Hay guys!

Okay. SO. As we are a rather large fandom here - one which has just undergone a pretty huge resurgence in the bar - I thought it might be a good idea to put this up. (And I figure I'll repost it to our plotting comm if/when it gets made.)

A little while ago we had an information-gathering post regarding what's going on with our pups and ( Read more... )

With one last shove, Eros manages to slide the couch into place.

Manual labour. Ugh. He finds himself recalling a time when worshippers would gladly decorate interiors on his behalf. Not anymore, apparently. If Goldy wants finely upholstered furniture for the living room of her newly-expanded suite, then that's what she gets - but Eros is the one ( Read more... )

Eros stands outside of apartment 111, and waits. And winces ( Read more... )

Eros had been experiencing a dilemma, until about thirty seconds before he walked in the door. His dilemma was thus:

Things at the apartment are... interesting. And noisy. Very noisy. And busy. And there isn't really any privacy anymore, is there? And I get things thrown at me.

But if I go to the Bar, she'll be there. Goldy. And she'll look at me ( Read more... )

The problem with Frank Sinatra is that he doesn't have many songs you can whistle the next day.(Doesn't mean Eros isn't trying, though ( Read more... )

Eros sits alone in his swingin' bachelor pad - that is to say, not-quite-of-the-mortal-realm apartment - carefully loading bullets into cartridges. Many many many bullets... many, many, many cartridges ( Read more... )

Eros is making bullets for his gun ( Read more... )

Apologies to all, but I feel a need to fill this with stuff, so that the entries can space out and make my new layout look alright ( Read more... )