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: (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: (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: (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: (computer)


Dear Willow, continued.


Xander saved, closed his laptop, and set it on the chest of drawers beside Jeremiah's tank. Then he grinned at the furry form already curled into a tiny ball on his pillow, and turned out the light for bed.

soldtoarmenians: (computer)
Xander is sitting on his bed cross-legged, laptop open in front of him. That owl thing was...yeah, ok, it had to be said - for the birds, so even if it means he has to trek up to school to actually send it, his next letter out is going by e-mail. Which he can at least compose here.

    Dear Willow:

    You'd be proud of me; I taught a whole new generation of us-es to lie about where they've been. Not-you was not there and so was not competing with you on any peanut-butter related issues, mm'kay?

    Isabel's got a booooooyfriend, BTW. Well, he is if we go by the 'one date and everybody starts calling you that so might as wel---



He's going to finish that sentence, really, except then there's a knock on his wall, right next to the half-open curtain.

__
[Locked like a locked thing to he who makes Xander speak in present-tense.]
soldtoarmenians: (1-laugh)
The kind on real paper.

Dear Willow: )
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: (empty bed)


The door's open, but there's a whiteboard propped on a box in the hallway next to it that says,

    "Last night in 406 before I move down to the first floor. Wander in if you want, unless you're a vampire. There's foodity. ~Xander (the one without the accent)"


Inside, Xander's desktop is pretty much empty of everything but a selection of snacks and drinks. Xander's side of the room is pretty close to empty, and on the wall where his posters used to be, a multilingual robot doggie is projecting a marathon of The Real World: Springfield.

Xander's bed is shoved up against one wall, pillows thrown around to make it couchlike for sitting thereupon. As you do.

Inside, you'd find Xander, Isabel, and Bridge hanging out. And RIC, of course.

__
{OOC - open for visitors and hanging out. Hopefully not 1000+ comments worth, though! WTF, Common Rooms, WTF?}

soldtoarmenians: (computer)
Xander sat on the edge of his bed, laptop on his knee. He wasn't typing, or reading really either, though he was scanning up and down a snarky review of the latest Mr. What episode and idly noting where he should be cracking up if he were actually paying attention to it. Which he wasn't. He was mostly just... not taking down posters.

____
[Open for visitors after Isabel leaves; just if Willow's here, nobody else is; you either came before or after her.]
soldtoarmenians: (Default)
[aka Linkdrop of Ultimate Lazy, because zomg threads on threads, and am not attempting to weave this into an e-mail or IC format.]

Graduation (Monday the 8th)

Xander was most likely to what? ...Okayfairenoughpossibly. Meanwhile, whoa, Spydaddy Principal Bristow was out in the audience. So was Willow , of course, talking to Isabel, Bridge, some alien-or-demon-guy who kept pointing at Ivanova, and, Xander was fairly sure he should be worried about this, Parker. Oh yeah, there was also some processing, diploma-accepting, giant-gremlin-fighting and partying. As you do. At graduations.


Welcome Party (Tuesday the 9th)

After picking up his new first floor room assignment, Xander ended up meeting someone who said she was Buffy's sister, and breaking his principal-streak, letting Rory know what he knew about her and you-know-who except not that you-know-who, and meeting Bridge's new fellow SPD cadet. And breaking her brain.

E-mail ahoy

May. 5th, 2006 03:03 pm
soldtoarmenians: (oldskool)
To: bsummers@pacbell.net
From: xander.harris@fandomhigh.net
Subject: Graduation

Dear Buffy: )
Dear Xander: )
Dear Willow, love Buffy: )
Dear Buffy, love Willow: )
Dear Willow, love Buffy: )
__

To: xander.harris@fandomhigh.net
From: willow.rosenberg@hogwarts.ac.uk
Subject: Graduation

> It's Monday. Can you and Giles come?

*COUGH*

love,
your uninvited BFF
__
Dear Willow: )
Dear Xander: )
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: (empty bed)
There was a ribbit somewhere, but it was wayyyyyyy too early to get up. Xander snuggled in under his covers and pulled a pillow over his head.

Except there was a ribbit somewhere again. Ribbits meant breakfast time. Breakfast time meant getting up, because you can't have a pet if you don't take good care of it, even if you want to sleep and it's going ribbit, ribbit, ribbit.

Xander sighed and untangled himself from his blanket, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and... falling on the floor with a THUMP.

OW!!! )

[OOC: Pre-played with [livejournal.com profile] izzyalienqueen. Weetiny!Xander is on the loose (as is always-wee Jeremiah); weetiny!Isabel is not here. ONLY A SCARY BEAR IS HERE. STAY AWAY. Unless you are OOC. OOC people need not fear the scary bear.]

soldtoarmenians: (Default)
After running into town to get flowers (Guy flowers, okay? The kind that go on your lapel.) that he totally didn't forget until the last minute, Xander arrived back at 406 to find that his date? Already there. Though not already dressed. In prom clothes, that is. He was dressed in regular clothes omg, jeez - the roomie was there, after all!

After arriving at the Town Hall, there was an actual first dance. On an actual dancefloor. In public and all. Shockingly, Xander survived it. Even more shockingly, he survived dancing with Parker.

There was chatting with Rory by the punchbowl, and dancing with Bridge to That Song (no, not the Macarena) and somehow when he went for punch after that, there was dancing with Jake. Girl Jake. No, that wasn't weird at all. Unlike everything else tonight, of course.

Also Isabel, and who knew you could dance to The Rainbow Connection? Besides, presumably, frogs.

And then there was that last song which... um, yeah, notsomuch, Mr. Looksliketheexprincipalbutisn't Guy.

And then there was that.

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