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...


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: (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.

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 [ profile] willbedone, but others are welcome to come by earlier or later.]
soldtoarmenians: (latin)
[AKA Backdated Linkdrop of I Don't Have The Mental Wherewithal To Turn This Into An E-mail At This Stage Of Lateness]


Pippi made pancakes, Walter dished toppings, and Xander (as well as a hungover Bridge) was there to consume them, because he's a nice guy like that. He also talked to Willow and Cally.


There was Scoobying, during which Lana fled in tears, Bridge discovered something was haunting her, and Willow offered to help research it. And said disturbing things about shooting and/or beating up people.

Later, Xander went to Bridge's room with him to pick up some stuff to take back to 121 for a while, because the ghost thing was really spooking (arf arf) him. A trip to the Common Room even later didn't really help much with that.


Xander stopped by Veronica's room and told her what he knew about the First Evil, which was just enough to indicate that it probably wasn't behind the hauntings, and found out that Willow might have helped pin down the thing that was.


Xander shared his complete lack of helpful knowledge again, in reponse to an e-mail from Nadia.
soldtoarmenians: (computer)
There was something Xander was supposed to do when he woke up, and this time the fuzziness wasn't because of weekend weirdness, it was just tied into the whole unpleasant "waking up" concept. He stumbled around the room for a few minutes, feeding Jeremiah, brushing teeth, and doing other wakey-up things, before he finally remembered his conversations with Parker and Callisto last night. (And the one with Bridge, but bears didn't seem to have any direct relevance to the issue, even this early in the morning.) He was supposed to be trying to track down the weekend weirdness by checking his outgoing mail.

...*blink* ...*squint trying to read own bad typing*...*blink more*...*facepalm*

Right. Damage-control. If such a thing was possible.

Dear Willow: )

No more than a few minutes later, a reply appeared.

Dear Xander: )

Xander sighed, flipped up iTunes and put it on shuffle, then started downloading Sunday and Monday night's radio shows to see if they could give him a clue to anything else he might've said or done while truthified.

[Door's open, if anyone feels like wandering by.]
soldtoarmenians: (huh.)
"It's raining pudding," Xander says, looking out the window a little wistfully. It would probably sound less inane if it weren't the third time he's repeated it.

It's not that he's surprised; it's Fandom. Just... it's raining pudding, and he's inside. Because he already showered once this afternoon, after Scoobying, and it seems like too much of an effort to do it again, even for chocolate. Besides, if he goes out, Bridge will insist on going out too, and that would be a whole other ball of sticky fur.

"Ribbit," Jeremiah adds, in what's probably meant to be a consoling manner.

[Locked to, er. The ferret. And the frog, I s'pose. Aaand contents NFB, yis.]
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: (Default)

Scoobying 101, or So You're Not The Lead (Tuesday afternoons)

So you're not a superhero, or maybe you are but you're the guy who turns litmus paper blue with your mind, not the guy *cough* girl *cough* with the flashy fist of iron. Your costume may have less glitter, but that doesn't mean your contribution isn't valuable. Develop your skills in being part of an ensemble cast a support team.

Roster and workshops for Session 1 )

Roster and workshops for Session 2 )


soldtoarmenians: (Default)

January 2007

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