I dunno if I ever mentioned, but Liv got super points for being the 8th Street member who stayed. Everyone else but Spaz and the Bros scattered, so Spence was super grateful he'd still get to hang out with Liv and school the young 'uns once she gets back from her trip. :) And, of course, watch her awesome Warper powers grow.
To be fair, Will's hair is practically a person in it's own right...
Dear gods, I remember being matter-of-factly informed of the genetics donation discussion. Pretty sure Karen and I nearly fell into the fireplace. Again. (To be fair, we had just been discussing how many cabana boys we were going to require for our vacation trip to the hot springs that was GOING TO HAPPEN DAMMIT, so it was kind of a mental 180.)
Spence's reactions were similar, every time it was mentioned. He was pretty shell-shocked that day anyway, so it's impressive that sunk in as much as it did.
"Beirut's dead, 8th Street's scattering, the contract is broken, I am tethered to this organization now mostly filled with strangers.... Oh no, Lt. Pockets, what? Yes, but ...what? o.o Yes. Let's arrange details after recovery time. I need to go..."
:) He's building a library! At some unknown point in the future. Clearly he'll need to tap Nicole to help.
("This /is/ organized! That pile is sciency textbooks, that pile is novels of various kinds, that shelf is post-apocalyptic publishing, that general region is fairy tales and related, these immaculately ordered long-boxes are what comics I've managed to scrounge...")
By far the most unexpected part of a really unexpected weekend, but it's become one of my favorite tidbits. It was nice to give him some form of tangible future responsibility immediately following his latest world-shattering. Helped with the soldiering on, and might creepily be good for him in the long term. The Lighthouse helped greatly as well, by giving him something to look forward to.
Boomer's and Lt. Pockets's kids. Still a mildly terrifying phrase.
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:D:D:D:D:D:D
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Dear gods, I remember being matter-of-factly informed of the genetics donation discussion. Pretty sure Karen and I nearly fell into the fireplace. Again. (To be fair, we had just been discussing how many cabana boys we were going to require for our vacation trip to the hot springs that was GOING TO HAPPEN DAMMIT, so it was kind of a mental 180.)
Oh Temple, we miss you so...
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"Beirut's dead, 8th Street's scattering, the contract is broken, I am tethered to this organization now mostly filled with strangers.... Oh no, Lt. Pockets, what? Yes, but ...what? o.o Yes. Let's arrange details after recovery time. I need to go..."
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(Also, I'm very glad I'm in the story. :) )
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("This /is/ organized! That pile is sciency textbooks, that pile is novels of various kinds, that shelf is post-apocalyptic publishing, that general region is fairy tales and related, these immaculately ordered long-boxes are what comics I've managed to scrounge...")
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Boomer's and Lt. Pockets's kids. Still a mildly terrifying phrase.
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Tiny technological geniuses sounds like more fun. Maybe half and half.
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