soldtoarmenians

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 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.]

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]

[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.

Only in Fandom can you have subject lines like that, dude.

Xander ducked into his room from the party, where Isabel was still presumably hanging out, and where he'd just left Bridge. He grabbed the presents he'd bought at IKEA from his closet, tapped Jeremiah's tank and said, "Stop snickering at me; I can see you rolling your eyes, you know," then headed out again, down to Bridge's room.

{NFB and locked, because it's mostly a link post, with a bit of Xander listening to his unheard voicemails, then he's outta here}

"Hey, frog-face," Xander said to Jeremiah as he came in.

Xander peeled off his dry, but still coffee-scented shirt, and after taking a whiff of his t-shirt, quickly figured out that the smell had soaked through, so that one got tossed into the box he was using for a hamper as well. Switching it out for a plain white one that just read "Buttery" in hot-pink letters, and God only knew where he'd picked that one up, he ( headed over to drop some food of the non-wriggling type into Jeremiah's tank )

He listened through the rest of his Friday calls, from Veronica, another new kid with a thick Scottish accent, and... Han Solo talking about-- Rightokayhangingupnow Talking about something Xander couldn't remember because of a very specific and localized case of brain-ebola-avoiding amnesia. Yes.

He hung up the phone and very carefully considered the outgoing calls he'd made in response to those voicemails, and where on God's pink and fluffy earth they might have gone.

Then he considered the chance that if he dived under his bed and never ever came out again, Jeremiah would figure out a way to carry Twinkies and new issues of Really Strong Guy Who Can Fly to Xander for the next fifty years or so.

There were some flying pigs on his roomie's pajamas that were about three times as likely, he reluctantly decided. Shaking his head, he headed for the door. "I'm going out," he told Jeremiah. "To be with people who are not frogs. To demonstrate my complete coolness with the fact that I am a moron. I'll let you know how that goes. Don't perve on Isabel while I'm gone - or at least take pictures, if you do."