Private (Cursed and Viewable)The headaches are back. So is the general malaise. Breakfast this morning was mostly to appease Robin. He has enough to worry about. He should be at home, drinking Ishiah out of business and telling Cal stories on his breaks ( Read more... )

No alien invasions, no children stolen through chimneys, no major explosions ... yet. I think I'll wait until midnight to congratulate the City on observing a quiet holiday.

Lux is open this evening for those of you who'd like to get out for a little while. The bar closes at the usual hour.

( OOC Note on Gifts and Nik's Frame of Mind )

Voice Post (Accidental)

[One very tired little boy rolls out of bed and stumbles into the hall, fisted hands rubbing at his eyes. His footsteps are barely audible over the network, but a few of his words have better luck being transmitted.]

... ticking ... Can't find the ... Mom home early? ... [Something falls over in another room, the dull ( Read more... )

It's always nice to be reminded that your little brother isn't completely hopeless when left to his own devices. Also to know that no matter what happens, Goodfellow will refuse to settle his bill, Ishiah will still have a soft spot for strays, and Promise will know precisely how to narrow the world down to just two people for as long as necessary ( Read more... )

Has there been any word on Gwen's condition?

I'm returning to work at Lux this evening. It looks like you could use the help tonight. The dojo will reopen tomorrow. Patrons and students should consult the bulletin posted beside the shinai for lesson and open sparring schedules.

( Private//Unhackable )

It's as though I'm surrounded by copies of Goodfellow, only somewhat less disconcerting as no one's launched into what may or may not be an historically accurate account of William Shakespeare's sexual preferences and practices while attempting to rummage through my laundry. Is the City seeking to force some bizarre sort of catharsis ( Read more... )

My mother wasn't much of a mother. Sophia. She was beautiful. Tired. Bitter. Alcoholic. She slept with a monster for money. It was always money with her. Which carnival, which trailer park, which desperate little hole in the wall could she go to next, where no one knew her and where she could hypnotize them into believing? She was a gypsy ( Read more... )

I'm reminded of the time my little brother left his incendiary rounds on the stove. Of course, back then, I didn't have any cats trying to trip me in their panicked efforts to reach shelter under the couch. I also knew precisely whose skull to rattle for being so careless ( Read more... )

And so our numbers dwindle, one by one, until there remains a single native of a version of New York that happens to have a dead troll buried underneath the Brooklyn Bridge. Though I use the term "native" loosely. My brother and I did better by our Gypsy blood than one might have thought for our having been raised outside of the family ( Read more... )

Nothing. Not in the books or in the fountain or in the entries I can access online. No evidence to suggest whether or not the Auphe can come here, or if they've come here in the past. Cal was working on the gates. I don't remember it, but I see what little he recorded of his efforts. Did he get through? Is that what happened to him ( Read more... )