody had been around to take secret squirrel footage of him scrambling up here with a laptop in a bag over his shoulder and almost falling on his ass) to avoid anybody in particular. Just... everybody in general, really. Because maybe it would be easier to think clearly up here -- or at least maybe the wireless signal would be stronger.

So of course he's sitting crosslegged on the roof, not looking at his computer screen and continuing to try not to think.

[For Bridge, though arguably anybody around or in Flamingo could at least be aware Xander's up here.]
soldtoarmenians: (1-neutral)
After a handwavily arranged meeting in Veronica's room that had led to an evening of tentacles and fake ghosts, Xander's more than happy to get back to his own room, even if he isn't the one most liberally doused with tentacle juice.

__
[For the bf, omg. NFB; approaches NWS but does not quite get there before the curtain falls.]
soldtoarmenians: (grin)
Dear Willow: )

Xander put his laptop aside, and considered the question of whether he was awake enough to hunt down Bridge and get some breakfastlunchdinner. It was, after all, a lot of effort... Still, food could be good. He turned his head and poked the shoulder next to him. "Hey. Wake up."
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: (frog)
"Ribbit."

Xander muttered into his pillow. "Lemme sleep, dude. Busy day yesterday." It had been; after an e-mail from Rory, he'd headed to the library to help research, where he'd been pleased to see at least someone had been paying attention in Scoobying, had an unwelcome attack of deja vu when Tyler revealed that there were mummies involved in this week's spate of weirdness, and accidentally ended up talking to Dawn about porn. As you do.

Then there'd been the meeting in Rory's room, where he'd volunteered his computer for the support team, and himself for the fighting. After which he'd handwavily headed back here and poked through the files Willow had left on his laptop to see if there was anything on Egyptian mummies. Which not so much; plenty on South American ones, naturally, but nothing they didn't already know about their more famous cousins. Waste of time anyway, considering not-his-Willow would have all this at her fingertips too, and she had smarter fingers, but he'd wanted to do something to help with Rory's OMGGUILTWOE.

So the second "Ribbit!" which was quickly joined by a third, and then a fourth, was less than welcome. "It's not that late! I'll get you breakfast innaminute. Rarr."

"RIBBIT!" Right in his ear.

Xander turned his head and opened his eyes.

"Ribbit!" said the little green frog on his pillow. "Rbblrt brrrrrum!" said the little green frog next to the little green frog on his pillow.

"CROAK!" said Jeremiah, from his tank.

"...WTF?" said Xander, and sat up, blinking.

Five minutes later, he was scooting them out the door, but for every frog he dumped out into the hallway, another seemed to take its place.
__

[...No I am not playing with myself in the comments zomg. Haven't you ever seen a guy talking to his frog before? ...that be not a euphemism.]
soldtoarmenians: (1-laugh)
The kind on real paper.

Dear Willow: )
soldtoarmenians: (fashion zomg)
Dear Willow )

After sending off what felt like a really damn long e-mail to Willow, Xander checked his inbox and found one from Krycek and Jake, at which he grinned and immediately replied.

Then he went back to sitting on the foot of his bed, staring at the couple of bags he'd packed for the cabins, out of boxes that he hadn't even completely unpacked, trying to decide if there was anything else he could or should shove into them before they exploded.
__
{The door is open to all like an open to all thing. Yeeah notsomuch now. ;-)}
soldtoarmenians: (thinking)


Weird didn't begin to describe this afternoon's common room experience. Oh, talking with Jamie Madrox and Bridge about movies and tv both ahead of and behind Xander's time had been... normal enough, for Fandom, and it was nice to catch up with Isabel. But then there was this whole thing with bookshelf building that was....uh yeah, and sent him fleeing to finally track down Willow to test his suspicions on why she'd been acting so strange... or at least confirm that she was, and... yup. Confirmation so not a problem.

And it was time to figure out just what the heck that was all about. Picking up a familiar object from his desk, Xander also grabbed a piece of appropriately froggie notepaper and scribbled 'Gone to see Willow' on it. He tacked the note to the bulletin board on the outside of his door, grinning at the photo of 'Charlene' Kawalsky pinned above it, then headed for the 5th floor.

soldtoarmenians: (latin)


He'd found the package outside his door when he'd left the lobby on Friday afternoon, but the whole Shirtless Friday thing had kind of distracted Xander from a lot of stuff. Like unpacking half the boxes still scattered around his new room, or doing more than setting the wrapped package on his desk next to Jeremiah's tank.

Now, though, after sprinkling some dried don't-really-wanna-think-about-what-it-used-to-be into Jeremiah's tank, Xander reached for the flat, paper-wrapped package, and, after checking for anything obvious that looked like it might turn him blue or change him into a marmoset, pulled the paper off. Within was a framed manuscript page. )



...allergies, man. Totally allergies that made him sniff as he dug into the hardware box that he hadn't yet unpacked into a desk drawer, and found a set of dorm-safe adhesive frame hangers.

After that, though he'd planned on doing some more unpacking, Xander smiled, sat down at his desk, and typed out an e-mail: )


__
[ooc - Linkdroppy, not open for interaction. And this, chitlins, is why I usually do linkdrops every day instead of waiting. ZOMGWTFmightaswellberadio. The end.]

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