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Dated November 19, 2009:While going looking for her former patient, Jean nearly runs into him, and she and Henry do some catching up.
[HERE | In progress | PG] Dated November 23, 2009:Later, Henry meets Sarah on his way out to the beach. Among other things, the two of them talk about what it is like to have people from home on the island, or in his case, not to.
[HERE | In progress | PG] | |
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Combeferre had long had a love of teaching, though it was no skill he had ever exercised in as formal a capacity as he did these days. He was not only quite often the most well-read in any circle (a small feat among his well-educated and lawyered friends), but also the one most likely to espouse some fact he had recently learned on any ears available, willing or unwilling. He was more than a talker, though - he truly loved to educate, to share the world with those around him, and more often than not, those who listened left satisfied for having learned something, even if they had not expected to. Teaching at the school had given him him first formal opportunity to share his knowledge with others, and it had quickly become something that stole more of his time than he had imagined it would. In the weeks since the term had begun, he had gained greater sympathy than ever for his past professors. Now he was stealing the quieter moments in his evening clinic shift to go over the mid-term papers that had been turned into him that day. It had been a bit of a change for him for him to teach the introduction to humanities course, but one he was quite enjoying. The history of intellectual thought that had been all but bred into him was nearly as close to his heart as the sciences were, and it was knowledge he saw as equally important to those living in this strange little island home. Now nearing the halfway mark of the class, he had asked his students to reflect upon the ideas of Aristotle, and Plato, and Socrates, and others that they had been studying the past couple months, and find a way to connect them to the contemporary worlds they had come from. With any luck it would help prepare them for what he intended to tackle next: the way the philosophical concepts they had already discussed had influenced the Greek and Roman societies from which they had sprung and the entire world after them. For all the clinic was windowless and harshly clean, Combeferre had always liked the space, finding it a cheerful testament to so much the island residents had accomplished together. It seemed the most appropriate place to do what he was now doing: sitting on a stool with his chin propped in his hands, reading over the thoughts of his students. If anyone came in needing medical help, he would be there to assist, but in the meantime, he might as well get some grading done. [Rather late evening clinic post! All welcome, if you come in with an injury, remember to post to ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif) island_medical :D ] | |
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It had been a strange sort of month.
Arguably, any month - or week - or day - spent on an island such as this was bound to be strange, but Margot felt a little more unsettled than usual. Perhaps it was the fact she had been smoking only island-rolled cigarettes for some time now, or the business with Walter, Rorschach, or dealing with having a roommate for the first time in her life, but she felt a little more on edge than usual. Or maybe it was Thanksgiving, that time of year where families came together to enjoy a carved turkey or two. Even hers.
But not this time.
It didn't help that she had no private bathroom to lock herself in. Back home, that had been her escape, her sanctuary. But privacy here was a hard thing to come by.
Even the beach seemed crowded to her, though she sat alone on a towel wearing an inappropriately pink bikini and speaking to no one. No one had spoken to her, yet, and she hoped they weren't going to.
She supposed she'd just have to deal with it if they did. | |
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As usual, Yuffie doubted that the general population would be able to comprehend the brilliance of her plan. Sure, they'd had that big costume party about a month ago, and she'd found something for it and even had a little fun. And apparently this month's holiday from worlds she didn't know about involved eating a lot of food. Nobody would expect this-- unless, of course, she reasoned, they actually knew her. For the whole month, Yuffie had been working on the construction of a wicked awesome ninja disguise like the one she'd been working on at home. It was, to be precise, wicked awesome. She found herself a perch at the very top of a palm tree, and settled there. It was an outright shame that she didn't have any water balloons or anything. Not like they'd necessarily had those in great supply until many years after the war anyway, but the trek out to Rocket Town or further had always been worth it. Instead, she waited, coiled up and ready for any prey that might come strolling along beneath the shade of a very pleasant looking palm tree. Nothing suspicious here at all. | |
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Caspian had taken Eddara out for the morning to give Sansa a bit of quiet round the house. Eddara was in a rather energetic mood and Caspian thought it better if he directed her enthusiasm in a direction other than strewing dolls, ribbons, and wooden farm animals all over her room. So he took her for a ride, with her riding in front of him on Jonquil, one arm securely about her middle while he held the reins with his other hand. Eddara always loved riding, whether it was with him or round the yard on her little pony, so it was an excellent distraction.
They rode up to the compound, where Caspian tethered the horse in the shade near the playground and let Eddara swing for a while. "More, more!" she chirped, pumping her little legs to try to get the swing to go even higher. He would not let her go too high, though, as he did not trust that she was holding on quite tight enough not to simply fall out if she got overexcited by the thrill of swinging so high.
A few minutes later, she shouted, "Stop!" and Caspian stopped the swing, wondering if he had pushed her high enough to scare her--but no, Eddara had only wanted to stop because she had seen something shining in the playground sand, something Caspian hadn't noticed. He followed her to the edge of the playground, where she pulled a slender, silver object from the sand. It was a tiny rapier, finely wrought of Narnian steel and with an elegantly engraved basket hilt, far too small for a man grown or even a child...
... but perfectly sized for a Mouse.
"Pretty," said Eddara approvingly, holding it up so that it shone in the sunlight.
"Yes, it is," said Caspian, looking about them for any sign of his noble friend. It was useless, of course, for none of the Talking Beasts of Narnia had ever come to the island, and if Reepicheep were here he would have made his presence known immediately, but he looked nonetheless. "Very pretty. Will you let me see it, Eddara?"
"No," said Eddara. "Mine." And she took off running, tiny sword in one hand. | |
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Dated November 16, 2009:"I've been told not to call you that," he says with a laugh. "It's inherently condescending, though if you've got your heart set on it, I won't tell Reid if you don't."
Morgan and Jim meet on the beach one afternoon, and discuss their common denominator.
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Her stomach stopped rolling just in time for her to realise what day it was. The bump was big enough that it was actually starting to get in the way, but it didn't stop her seeing patients and it didn't stop her getting Emmy up and dressed. They visited the memorial wall and left some flowers for Jessica and Alianne and for Cutter and Amy, Neil and Gordon and everyone else they'd lost in three years on the island. Later they found themselves in the kitchen. She'd kicked off her shoes and she was quite enjoying moving around under the air-conditioning. If the island stayed true to form, they only had a few of these hot days left, and then they'd be for a month of cold.
Lily always enjoyed the cold.
Emmy was sitting on one of the stools at the counter and she leaned across and patted Lily's ever increasing belly. It was a new habit, but not one that Lily felt the ened to train her out of.
"What shall we put in the cake then, kidlet?" said Lily.
"Cake!" said Emmy, drumming both hands against the counter.
Lily gave her a very definite look. Sometimes, Emmy could be just as obtuse as Jim Lennox ever knew how to be. She gave her Mom a grin full of little teeth.
"Fruit?" she asks, still grinning and then her Mom nodded and set the glass of juice down in front of her.
"Okay," she said.
Fruit anniversary cake it was, then. | |
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Dated November 8, 2009:James learns that unfortunately alone time with their son has not helped Elizabeth bond with him at all - he remains sure it will happen with time. Elizabeth does not share his confidence.
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For Scotty, Thanksgiving is always the official start of the holiday season. That’s when Christmas decorations come out, Christmas music starts playing on the radio, and that holiday buzz really gets started. Normally he looks forward to Thanksgiving every year because he loves the smells in the kitchen, the frenzy of cooking, the family togetherness, and the holiday spirit that comes from eating way too much food with your family. This year, Scotty’s having a hard time finding enthusiasm for the holiday season; he thought he’d been adjusting well to the island, but faced with Thanksgiving—and then, of course, Christmas—he can’t stop thinking about how much he misses his home. He misses his parents, especially, and Kevin, and his car, and his friends, and even Kevin’s crazy family. He misses everything that’s familiar, and that’s why this Thanksgiving dinner is a mix of pain and comfort. He’s got a boar cooking instead of turkey, but all the other trappings are the same. He’s got sweet potato casserole, green bean casserole, macaroni and cheese, mashed potatoes, stuffing, gravy, and cranberry sauce. Vala provided an assortment of breads, and Ned donated some pies. None of Scotty’s recipes are anything experimental or fancy or different—just traditional Thanksgiving food. It’s the traditional part that’s getting him through the fact that he’s managing his first large-scale Thanksgiving dinner without being able to talk to his parents at all. Bustling around the kitchen to make sure everything’s in order, he tries not to think about why today has the potential for being the most depressing Thanksgiving he’s ever had because it’s also one of the most significant Thanksgivings of his life. He’s on his own and making his own meal for his new family—for the islanders. The day has the potential to be as uplifting as it can be depressing. He wishes he could’ve thrown a smaller party, something more intimate, inviting the friends he’s managed to make so far on the island—in essence, he wishes he could’ve had a pseudo-family get-together. Maybe that would’ve helped with his feelings of detachment and helped carry him through the holiday season. Instead he had to settle for personally inviting the people closest to him to dinner. The oven timer dings and he takes the boar out of the oven, which finishes his food preparations. Scotty pops Ned’s pies into the oven to warm them up for a few minutes, but other than that, everything’s finished. Even though he would’ve liked something more intimate, the knowledge that people will come and fill his kitchen with chatter and warmth and, maybe, a holiday spirit is brightening. He’ll get to spend the day with people he hasn’t met yet or hasn’t really gotten close to; he’ll get to maybe work on expanding the little group of friends that he does have. He unties the strings on his apron and pulls it off; he’s done being the chef for now. He’s going to fix himself a plate of Thanksgiving dinner, sit down, and wait for his table to fill up. OOC: Your Thursday dinner post, going up early. It’s gathering post style, so tag one, tag all. Scotty’s personal invite list includes: the residents of Bohemia, Alcuin, Giles, Felix, the kitchen crew, Toly and Lex, and probably his teachers and classmates even if we haven’t threaded. If your pup would be talking with Scotty often, you’re personally invited! :) As it's a meal post, everyone is welcome, too, remember! Come cheer the guy up on his first Thanksgiving away from home. :)
Subject comes from this amazing song. :)- Tags:alcuin no delaunay, anatoly sergievsky, charlie weasley, charlotte charles, dr. henry devlin, felicity merriman, felix unger, jack harkness, jen, lex luthor, logan echolls, meal post, nymphadora tonks, perseus jackson, prior walter, scotty wandell, vala mal doran
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Somewhere, between reading some book he'd found-- it wasn't really a book, considering it was called Daughters of Darkness: Lesbian Vampire Stories-- and feeling guilty that it turned him on, 'cos it wasn't his fault that the bouncer at Fangtasia was SMOKIN' hot, somewhere in all of that, Jason had heard something about it being Thanksgiving.
He did a quick check of his facts, hollering into the rec room, "HEY Y'ALL IS IT THANKSGIVING?" and when his facts were good and checked, he had a good sit up on the roof. Holidays were Gran's domain. It was fucked up to think that he was going this one without her.
No Sookie, either. It hurt his heart differently to think about Sookie, because she was alive and probably his last memory of home had to do with squeezing her tight and tripping down the steps, knowing at least his baby sister was gonna make it.
So Jason was alone, then.
Fuckitall.
He stood up and, it being surprisingly early in the morning for him, began to assemble what he'd need. Out here, they were all like the Pilgrims and shit, except instead of friendly Indian types they had scary fucking magic things. Like dinosaurs.
The dinosaurs were what really led him to his epiphany. He was a Pilgrim. Pilgrims hunted for their Thanksgiving meals. It didn't really matter that he wasn't so sure he'd want to eat a dinosuar, but he sure as hell knew he wanted to hunt one.
With the clothing box actually providing the right kind of gear, he decked himself out Rambo-style, and should anyone stumble upon his great venture, they'd see him dressed to the mercenary nines, sharpening up a spear and praying for a rifle. | |
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The shelf in the rec room isn't a complete dick to her. Okay, so some of the titles it gives up are bogus. She's not interested in books about alcoholism or coping with being handicapped. One was about losing limbs...that didn't even apply to her. Every now and again it would offer up a normal book, smooth and solid to the touch but fucking useless...unless she had someone to read to her. But for the most part it was kind and gave up novels in braille. She was working her way through John Grisham's whole series. It almost made her give a crap about the law. At least it was something to do. Today her fingers trail along the spines, hoping that maybe she'll get The Brethren or something when she feels five familiar letters. She feels them again and pulls the book off the shelf. It's bound with a ribbon to what feels like a box. Her stomach flips as her fingers make another pass. T. A. R. O. T. yeah, can't get much clearer than that. She takes it and sits, touching the book reverently. She can't possibly be this lucky. Braille tarot cards and a book to go with them. Reading cards is reading cards but this isn't her deck- not the one she's familiar with. She knows there will be a learning curve as she and the deck become friends. She starts with the deck, spreading the cards out and reading them one at a time. She's so happy she could cry...if she could cry. She feels the Lovers. The World. Death. The Fool. Card after card and she knows what they say. She knows she could use them. Pamela wonders if they have images on them or if they're just blank cards with the raised dots for her own benefit. As much as she doesn't want to stop touching them, familiarizing herself with them, she finally takes the book and begins to read. The cards are scattered randomly around her and her finger flies across the pages of the introduction. It's the Spanish deck. She knows that one. She's never used it, but by God...she's gonna be using it now. | |
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Pale and shaking, Sarah Carter pulls the handle on the toilet, breathing out a sigh and sitting back on her haunches as the water dropped out of the tank with a whoosh. She wipes the back of her hand across her mouth, resting her forehead briefly against the cool metal stall partitions, and then pushes to her feet, the door clanging behind her as she makes her way to the sink.
It's the flu, she's told herself for the last week. Only the flu. Her period is late, by nearly a month, but that's only a coincidence. Isn't it?
It has to be.
Her daughter is dead and Sarah never considered having another. Her family was gone, and it had been a shame all along. But it isn't just the flu and it isn't going away.
Fixing her ponytail and brushing her teeth, Sarah steps out into the glaring light of the Compound hall, swallowing down another wave of nausea and shuffling toward the kitchen. She puts a kettle on to boil and lowers herself down warily at the table.
She could be happy, if she wasn't so scared.
[[Open to all, though she'll probably clam up around strangers. ST/LT more than welcome.]] | |
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When it came down to it, maybe it was surprising that House didn't spend more of his time nursing black eyes. As it was, he looked like hell, thanks to Jack's rather impressive right hook. House was lucky he hadn't ended up with a broken nose; he'd taped it up anyway to keep the swelling down. That, combined with the bandages on his hand (honestly, if you're going to punch someone, at least wait until they're not holding scalding hot coffee), he almost looked as if he'd had the shit beat out of him instead of a single punch. Interestingly, the last time that had happened, Logan had been the culprit.
Christ. He really needed to just stay the hell away from those two.
He needed something to distract him, so he'd woken up that morning and randomly decided to start working on his German again. It seemed like a lifetime ago that Phedre had been tutoring him; that was before Jack, while James had still been here... not that he'd been happy then either, but it was for an entirely different set of reasons. Well, similar reasons. On the bright side, with his nose and his hand throbbing, he could almost forget about his leg.
Sitting in the kitchen, he sipped on a cup of coffee (held safely in his left hand) and turned the pages of the advanced German textbook he'd held onto for years. He was working on verb conjugation.
"Ich werde hassen," he muttered under his breath. "Du wirst hassen. Er wird hassen. Sie wird hassen. Es wird hassen." | |
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Dated November 24, 2009Jack punches House in the face. It's surprising this sort of thing doesn't happen more often, really.
[HERE | Complete | PG-13] | |
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Dated Wednesday, November 25When their normally healthy, sweet-tempered child wakes cross and feverish, Jeyne and Robb take him to the clinic, where Combeferre takes a look at him and declares a mild case of flu. | |
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Phedre has been spending some time in the compound, which even after all of this time, I still prefer to stay away from. Given how much like home we've managed to make our dwelling on the island, I see little need for the building. But Phedre, ever the social butterfly, has other thoughts and needs, and so she has spent much of the day in the building. It is nearing time for our dinner, though, so I go to fetch Phedre so that we may go back home together. She is in the rec room, I know as much, and I enter the room, seeing her on a couch, all her focus on the book she is reading. There is something loud coming from the film that is playing -- music on the screen, for once, rather than coming from the jukebox. I mean to wait until Phedre has come to a stopping spot in what she is reading; I know that if I try to get her attention now, she will never notice me, anyway. So I turn my attention almost reluctantly to the screen, watching as one film comes to an end and another begins. The music is loud, pulsating, distracting, and I imagine that this is what people dance to in the place that most of the islanders are from. I wouldn't know, really. It's captivating, though, both the music and the filmstrip, featuring a writhing mass of bodies in some underground club that, I think, would not be wholly out of place. I'm not quite sure what to make of it, and I find that my attention is stuck as much on this film as Phedre's is in her book. -- When Joscelin first entered the room I was only vaguely aware of him-- I was so used to his presence that it hardly disturbed me, not to mention he made scarcely any noise when he walked. Someone had put on a reel of short films set to different songs-- a somewhat intrusive backdrop to my reading, though I'd managed mostly to tune it out. But when it changed to a bright, upbeat rhythm I found myself distracted, and laid down my book. When I turned toward the television I first saw Joscelin staring at it with a look of dumbfounded amusement on his face. I followed his gaze at the same time as I began to pick out some of the song's words-- baby I'm in control, take the pain, take the pleasure, I'm the master of both-- a grin spread across my face and I bit back a laugh. "I might almost think the television has taken on some of the jukebox's more interesting powers," I murmured, coming closer to lean my elbows on the back of a stuffed chair, my eyes fixed on the screen. I found the young singer intriguing; certainly he was beautiful, and I liked his smirk. The snake might have been slightly ostentatious as a prop, especially given the profusion of jewels on the shoulder of his jacket, but who was I to critique someone else's sense of spectacle? When the film was over I switched off the screen and turned to Joscelin with a somewhat sheepish smile. "Well. I believe it's time for supper." Before he could answer, the jukebox whirred to life with the opening strains of the same song the television had just been playing. I glared at it; I had little patience for its dubious sense of humor, and certainly did not wish to have this song following me around every time I entered the room-- not least because then I would likely grow tired of hearing it, when I would far rather continue enjoying it. [the song, as you may have guessed, is for your entertainment by adam lambert. tag phedre or joscelin or both, just specify who you want! feel free to tag in over the next couple of days.] | |
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Dated Nov 1, 2009:Castiel and Starbuck meet in the church and talk about faith, religion, and being human.
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Dated November 20, 2009:On the night before his wedding, Dean throws Neil a bachelor party at the Hub. There are streamers, but no strippers.
[HERE | Ongoing | [PG-13] | |
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Dated November 21, 2009: Mid-morning on a beautiful Saturday, the island had its very first polygamist wedding. And yeah, all the grooms showed up this time.[HERE | Some threads still On-going | A very fluffy PG] [[Feel free to continue tagging this, guys]] - Tags:abby sciuto, angua von uberwald, bill weasley, brian lackey, charlie bartlett, dean winchester, eden sinclair, gathering, james lennox, john mamet, kara thrace, miguel alvarez, mike pinocchio, morgan le fay, neil mccormick, pamela barnes, river tam-reynolds, sirius black, thomas hobbes, veronica mars
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Dated October 31, 2009:On Halloween, the undead wander and are easy pickings for Majors Casey and Shaw, and even Chuck manages to not get eaten.
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Felicity could hear the planter's clock chime one in the afternoon, and knew she had made it with seconds to spare, but she had no time to change her gown, which still smelt of horses and leather from her morning ride with Penny. She rushed down stairs to the dining room, going so fast she nearly slid on the polished wood floor. But as she entered the dining room from the hallway, everything suddenly changed and she wasn't in the dining room of the plantation. In fact, she wasn't quite sure where she was. There were strangely dressed people eating or appearing to prepare food, but this wasn't like any kitchen or dining room she had ever seen: it was too cool for July, and neither the kitchen building back home in Williamsburg, or on her Mother's plantation were ever this cool or brightly lit.
It was rude to stare, but there was little else she could think to do. Should she just leave, or introduce herself? It didn't look like anyone really noticed her, so maybe she could just quietly turn and retrace her steps..but a quick turn on her heel showed that wasn't the case. Instead of facing the stairwell leading the the bedchambers, all she saw was a stark, gray corridor and she could hear voices and..what she thought could've been music coming from one end. She turned back towards the room she was just facing, her mouth screwed to one side. So..she couldn't go back home, or at least..she could but didn't know how..and she was in a room with people she didn't know and had never met. She took as deep breath as her stays would allow, she had experience meeting new people when she helped at her father's store. This shouldn't be a problem for her.
Felicity took a hesitant step into the room, only because she knew it was rude to stand in doorways, and opened her mouth to speak, but she could only manage a "Oh my," before words failed her and she continued to stare.
There really wasn't much else she felt she could do at this point.
ooc: timed to Tuesday afternoon. Find her near the doorway of the kitchen in the compound, where she'll appreciate some help. Note, she has just come from the stables, so your pup may or may not recognize the smell of horses on her-she'll be defensive if you mention it though. Slowtime welcome..she's been introduced to the island, so for any LT, just assume your pup catches her looking around the kitchen. | |
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It was like she expected Joe to come back, like at any moment Joe would waltz up the path with that smile on his face and a new pet name for her on his lips. She knew he wouldn't though, just as she knew she wouldn't see Webster for days or weeks at a time now that he'd gone out on his boat alone. She didn't really understand why he'd wanted to leave, even after he tried to explain it to her.
Now she sat with her back up against the wall of The Officer's Club with a book in her hands. She'd been reading and re-reading the same paragraph for the last half an hour without taking any of what it said.
She didn't expect to see either of them, not really, so she didn't know why she'd come there except maybe for habit.
He's not coming back. Never coming back, sugar.
Trisha put her book down in her lap and pressed her forehead to her knees, closing her eyes. She didn't cry, she'd cried herself out already, but her chest felt heavy with loss.
She was alone again.
[Find Trisha outside the Officer's Club. All tags welcome but especially BoB pups. She's feeling a little lost without Joe and Web.] | |
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For the occasion, Nessa had baked coconut crumpets. It was an experiment, but she was very glad of the result herself. She brought them to the museum in a folded cotton cloth. All hard work had come to this; a museum, and she thought it quite beautiful. She could already imagine the plants she would suggest Dick to grow there, welcoming the visitor and decoration that wasn't present yet. All in due time, for now, though, it was a museum in the functional sense. And that was an accomplishment on its own.
"Nervous?" She asked the beautiful man.
"Not at all." For someone born to the big top, events and performances held no terror. Not to mention that he loved people and parties, and he hadn't been happier since before his parents died. Engaged to Tim, the museum finished, maybe the team had crumbled under the losses, but the people hadn't. And now that they were ready to open, it felt like one more bright star in an already brilliant sky.
Dick held out his arm for her, in courtly fashion, because it made him smile and she always smiled when he did. "You look beautiful," he told her, leaned in to kiss her cheek, and nodded to the table in the courtyard where Scotty had set up the hors d'ouevres. "Shall we?" He just hoped she wouldn't be offended if he didn't try the crumpets. Coconut, yuck.
"We shall, my darling." Nessa did indeed smile and accepted the arm offered, squeezing it a little. "I made coconut crumpets... I think. Julian tasted one an assured me they were wonderful."
"I'm sure they are. I've never known you to do anything that wasn't." Dick drew her forward into the courtyard, leading her like a prince with a princess, except for the clear delight in sparkling blue eyes that made it playful. "We've won over some of our most vociferous critics and the skeptics. Do you think everyone else will enjoy it?"
"I think a skeptic will hesitate to celebrate anything accomplished on this island, because of its fickle nature. But truth is we should celebrate everything we have accomplished here, cherish every chance offered here and share it. And that's what you've done here," Nessa said, assuring him. "I think everyone will enjoy it. Sod the critics, dear, nothing would be created if we were to listen only to them." That wasn't entirely true, of course. Where would Bloomsbury have been without Roger? But for the purpose of the comment, she was certain Roger would have forgiven her.
"That's what I want, Nessa. For people to see everything we've done here and on whose shoulders we've done it. That way, no matter what happens, someone will know we were here." He took the plate of crumpets from her hand and set them on the banquet table behind them, then led her to sit by the reflecting pool in the middle of the courtyard, to wait for people to show up. "I hope."
[The museum itself is open. Exhibits are still in progress, but there's a timeline of island history on one long wall, a natural history exhibit, a second island hall, Cora's Mogwai, a memorials/biography section and free food. Come one, come any!] - Tags:adrian veidt, bill weasley, cameron mitchell, coraline jones, davos seaworth, dick grayson, donna troy, dr. henry devlin, duck macdonald, gathering, guy burgess, jill pole, karolina dean, kim philby, montgomery scott, peter parker, polly o'keefe, saffron, scotty wandell, vanessa bell
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Most days Lew thought he'd come to grips with the fact that he was stuck here, as close 'well adjusted' (whatever that meant) as the average person could be expected to get without ever actually being well adjusted.
Apparently today wasn't most days.
He'd almost been on the fucking island for a full year now, just two weeks left to go. Granted, it wasn't as long as some people had been there, but it was longer than he ever actually expected it to last. That probably had something to do with the fact that he never really thought all that far ahead - not back home, not here, not ever. And that was probably a good thing, too, because just thinking two weeks ahead had distracted him enough to burn yet another pancake.
"Fuck," he hissed, swiftly moving the pan off the heat, and then tipping the contents of it out onto a plate that held about four or five other failed attempts.
"It's alright, dude. They're not burnt, they're Cajun. Run with it," said the man beside him. Shawn tore a piece of blackened pancake free and popped it into his mouth. He froze, eyes wide and cheeks puffed out.
"Run with it," Lew echoed, hitching a thumb in the direction of the trashcan before pouring more batter into the pan. Shawn bolted.
Breakfast wasn't a complete bust, though. At least no one would be going hungry since plenty of food actually did make it safely to the table, unburned. Blueberry or plain pancakes, eggs both fried and scrambled, cinnamon rolls and fruit salad were all already spread out on the table. There was plenty of fresh coffee, and once Lew had successfully finished the last of the pancake batter, he poured himself a cup and flopped down heavily into a seat.
It was going to be a long two weeks, he just fucking knew it.
[[Your Tuesday I swear I will eventually get one of these up in the morning breakfast post. Nothing inedible made it to the table. Promise :D]] | |
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Dated October 31, 2009: On Halloween, Charlie and Bill get a supernatural visitor. Bill is shocked by Charlie's reaction which leads the younger brother to tell the story of what happened in Romania. It explains why he hates vampires with such a passion. | |
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I have mixed feelings about the whole Thanksgiving thing. It isn't new. It stopped being new years ago. It's a family holiday and even though I have some really great friends here it's not the same.
I miss the noise. The fuss, the shouting and the nearness. It isn't that it doesn't get noisy here, because it does but it's a different sort of noise. The kind of noise that makes me wax philosophical which is nothing but annoying.
Swinging back and forth on the swings, I am trying to attempt the perfect peel of an orange. A singular strip, twisting neatly and kind of prettily like I could hang it on a string and call it art.
It wouldn't be art. I do math and science. Art might exist in numbers and patterns and the song of the universe, but it isn't something that people hang in galleries and gawk at.
My fingers squish into the pulp of the orange and juice slides down my wrist.
"Yuck," I stick out my tongue and look for a place to wipe the juice. At least I haven't ruined the peel twist. That would have sucked.
Holding the whole twisted peel in between my fingers, I swing back and forth and bounce the peel up and down. Now what am I going to do with it besides acting like a five year old.
"Eh, probably nothing."
dated to later in the morning. all manner of ts apply. | |
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Dated October 15th, 2009:Lex comes to really regret not having his meteor enhanced healing when he comes down with the chicken pox. Anatoly takes good care of him and even a guilty feeling Kon brings him soup.
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Now that she's been on the island a little while - one year exactly, as a matter of fact, as of two days ago - Jen's learned the value of keeping busy. It's really easy to become bored out of your skull in a place like this if you've got nothing to do, which is why she's glad she does. Between making breakfast on Mondays in the kitchen with Priestly, working at The Winchester, taking a couple of classes, and making quilts for people Jen definitely has plenty to do.
It's not so much, though, that she doesn't have any down time, or time to just hang out with friends. This afternoon, now that her class for the day is out, she's heading down to the beach with a book and a towel and a plan to find a patch of shade and read for a while.
She's walking along, trying to resist the urge to open the book - Good Omens, something she's been wanting to read for a while but never got around to - and start reading as she walks. The only thing that's keeping her from actually doing it is the fear she'll end up tripping and falling on her face like a moron, and then she sees something sitting in the path and stops herself just in time to keep from doing that very thing.
At first she thinks it can't be what it looks like, because how could it be? But then she tucks the book under one arm so she can crouch down and pick the object up with both hands, and that's when Jen realizes it's exactly what she thinks it is. Tied with a fat bow, a round ceramic bowl with pretty designs painted on the lid. What Zo gave to Jen, Tish and Piper before they went on their road trip. Jen definitely remembers that trip, remembers stopping with the girls and scattering the contents to the ocean wind like Zo told them to. She remembers exactly what Zo said when she gave it to them.
This is a mixture of ground herbs, petals, and pods. It'll bring wholesomeness and protection to you on your journey.
Yeah, it had been great for their journey, but looking back, Jen wishes it would have been able to do something for her once they actually got to where they were going. She doesn't even know what - just something.
Hugging the container to herself to make sure she doesn't drop it, Jen continues on to the beach, slipping off her sandals just above the waterline and heading out to where the waves are lapping at her ankles. Tish and Piper aren't there on the island to scatter the contents with her this time, but maybe she can do this in honor of them, or something. As a symbol of how much she misses them. She carefully unties the bow and takes off the lid, and as she picks up small handfuls of the herbs and petals and releases them to the wind, the breeze catches them and sends them out over the ocean. | |
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Dated November 16, 2009:Peter Parker's P.O.V.
They say it's better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all, but that saying doesn't exactly cover dragging up the ex in the middle of an argument with your current loved one. I can't even blame this one on Norman -- it's all on me this time. It's always on me.
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Jack had long since accepted that living on the island was an exercise in boredom. Long stretches of nothing punctuated by periodic episodes of excitement- good or bad. Parties good, accidents bad, island weirdness...those days were a crap shoot. Today was one of the boring ones so far. ITF training and then a whole lot of nothing. He'd decided that maybe he'd take advantage of having nothing better to do for a change. He didn't feel like making any more furniture and he hadn't yet finished drawing up plans for the bath house in Bohemia so he could go see that guy, Ray. With no interest in just sitting around and no patience for reading, Jack decided to change into something light, tie on his trainers, and go for a run.
He had his route planned out. It was a simple circuit but long enough to be a good work out. He'd run west on the boardwalk all the way to the beach, then follow it around. He would have to slow to a jog as he cut through the jungle and came out on another stretch of beach. When he hit the southern boardwalk, he knew, he'd take it back north to the compound. It was miles. It was the sort of run that Logan mocked him for. It was hard and he pushed himself and it felt good. Before long, Jack was in a zone where he hardly noticed what was going on as the scenery flashed past. It wasn't until he almost ran into someone that he pulled up short and stopped. Breathing hard and with deep Vs of sweat soaking the front and back of his shirt, he managed a smile and a breathless, "Sorry. Didn't see you there."
[Meet him anywhere on his circuit- boardwalk or the beach, just let me know. ST/LT and all that since this is going up at an odd hour. New faces especially welcome!] | |
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Dated November 22nd, 2009:With the completion of their new (2 bedroom) hut, Squall decides it's time to put his plan to leave the island into play. Forming a questing party made of Squall, Zell, Harry, Cable, Riku and Zack, they head off into dinosaur territory. Things go horribly wrong for Squall and Zell though probably as well as anyone else might have guessed.
[HERE | Near Completion | R (violence)] | |
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What frickin’ crappy timing to move out of the Compound to a hut by the far-off beach! Zell had been making his way from the Compound to the new hut he shared with Squall on crutches. His left leg and right forearm were broken and had been set in casts. At least he had enough luck to not break bones on the same side, since he didn’t think a broken arm could use a crutch to support a broken leg. He also wasn’t looking forward to having to face Squall or the others after what happened. He didn’t feel like being around anyone, actually. Zell had ventured forth not too long ago with Squall, Zack, Riku, Harry, and Cable to go fight dinosaurs. Zell was a SeeD, a combat specialist. He had fought many monsters and was pretty good at it back home. Here, he had been the first to go down. He should probably feel lucky to still be alive. Zell blamed himself. He should have been stronger, quicker, or smarter. The rest of the combat would’ve gone better if he had been supporting the fight instead of being a distraction. Zell was his own worst critic, aside from Seifer. A memory of Seifer in a dream came back to haunt him. In the dream, Seifer had said, “I always knew you’d be the first to fail, Zell. You’ve always been weak.” His best hadn’t been enough. It was him. There were also minor scrapes and cuts from the fiasco, and a big bruise on the edge of his forehead where he had hit a tree. It was a good thing he had raised his arm just before impact. It was better for his arm to take most of the damage as opposed to taking the full impact to his head. He had gotten himself out of the clinic as soon as possible after spending the night there. That Dr. House guy had put him back together alright, but let’s just say Zell missed Dr. Lam. During the long trek, he got weary and sat down. His head still ached, and his whole body was still recovering. His mind wandered. He couldn’t believe what had happened! It all sucked so bad. No, HE was the one who sucked. Stupid island! He hated it here. Not too long after sitting down, he angrily flung a crutch. Watching it land, he realized that only meant he’d have to walk more AND bend over to pick the stupid thing up. Damn it! He noted someone coming up towards him. Zell sighed, closed his eyes, and rubbed his aching head. He wished whoever it was would just keep walking and not see him in such a sad state. [OOC: He’s not in the cheeriest of moods. Pups can meet come him for the first time, but you won’t be catching him at his best. ST/LT, late tags ok, all tags good!] | |
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Ronon is annoyed with the remnants of the chicken pox, and Jennifer attempts to distract him. | |
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Lipton was making a chair. Woodworking had always been a hobby of his, and while he was by no means an expert, he could usually turn out simple furniture with clean lines and sturdy frames. He'd learnt as much from a childhood tendency to take things apart and put them back together again as he had from any person - just as he'd learnt that once you took something apart, it was always far more difficult, and sometimes impossible, to reassemble it.
He sanded the piece of wood he was working on, his face set. The plan had been to make a chair, but that had been hours ago, and the decent finished product stood a few feet away. So the plan had changed, and that chair was quickly on it's way to becoming part of a set. Between Currahee, the Officers' Club and the Boarding House, he was sure to find some corner to shove them in.
The Boarding House. It had only been a day since the conversation there that was the real reason why he was on a chair building spree.
Lipton liked facts. They were straightforward, clearly right or wrong, and could be strung together into theories or strategies.
So. The facts, as he understood them, stood thus:
1) He was married.
2) The woman he was in love with was not his wife.
3) His feelings were reciprocated.
4) She had removed herself and her daughter from his life.
And, despite how many times he went over the points in his head, there was not a thing he could do about any of it. And so he sanded, and kept himself busy, and tried not to think about how Miss Bennet and Lydia had filled some missing part of him that he hadn't really realized had been lacking until they were gone. He kept sanding, and ignored the guilt and self-disgust twisting in his gut that he felt this way at all.
((He's out behind the Officers' Club, and obviously chanelling his feelings about something into that woodworking. ST/LT loved!)) | |
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Dated October, 2009: After being surprised by both books of Westeros and an island gift, Sansa finally heads back to Susan and has a heart to heart with her goodsister.
Dated Early November, 2009: Sansa is still fretting over the tales of Westeros she found, Caspian tries to convince her not to worry but she has questions over the contents that she didn't read. Even if his comfort does not work at first, they are distracted when feeling the baby start to move and Sansa is eventually convinced that worrying will do her no good. [HERE | In Progress | PG] | |
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Dated November 10, 2009: Curiosity gets the better of him and Jack puts on a new reel titled "Children of Earth". He's horrified by what he sees. Logan is with him and he's also disturbed by the sight of Jack's future. When it's over they talk and argue a little, then Logan offers some comfort and distraction. Afterward, there's a bit more serious discussion of monsters and the future and they both fall asleep assured that Jack isn't that guy. [WARNING: 100% SPOILER FOR CoE from the very first line.] [HERE | Complete | Adult] | |
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Blind date.
Those two words aren't ones that she'd heard in years. Years and years, not until after Terry, before Kyle, and far before Roy. Now, though, it seemed that Donna was, in fact, going on a blind date.
Provided, of course, that she could find something to wear.
Currently, she was tearing through the clothes box, trying to find something - anything that was decent. Decent, according to the box, apparently meant lycra or acid-wash - there wasn't much between it, and while she knew full well she had the body to pull off a lycra catsuit...
"There's no way in hell," she mumbled, pulling out- a tiny, stretchy tank top emblazoned with Wonder Woman's chestguard, the cheap kind that college co-eds had taken to wearing on Halloween.
"Look," she said seriously, staring at the box. She'd dealt with enough magical things in her life that she knew that sometimes - rarely, but sometimes, still - you could reason with them. "It's been a really long time since I've even been on a date, but I really, really would like to not look like a streetwalker or a super hero. Okay? Please?" She closed her eyes, and reached into the box... only to pull out a pink tutu.
"You are no help." | |
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The last time I remember packing up my whole life like this, I was going off to war to fight for the most precious of things that life has to offer. Now, my possessions lie on shore from several treks from my former home. There's nothing noble about this retreat, there's nothing to be fought for this time. All I can hope to do is find some solace now that night is too cold to be spent alone.
It's been days. Only days. I haven't shaved, I've forced myself to eat, and I've started drinking far more because it's just easier to deal with the day and the recollection that I'm going to bed and I'm going to be alone.
I've been making trips up the dock to my boat to load it up with food, water, possessions, and the assorted miscellany that comes with moving one's home from land to sea. I'm on my third trip up the dock in the heat of the annoying sun as it presses on my skin like an obnoxious friend who won't quite leave me alone. Before trip number four, I settle on the bag of my things and stare out at the horizon, at a spot where my next home may very well be.
"I'm sorry, Joe," I apologize to a man no longer at my side. "I know you'd be pissed with this, but you don't get a say anymore," I say, rubbing a hand over my sweaty face and try to put aside all thoughts of books and futures and waking up and sliding a hand up the sheets of a bed to find nothing and no-one.
Yes, it's running away. And yes, I know this is cowardice at its highest, but I've earned this, haven't I? If anything, I've earned this. | |
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If Owen was in a sour mood today, it was for a good reason. He'd put off laundry day one day too many and was stuck in a t-shirt that read "FRANKIE SAYS RELAX" in giant letters on the front until his first load was done. It was one of the shit parts of the island that he should have been used to by now, but the clothes box refusing to be anything but as unhelpful as possible had yet to get any less annoying. Now, with a cup of coffee that he'd poured from an already made pot in the kitchen-- thank god for that-- Owen sat next to the dryer in the laundry room, waiting until he could wear something that wasn't pink and from the eighties. The bookshelf had given him some ridiculous book that was half rubbish, half complete wild speculation. Either way, before Owen realized it, he'd read nearly half of it, all the while going back and forth between laughing at how ridiculous it was and wanting to throw the thing on the ground. Sex with aliens to evolve the human race. Right. Owen had seen things that would make poor Erich von Däniken's head spin. Poor sod. | |
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[dated mid-September] When Jon comes home from the clinic, Susan can't put off telling her news any longer. It's not quite the happy occasion it was when she told him she was pregnant with Rickon, but it's good nonetheless. They then tell Rickon, who doesn't quite understand, but doesn't throw a tantrum, so that's a relief. [dated mid-November] Rickon is bored and tired of having no one pay him attention... and perhaps he's looking for a certain Lion as well. He gets a little lost, but fortunately his super-cool aunt Arya finds him and steers him in the right direction towards home and his worried mother. [ here | G | in progress ] | |
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