Tom sits at a table for a change, finally catching up on the weekend edition of The Daily Prophet. The cover features the Quidditch World Cup; Tom skimmed the coverage quickly for the contents within.

He never was a fan of the sport. He's not really a fan of the The Daily Prophet, either, preferring the New York Wizarding Times, but one's lifelong ( Read more... )

There is music coming from a corner of the bar, over by the fireplace.

Data is sitting there with his violin, with perfect posture that is clearly not taking advantage of the comfortable-looking chair that he is occupying. He is playing a Mozart piece in E minor to technical perfection, though not with any particular feeling. And anyone with a ( Read more... )

Duck's been snoring slightly on a table in the middle of the room, head pillowed on a piece of paper, when -

do you have the resolve, little duck?- she wakes up with a start, shaking her head to get the last wisps of weird half-memory out of her head ( Read more... )

It's been a few weeks since Tom encountered Marjory Stewart-Baxter again. It's been fewer still since she laid her eggs in his arm. Tom and Marjory have a long, odd history, but he has been judged worthy of incubating her puppetlings.

He doesn't know this important fact. He does know he's having strange, unsettling dreams of late ( Read more... )

Cameron's spent the past half-hour standing in front of the Observation Window, spine straight, feet (in their motorcycle boots) a shoulder's width apart. Not moving.

Now, obeying some cue visible only to her, she tromps back toward the bar. And stops.

The book she requests is a medical text. It has glossy pictures.

Duck is no longer stuck as a duck!

She kind of wants to find everyone who tried to help her find her pendant last time and say thank you . . . but there were a lot of people and she doesn't know if she'll be able to see everybody ( Read more... )

Most people are less likely to be outside after nightfall. Of course even less on the full moon, but that time was not for another week. The demon bunnies keep many away for fear of bites and burns. A few venture out however ( Read more... )

The door swings slowly open, and a charred boot steps inside, flaking ash and dirt onto the clean wood ( Read more... )

It had taken some time, and not a little effort (curse the bird and all his ilk), but she had finally managed to shift the color of her dress from scarlet into something much more to her liking -- a rusty red shade, not unlike old, dried blood. It goes well with the soft gray gauze of the cobweb-light veil that shrouds her hair and face, she ( Read more... )

Everyone in the house is asleep -- fitfully asleep, in some cases, but asleep -- so Cameron clomps into Milliways, clutching an iPod in one fist.

Her earbuds aren't perfect, so people in the near vicinity will be able to hear the faint strains of "Poker Face" as she pulls them out to tuck them into her shoulder bag.