Trowa's outside, sitting under a tree.

He has a book. He's ignoring it at the moment, though.

It's a nice evening, which might or might not be relevant.

The door opens, and closes, on a scene of trailers at night. (Some are lit up, and several aren't. The last show of the night is over, clean-up's done, and most of the circus folk are heading to bed ( Read more... )

Trowa's strolling by the lakeside, hands in pockets.

It's a nice evening for reconnaissance a walk.

He's aiming more or less for the horse paddocks, at the moment, but he doesn't seem to be in any particular hurry.

[OOM: Millitimed to . . . sometime a while ago, and after this thread:

Tourism, Gotham style.]

[ X5-494 is just another term for l'esprit de l'escalier. Or maybe not.]X's pace as she heads downstairs is slightly faster than usual, but not by much. The really unusual thing is the dress she's wearing, which is long and purple. Her hair is pinned up, her arms are encased in elbow-length black lace gloves, and she has apparently replaced her ( Read more... )

[OOM: It's true what they say. Girls? Just want to have fun.]

The door flies open as a boot crashes into it. Silhouetted in the doorway is a small, slender, but well-muscled girl covered head-to-toe in skintight black. She looks ready to follow the kick to the door with a kick to someone's head ( Read more... )

River is stretched out on a couch, lying on her side. Her hair tumbles across the arm of the sofa, and the fingers of one hand are curled loosely in the fringe of a cushion. She's relaxed, her body motionless except the slow, regular breathing; at a glance from the wrong angle, you might think she was asleep ( Read more... )

Happy, Happy Birthday, X-23

[OOC: Some threads are still in slowtime, and are open as long as the muns involved want them to be. I've tried to get all the tags on this right, and I think I have them all, but if I've missed you or gotten your tiny tag wrong, please let me know, and I'll correct. Finally, there were 1450 replies to this at the ( Read more... )

It's dark out back, by the lake, and the night breezes carries a series of clanking sounds.

Someone is kneeling by the water's edge, carefully assembling a machine. Up close, it looks a little like something Hayao Miyazaki and Diana Wynne Jones might vomit up, if they were in the habit of conjoined vomiting. Which they probably aren't.