The Journal of Geraldine Harrington, April 11th, 2005.
Spent the early part of the morning digging holes and rubbing my hands raw with same, until I had concrete dust everywhere it was possible for concrete dust to go (and in some places that I thought were too well-clothed for that sort of nonsense) and was pretty much ready to murder for a cup of coffee and a bottle of bactine. I managed to locate both down at Kitty's, land of the happy tiara and possibly love-potion-spiked java. I've not been going there all that even of late, largely due to past encounters with evil lawyers and cannibal toast, but I still love their food, and it was closest to the bus stop I wound up getting off at, so that's all right, then.
I was sitting there, bandaging my hands and nursing my coffee, when Jessica came in and apologized for screaming at me the other day. I suppose that means I needn't be as concerned about her turning me into a newt or something, which is somewhat of a relief. When I'm already planning my funeral thanks to giant spiky escapees from the Sylvan Family playset, I don't really need to worry about Sabrina the Teenage bloody Witch taking revenge on me for something she's unilaterally decided that I did. Call me a bit funny that way, I promise, I shan't mind.
She'd like to help us with other things related to not dying. I said I'd talk to Edward, as such magical matters are entirely within his purview, and she got a bit shirty, said he'd been an arsehole. Terribly sorry, screaming lady, but when a man walks into a room and finds his baby sister who never cries in public sobbing over things you've said to her, you should rather expect him to be a trifle unpleasant. It rather goes with the territory of 'elder brother', and the entire Watcher/Slayer dynamic can just be damned. Still, I'll talk to him on her behalf. I don't need to trust her, and I don't need to like her -- much although I'd like to, because it was splendid having someone who could just be my friend, rather than someone I knew was going to die on me someday -- but I'm not an idiot. You don't throw away resource when you've a choice. And Iggy may need the additional training that a fully-practicing witch can reasonably provide.
After Jessica split, I went back to my traps for a while, until the manual labour became too much for me (even with the Hebrew language tapes on my Discman) and I had to flee home for a shower before going down the Cafe Alch for sandwiches and not moving. Sam came in, as he does, and came over to join me, thus showing that he is, in fact, still himself. We got to talking, and well...
I have the bloody smartest boyfriend in the entire bloody world, and everyone else can damn well just cope, because when I said that I was setting concussive pit traps using sigil-stamped plastique that was capable of actually harming the demons we'd be fighting, he replied by asking whether I'd considered having the glyph stamped on the pre-stressed shrapnel breaks of my planted debris. If I wasn't in love with the man before, I absolutely would've been the moment that he said that to me. I had NOT thought of doing that, and it's increased the potential death-rate of these traps tenfold! I must admit, I restrained my urge to dance and clap my hands only with great difficulty, and was forced to kiss him publically as a pale form of compromise. Terribly sorry, Kim, I know you were so counting on breeding me to one of your cousins, but I believe I'll be keeping this one. Forever.
We'd gotten past the destruction-and-PDAs part of the discussion when Nadia arrived, and we waved her over to sit down with us, so that we could catch her up on current doings, and so that I could make sure she got the memo on my change in Council status. It's so splendid to see her out and about again, moving freely through the seas of humanity rather than crouching in her stagnant tidepool of hate and mourning for her not-quite-dead girlfriend.
I think I need more coffee, I actually viewed that statement as English when I first wrote it down.
But anyway: Nadia is wonderful. Nadia took 'my exams have been cancelled' to mean 'the Watcher's Council is dicking me but hard', and was quite prepared to march, all by her lonesome, off to slap the Watcher's Council -- or at least Rupert Giles -- repeatedly upside the back of the head. I had to talk fast to get her past that and all the way to 'they've made me a full Watcher without the stupid formalities', or we might have had some serious violence to contend with. Once the point got through, however, we indulged in the requisite squealing and girly noises, and then they provided further details on the incursion into Nova Roma. I swear, Amara shows up, there's going to be a reasonably remarkable catfight. Which I will, of course, win.
(I am getting awfully, AWFULLY tired of reality ripping off the X-Men. I just need to say that. Emilia's Jean-bloody-Grey, with her Rachel Summers-esque daughter roving about; we've had drops into Nova Roma, now, and Age of Apocalypse. If I wake up tomorrow in the body of a purple-haired Japanese ninja, I will be VERY VERY VEXED INDEED. We are talking vexation on a scale heretofore unseen by GOD OR MAN. I just wished to express this fact proactively.)
We're going to have our first Junior Birdman Watcher's meeting tomorrow night, to go over certain things. There's work to be done, and not just in the arena of preparing to kill giant Hell-hedgehogs.
Christ, I'm tired.
I was sitting there, bandaging my hands and nursing my coffee, when Jessica came in and apologized for screaming at me the other day. I suppose that means I needn't be as concerned about her turning me into a newt or something, which is somewhat of a relief. When I'm already planning my funeral thanks to giant spiky escapees from the Sylvan Family playset, I don't really need to worry about Sabrina the Teenage bloody Witch taking revenge on me for something she's unilaterally decided that I did. Call me a bit funny that way, I promise, I shan't mind.
She'd like to help us with other things related to not dying. I said I'd talk to Edward, as such magical matters are entirely within his purview, and she got a bit shirty, said he'd been an arsehole. Terribly sorry, screaming lady, but when a man walks into a room and finds his baby sister who never cries in public sobbing over things you've said to her, you should rather expect him to be a trifle unpleasant. It rather goes with the territory of 'elder brother', and the entire Watcher/Slayer dynamic can just be damned. Still, I'll talk to him on her behalf. I don't need to trust her, and I don't need to like her -- much although I'd like to, because it was splendid having someone who could just be my friend, rather than someone I knew was going to die on me someday -- but I'm not an idiot. You don't throw away resource when you've a choice. And Iggy may need the additional training that a fully-practicing witch can reasonably provide.
After Jessica split, I went back to my traps for a while, until the manual labour became too much for me (even with the Hebrew language tapes on my Discman) and I had to flee home for a shower before going down the Cafe Alch for sandwiches and not moving. Sam came in, as he does, and came over to join me, thus showing that he is, in fact, still himself. We got to talking, and well...
I have the bloody smartest boyfriend in the entire bloody world, and everyone else can damn well just cope, because when I said that I was setting concussive pit traps using sigil-stamped plastique that was capable of actually harming the demons we'd be fighting, he replied by asking whether I'd considered having the glyph stamped on the pre-stressed shrapnel breaks of my planted debris. If I wasn't in love with the man before, I absolutely would've been the moment that he said that to me. I had NOT thought of doing that, and it's increased the potential death-rate of these traps tenfold! I must admit, I restrained my urge to dance and clap my hands only with great difficulty, and was forced to kiss him publically as a pale form of compromise. Terribly sorry, Kim, I know you were so counting on breeding me to one of your cousins, but I believe I'll be keeping this one. Forever.
We'd gotten past the destruction-and-PDAs part of the discussion when Nadia arrived, and we waved her over to sit down with us, so that we could catch her up on current doings, and so that I could make sure she got the memo on my change in Council status. It's so splendid to see her out and about again, moving freely through the seas of humanity rather than crouching in her stagnant tidepool of hate and mourning for her not-quite-dead girlfriend.
I think I need more coffee, I actually viewed that statement as English when I first wrote it down.
But anyway: Nadia is wonderful. Nadia took 'my exams have been cancelled' to mean 'the Watcher's Council is dicking me but hard', and was quite prepared to march, all by her lonesome, off to slap the Watcher's Council -- or at least Rupert Giles -- repeatedly upside the back of the head. I had to talk fast to get her past that and all the way to 'they've made me a full Watcher without the stupid formalities', or we might have had some serious violence to contend with. Once the point got through, however, we indulged in the requisite squealing and girly noises, and then they provided further details on the incursion into Nova Roma. I swear, Amara shows up, there's going to be a reasonably remarkable catfight. Which I will, of course, win.
(I am getting awfully, AWFULLY tired of reality ripping off the X-Men. I just need to say that. Emilia's Jean-bloody-Grey, with her Rachel Summers-esque daughter roving about; we've had drops into Nova Roma, now, and Age of Apocalypse. If I wake up tomorrow in the body of a purple-haired Japanese ninja, I will be VERY VERY VEXED INDEED. We are talking vexation on a scale heretofore unseen by GOD OR MAN. I just wished to express this fact proactively.)
We're going to have our first Junior Birdman Watcher's meeting tomorrow night, to go over certain things. There's work to be done, and not just in the arena of preparing to kill giant Hell-hedgehogs.
Christ, I'm tired.