[Continues from here.]

( In a room a few floors down from the penthouse . . . )

It'd been long enough since the last crop of newbies that Katchoo thought she knew most people on the island pretty well on sight now. She never went out of her way to speak to most of them, granted, but she made it a point to at least recognize what they looked like; it made it easier to take note of anyone out of the ordinary. Which was to say, ( Read more... )

Hey, look at that, Katchoo had finally made it home, after a whole lot of procrastination. (A whoooooooooooole lot of procrastination.) And dinner at Mooby Land, because it was cheap, dammit ( Read more... )

After Emma's funeral arrangements had been taken care of, Katchoo had headed straight back to Fandom, too preoccupied with moping feeling sorry for herself formulating a way to explain this to Francine to be aware that she'd been spottedShe felt like her suitcase looked, and from the looks of it the trip through baggage handling had been rough (and ( Read more... )

Because there hadn't been enough frustration in her week, today was the first day Katchoo had actually gotten to see Emma; first there'd been the fact that the only flight she could wrangle had a connection in Tampa (Baltimore to Tampa to Toronto, what the hell) and then getting booted from the overbooked connection and waiting a day and a half in ( Read more... )

Doing the dance of Redeeming Airline Vouchers (bought on your last trip to Toronto and within, as it happened, days of expiring) at the airport ticket counter for a same-day flight was a gigantic pain in the ass for someone in a good mood, much less the mix of frantic, sick, and miserable that was Katchoo today. Several hours and some creative ( Read more... )

When the phone rang, Katchoo nearly smashed it for having the audacity to wake her. Clocky sympathized with the phone, which was saved by virtue of Katchoo's fist missing and sending it skidding off the nightstand and onto the bed instead, where it bounced off her forehead ( Read more... )

Katchoo plugged her phone in to charge as soon as she -- Clocky trailing out of kicking range behind her -- got back to her room after work, then headed for the shower. Upon returning to the room, she tossed her towel onto the floor, changed into a pair of sweatpants and paused in front of her closet mirror, staring at her unfamiliar (except for ( Read more... )

Yeah. Nothing could possibly have gone wrong there, clearly. Having handcuffs bite into her wrists while she sat in a crappy, half-broken plastic chair at a Baltimore PD station? Nothing wrong there. Nothing at all. Not even when she sat around for hours on end watching greasy shirtless guys scream incoherently while they got hustled through to ( Read more... )

It was sort of like hunting, if you squinted at it the right way. Actually, Katchoo would be perfectly prepared to argue that any given bar was a sort of hunting ground ( Read more... )