St. Patrick's Day. Ah, that delightful time of here, when a young man's fancy turns to ( Read more... )

Since his arrival, Doc has come to the conclusion that he is going to be stuck here for some time. He has done his best to contact Voyager, but he accepts that there is little more for him to do now but wait. Waiting, of course, means that he must make the best of the situation. Thankfully, Doc is very good at doing this, especially when there are ( Read more... )

A dirty, dark-skinned man in army fatigues is curled up on the floor, arms covering his head.  He stands shakily, scanning the lobby.   His hair is blond and curly,  eyes an intense blue, and he's sporting a serious five-o'clock-shadow.

"What the hell ..." he whispers in a slightly heavy Australian accent.  "What the hell," speaking louder now, " ( Read more... )

There's a faint whistling sound, like a jet passing in the distance, and then a large crash as a mostly-not-flaming projectile smashes through the roof. The projectile lands hard on a couch, essentially demolishing it in a poof of smoke and cushion stuffing ( Read more... )

When a spy is forced to retire, he has a lot of free time on his hands that he doesn't know what to do with. That goes double when you're stuck in a hotel with no armies to fight, no spies to spy on, nothing interesting going on ( Read more... )

Enter the billionaire playboy, presumably returning to his penthouse after a night of debauchery. Look, there's even lipstick on his collar, his shirt's -- well, halfway tucked in, rather ruffled. He's in too much of a good mood to pay attention to his surroundings -- that is, until he steps into the lobby of the hotel and blinks, automatically ( Read more... )