For the first time in six years, William Bush didn't feel out of place with his uniform coat draped about his shoulders. Not only did the solid, heavy wool keep out the London damp that had descended upon Tabula Rasa along with the scenery, British naval blue also fit perfectly the cobbled streets, and billowing smokestacks, and smokey pubs that ( Read more... )

It was all there open before him. Possibility. Change. The future. Oxford. Everything hung in the balance while he sat around waiting for the post. Dakin scuffed his foot absently at the floor, a bit upset when it didn't leave a mark. He wasn't planning on being at Cutler's for much longer, but it would still be nice to know that he had made ( Read more... )

"What's the fuckin' difference between a big T and a little T?" Dodge muttered to himself as he read the book on the counter. There was a pretty picture of a muffin and he was going to make that muffin if it killed him. He'd figured out the C in the recipe meant cups. But a big T and a little T...no fuckin' clue. Tablesppon? Teaspoon? He held a ( Read more... )

Dated September 20th, 2011:
Jane gives birth to her second child and bestows upon him a fond nickname that might give cause for trouble in later days.

[ HERE | Complete | PG]

It was not a surprise party. Today was Anthony’s birthday and it would hardly come as a surprise that Guy would hold a party for him on the day. It was a tradition, an unspoken agreement. Cambridge, London or Tabula Rasa; Guy would host a party for Anthony every year, just as Anthony had always done for Guy.

Nor should it be a surprise to the ( Read more... )

Dodge was in a reading class and he was working his ass off. It was kind of bullshit because he couldn't smoke or anything, but he had a stack of books that were at his level or whatever. Some of them were kind of cool There were ones where you got to a certain point and you had to pick a thing to happen, then you flipped around in the book. It ( Read more... )

Anthony found it a bit strange to be hanging paintings again after all these years. When had he last put together an exhibit - at Courtald? Buckingham Palace? Though the island gallery had been his for some time now, he had only moved things around a bit, brought more Blunt-like organization to what had once been a collection displayed with a ( Read more... )

Every morning, there it is ( Read more... )

Nearly a week had passed since Alcuin had added Daniel Jackson's name to the drawing he'd pinned up on the wall in his house. He'd named it in his head the Tree of Loss, and tried to think of it now as a sort of memorial. But it was the worst sort of irony that it wasn't very long ago at all that Alcuin had confessed his fear that Daniel, as one ( Read more... )

Sand, is the first thing he realizes. Consciousness has been slow in coming, like so very many mornings-after, where he’d drank just enough to keep up but not enough to get careless. He doesn’t remember drinking, but he feels like he has been. Must have been, if what his fingertips and cheek are telling him is true, that he’s laying on sand. He can ( Read more... )