soldtoarmenians

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...

Well.

Stupid Samsonite.

[For Bridge.]

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.]

( Dear Willow: )
_
( Dear Xander: )

[AKA Backdated Linkdrop of I Don't Have The Mental Wherewithal To Turn This Into An E-mail At This Stage Of Lateness]

Monday

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.

Tuesday

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.

Wednesday

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.

Thursday

Xander shared his complete lack of helpful knowledge again, in reponse to an e-mail from Nadia.

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.]

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.]