soldtoarmenians: (s7)


November 12th, 2002, evening

Patrolling a cemetery by himself would be stupid, and Xander might be dumb sometimes, but he wasn't stupid. That's why he wasn't patrolling a cemetery by himself. He was just hanging around. In a cemetery. By himself.

Okay, not really. )



November 13th, 2002, very early morning

They sat in the wreck of the Summers living room and went around the circle )

November 21st, 2002

On reflection, Xander decided a week later... )
__
[IC non, OOC oui. La belle [livejournal.com profile] saltandammo {pause for gender confusion}, beaucoup merci.]

soldtoarmenians: (s6-3)


Ten years from now if you ask Xander Harris what he remembers about today, it'll be the same things he could list off when he wakes up tomorrow. What's sharp and what's blurred won't change. It's utterly random and utterly not, less about meaning than it is about sounds, pictures, the feeling of wind whipping his clothes and slicing into his cheek as it passed.

These things will be clear: )




[OOC: Cut for length, images, stream-of-consciousness, character-deaths of the canon-but-not-exactly-as-they-happened-in-canon variety, violence, eww-factor, egregious offscreening of Giles and his badassitude of utter hotness, and preplayed lack of yellow crayon with the wondrous [livejournal.com profile] willbedone. Links in the text are to summaries of the BtVS canon episodes Seeing Red, Villains, Two to Go and Grave (and these links are to the full transcripts), for those who never saw them or want a refresher, though obviously some things are happening differently here.]

soldtoarmenians: (s6-2)
From: xharris@ucsd.edu
To: bridge.carson@fandomhigh.net

Dear Bridge: )
__

The Magic Box, evening

Xander found the Closed sign already up but the door unlocked, neither of which was unusual; what was a little off were the half-dimmed lights and the fact that there was nobody out front. It was Willow's night on the register; he'd have expected her to be tallying up the receipts or at least putting books away while a couple of brooms did a slightly unnerving re-enactment of the Magician's Assistant cartoon.

Anybody home? )
__

[OOC: Cliffhanger whaa? *looks innocent* Third preplayed verse, same as the first. But not the First. That's next season. Tara courtesy, again, [livejournal.com profile] mparker17.]
soldtoarmenians: (1-worried)
To: bridge.carson@fandomhigh.net
From: xharris@ucsd.edu
Subject: Happy Anniversary

Dear Bridge: )

Then... (...omglong) )

To: bridge.carson@fandomhigh.net
From: xharris@ucsd.edu
Subject: Happy Anniversary

Dear Bridge: )
soldtoarmenians: (computer)
To: xharris@ucsd.edu
From: lblaisdell@ucsd.edu
Subject: Econ

Dude, where were you yesterday? )
Then... )
__
[Apologies to Riley whose schtick I have stolen, but he is not here to do it and I feel confident he'd be pleased to have Xander act in his stead.]
soldtoarmenians: (oldskool)


[Xander's arrival in Sunnydale is here, in [livejournal.com profile] fh_alumni. Reposted here just for completeness' sake.]

Welcome back to the Hellmouth )

soldtoarmenians: (1-neutral)
Xander was...sort of packing. In that way where he was straightening stuff up and putting it in boxes while pretending that maybe it was just because he needed more room and was going to shove all the boxes under the bed. Except not, but there was always the chance. Except not.

[For [livejournal.com profile] willbedone and the b-word-person. NFB due to omg sekrits.]
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: (shop)
A beep distracted Xander from the project he was working on, and he set it aside for a moment, going to the desk and opening his e-mail window.

To: xander.harris@fandomhigh.net
From: wrosenberg@ucsd.edu
Subject: Hi!
Dear Xander )

Xander blinked and typed up a reply )

Then he went back to his bed, where the contents of his project were spread out across the blanket.

__
[Open, though I'm madly combatting a potential worm, so if I disappear unexpectedly it's because I had to re-start.]
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: (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)
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: (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: (xanderswillow)
To: xander.harris@fandomhigh.net
From: willow.rosenberg@hogwarts.ac.uk
Subject: Picture (was re: um...)

Dear Xander )

Profile

soldtoarmenians: (Default)
soldtoarmenians

January 2007

S M T W T F S
 123 456
78910111213
14 15 16 17181920
21222324252627
28293031   

Syndicate

RSS Atom

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Sep. 20th, 2017 12:14 am
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios