It's Friday, which means no work and there's that trip up the mountain tonight. It's also Xander's anniversary, which means as cool as the volcano might be -- you'd hope -- the rest of Fandom can enjoy trekking up it in this decidedly not-cool weather without them.
"That was good," Xander says as the door closes behind them and they scuff out into the sand. "Different, but good."
[OOC: For the B-word-person, early posty for late worky, then SP for great... late worky.]
Space Battles. He was almost up to the metal bikini.
[OOC: For the BFF. Will also be a linkdrop soonish, la.]
Right, a little. Right. So Xander's taken the time to set up various things picked up on the mainland yesterday, as well as one retrieved from the Post Office, express mail from Brazil. The apartment's flickering with soft gold light, and Xander's waiting more than a little nervously for Bridge to let himself in.
This is a good idea, right? Right. Really. Right. Right.
[OOC: For the soon to be bewildered b-word-person. That Bridge showed up is fine for broadcast, what he finds... not so much. Eventually NWS.]
...And being a Harris might have something to do with why his apartment now smells like a combination of chocolate cake and burny, burny death.
Hooray for good ventilation systems? By which we mean a fan and a lot of open windows.
[OOC: For the gloved one. No, not you, Michael Jackson; get your own burnt cake. Up early for great Have You Met Us We'll Be SPing This Til Tuesday justice. Tumbles off the couch into NWSness.]
But hey, it's cold out there and warm in here, there's eggnog on the coffeetable, and Bitterwoman: A Very Bitter Holiday is playing on at least three channels tonight; he checked. Who is Xander to fight the inevitable?
[OOC: for he who is not Xander, and yet has an anniversary today. What a coincidence! Idling in the general direction of NWS. Someday. After there is sleeps.]
"Sorry, not quite the date I had planned," he says, leaning against a rather tall headstone.
[OOC: For the boyfriend, and they'll be out of there before any other hijinx might occur, if you're planning to use the graveyard tonight. That they were here is fine for broadcast, what they were up to, not so much.]
Xander's on the couch with his laptop out, poking at the books for (Y)MCA. Damn if it hasn't been a busy month, between new tenants and repair jobs coming in. Not that he can complain; it'll give him something to answer when his fellow grads ask what he's been up to besides "went bowling, ate challah, and watched Dawn turn eighteen for the second time." That and reassure them that the fine upstanding Fandom tradition of crazy people on the radio hasn't died out.
[For ze boyfriend]
Which is why, now that Bridge is feeling better, Xander's got his apartment all set up for a romantic evening.
You know. Pizza, highly-caffeinated soda, Galaxy Quest dvds.
[OOC: for the obvious person-type person.]
So now they're enjoying an all-night marathon of Bitterwoman : the Season Where It All Went To Hell. Hey, popcorn is good for more than just eating, you know...
[OOC: The bf modded with permission. Just establishy, as we're both sort of tired and bleh, but these guys would likely try to be out fighting if they were actually aware.]
Now, there is pasta bubbling on the stove and a Xander in the kitchen. Yes, despite the fact that the apartment came with a food replicator; it's a thing. A certain plans for this evening thing. A "two months ago we weren't a thing and now we're a thing again" thing.
[OOC: For....this will surprise no one, Bridge.]
[OOC: For Bridge, likely mildly NWS. Eventually. Shut up.]
Next to his laptop sat his phone. Open to the right number, ready to send, even. Every so often he'd look at it but not pick it up, because what the hell was he supposed to say? And maybe the point was he shouldn't say anything at all.
Instead, he was slumped on the couch, and though his eyelid had slowly drooped shut, he wasn't sleeping. No. He was... processing information. Right.