[Locked to Winter] [Locked against other members of Torchwood]
[[OOC: Yes, this is addressed to one of Leona's whores who isn't actually played by anyone. This would probably be a good time to mention that I'd be incredibly grateful to anyone who could bring him in as an NPC. I can do it myself, if needed, but that would be a bit muncesty, so if anyone's feeling like playing a pretty albino Glaysa as an NPC, just let me know. magi, you're awesome. And should you ever need nonsexual bitches, I'm at your disposal. ♥]]
I'll understand if you stop reading now. After all, the way things have gone, I rather doubt Ms. Sandric will approve of me taking up your time and attention. And I hardly want to give the impression of obsession -- stalking you via the journals is anything but polite, after all.
But you and Anna were the first people I could really talk to in a very long time. Anna's an ordinary human, or so she said, so she wouldn't be on the journal network. And right now...
I saw him again. Today. I was trying to help, trying to do my job, and he
It's only to be expected. The last time I spoke to him, I ended it by screaming accusations and storming out. Can't blame him for wanting me as far away from him as possible.
I miss Jack. Captain Jack Harkness, not the person he's become, the one that probably hates me and has every reason to.
My God, I've turned into a girl of fourteen, haven't I? 'I love him, but he hates me, and now I'm going to slit my wrists and listen to The Cure as my life slips away, for no one can truly understand my deep and abiding angst like Robert Smith can, and I'll never ever be loved, and perhaps I'll add The Smiths in for variety, as "How Soon is Now" could've been written about me, especially the part about crying and wanting to die.' Yes, Winter, I've become the parody.
No wonder he can't stand me. I can't even stand myself.
And since I'm sure you've stopped reading by now, I can say this, as well: I miss you, and I miss Anna. Both of you made me feel like a real person for the first time since I found myself with fleece and hooves.
Sometimes I think about going back. Flagg's dead, after all. I could be useful.
But the sort of people who'd work with him... Ms. Sandric has been more than generous, but she's hardly the whole of the Organization, is she?
I don't know anymore. Someone here's guessed. 'What did they do to -- no, sorry, with you while you were gone?' Like she was asking if I'd had a good holiday.
She was always good at reading people, at deciphering subtext.
I think I've persuaded her not to tell Gwen about it while we've got a crisis on our hands, but once this is done...
I really don't know.
Are you all right? Are you the firstborn in your family? I don't know anything about you, not really.
It doesn't matter. You're not reading this.
I'll understand if you stop reading now. After all, the way things have gone, I rather doubt Ms. Sandric will approve of me taking up your time and attention. And I hardly want to give the impression of obsession -- stalking you via the journals is anything but polite, after all.
But you and Anna were the first people I could really talk to in a very long time. Anna's an ordinary human, or so she said, so she wouldn't be on the journal network. And right now...
I saw him again. Today. I was trying to help, trying to do my job, and he
It's only to be expected. The last time I spoke to him, I ended it by screaming accusations and storming out. Can't blame him for wanting me as far away from him as possible.
I miss Jack. Captain Jack Harkness, not the person he's become, the one that probably hates me and has every reason to.
My God, I've turned into a girl of fourteen, haven't I? 'I love him, but he hates me, and now I'm going to slit my wrists and listen to The Cure as my life slips away, for no one can truly understand my deep and abiding angst like Robert Smith can, and I'll never ever be loved, and perhaps I'll add The Smiths in for variety, as "How Soon is Now" could've been written about me, especially the part about crying and wanting to die.' Yes, Winter, I've become the parody.
No wonder he can't stand me. I can't even stand myself.
And since I'm sure you've stopped reading by now, I can say this, as well: I miss you, and I miss Anna. Both of you made me feel like a real person for the first time since I found myself with fleece and hooves.
Sometimes I think about going back. Flagg's dead, after all. I could be useful.
But the sort of people who'd work with him... Ms. Sandric has been more than generous, but she's hardly the whole of the Organization, is she?
I don't know anymore. Someone here's guessed. 'What did they do to -- no, sorry, with you while you were gone?' Like she was asking if I'd had a good holiday.
She was always good at reading people, at deciphering subtext.
I think I've persuaded her not to tell Gwen about it while we've got a crisis on our hands, but once this is done...
I really don't know.
Are you all right? Are you the firstborn in your family? I don't know anything about you, not really.
It doesn't matter. You're not reading this.