needsaparrot: (sprawl)
The weeks leading up to and following graduation had been... busy was not the word. Or well, it was one of the words, along with eventful, Fandomtastic, scary, heart-stopping, sad, worrying, nostalgia-inducing, work-filled, relieving, newsy, romantic, and occasionally MA-rated. Some of which weren't words, but whatever. It all added up to Xander not having had a chance to just flop down and vegetate in front of the tv for quite a while.


Space Battles. He was almost up to the metal bikini.

[OOC: For the BFF. Will also be a linkdrop soonish, la.]
needsaparrot: (smile - looking down longhair)
If Bridge and Xander slept in really, really late and are still kind of lazing around in bed, well, it's been a long, busy week. And if they're still really, really sleepy, well, yesterday was prom night, and Xander had visiting royalty in his bed. You do the math.

[For the B-word-persons.]
needsaparrot: (ducking head)
After everything that had been going on this week, Xander knew better than to wander around town alone, but staying inside the building was making him want to wear a circular track in the lobby carpet as he read and re-read the letters from the past he'd received from Mel, Willow and Bridge, trying to see if there was some clue he was missing because he wasn't Willow or Bridge. He wasn't the brains of the operation. He was the guy who was okay with an axe and getting better with a crossbow again and awesome at providing sarcasm and pastries, none of which was going to get the people he loved back from the past.

Eventually, he shook his head and headed up to the roof, letters in hand. At least there he could get some air and maybe think a little clearer, and he'd have the best view in town; not like he wouldn't see any angel statues heading for the building, from that high up. He leaned against the waist-high wall overlooking the streets below, smoothing out Bridge's second letter, the one that made him want to punch bricks, to re-read it yet again.

[OOC: For one. Muahaha.]
needsaparrot: (sleepy)
Like last weekend, Xander had spent this one with his boyfriend. Unlike last weekend, said boyfriend was in no condition to do any... practice-exam-taking. As you do on Spring Break weekends. Instead, there was a lot of ice cream, ear-skritching, DVD-watching, and working up plans for a closet-remodel.

At least he still had a warm body to sleep with? Even if half the time he woke up with a furry tail tickling the end of his nose.

Which, oddly, isn't happening right now. Xander's 7/8ths asleep, so he isn't quite registering what's wrong with that, but his fingers are already patting around on the pillow reaching for something that isn't there.

[OOC: For the furry tail-owner. Up early for great OMG a weekend away from RP - withdrawal! Withdrawal!]
needsaparrot: (sprawl)

Isabel had gone home after their meeting with Parker and Jarod, but Xander and Bridge had decided they'd be less wiped-out tomorrow if they stayed here instead of going back to the island. It'd have been nice if there were any rooms left at the Hyatt besides the rockstars-have-parties-in-the-jacuzzi kind, but any bed without living things besides him and Bridge in it would do, really, for one night.

At least this was a slow week, not another one filled with recovering from being taken over by somebody else for the weekend or visiting people in the clinic. Hate The Moon Day Parties and birthdays were a lot less exhausting. So was spending time with Bridge, meeting new tenants, and goofing off with old friends.

Tomorrow, though.... not so much with the goofing off. Xander flops back on the motel room bed and stretches, then sits back up, fiddling with the remote, kind of tired and wired at the same time.

[For the B-word-person. NFB due to distance, NWS due to magic fingers.]

needsaparrot: (handyman)
It'd been one of those weekends. If by that you mean "those weekends you dream about and then wake up promising yourself never to touch runny cheese at a college mixer ever, ever again."

Still, he had a guest, of sorts, and he might as well show her that he did something besides Apartment Managing, without showing her the other thing he did besides Apartment Managing. Which was why they were currently in the elevator heading for the roof of the building.
[OOC: for the parental unit! B-word-person also welcome laterwards, if desired.]
needsaparrot: (with Bridge)
This wasn't exactly what Xander had had in mind for the six-month anniversary of... there being anything to have an anniversary of, but given various conversations yesterday, it doesn't seem like something to be put off.

"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.]
needsaparrot: (sitting)
Homecoming weekend and talking to old friends? Good.

Old friends who call to tell you about infestations of the undead? Not so good.

At this point Xander's just grateful there's at least one person he won't have to leave a voice-mail for, since he's already here.

"That's the last of them," Xander says, thumbing off his phone. "For now, anyway."
[OOC: For Bridge, infesty discussion topics NFB, please.]
needsaparrot: (with Buffy)

Ooh look, a dining room table. With food on it.

Since he's himself again, Xander's figuring it's probably his turn to make breakfast - or in this case brunch, since he's waiting for Bridge's class to let out before feeding him. Which he's all for, because brunch is very firmly daylight, and right now? Daylight is of the good.

Somebody to eat said food would be good too.
[OOC: for the b-word-person. Bitey-fangy-pointy conversation topics NFB, please.]

needsaparrot: (computer)

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]

needsaparrot: (computer)

Dear Willow )
needsaparrot: (wtf)
So you'd think with the day off from the construction site, Xander would be able to have a nice relaxing time - sleep in, kick back, put the cell on silent, watch some tv, right? Well, it had started that way. Then he checked his voicemail.

First there was a prank-call from Mel, which he had to admit got him for a second. Then one from a complete stranger asking to partake of his skills in girl-talk. Which was... sort of a compliment, he guessed?

Then the offer of not-in-public OMGWTFNO from that wizard kid, which he had to call Bridge about becausesdkj see OMGWTFNO, then the bowling invite which was actually nice, even if he didn't recognise the voice. Maybe Dawn would fill him in on who it was, since he passed it on to her. Then Isabel asking if he wanted some Gatorade, which again, nice, if random. Not that she'd ever come over with it after he called her back.

Just when he'd thought they were getting less weird, there was the call from the kid who captured his twinkie (*) which was less of the OMGWTFNO and more of the WOW HI AWKWARD and FLAIL but also aww, and he had to think about his reply for a while before he knew what to say.

And then bang zoom, straight into the OMGWTFWTFWTF with a message from Bridge, and no answer when he tried to call back to find out what was going on.

And then there was what was clearly a wrong number from Peter but added worries about his BFF's relationship to Xander's concern about his own, and following that....

Well, following that was the Mountie who clearly got hit on the head by an I-beam this morning which left Xander feeling guilty about not being at the site, and following that was the one that is responsible for Xander's current state of staring in wide-eyed horror at his phone - because THAT is so not Bridge. Not that he doesn't kind of wish Bridge would call him and say something like that, but it's NOT, so... asdfghjkl!

[OOC: Open for that one dude. You know, him.]
needsaparrot: (pondering)
Xander has a perfectly logical reason to be piling up pillows, blankets, and sofa cushions on the floor of the den. No, really.

Yeah, there'd been good parts to the last two weeks, and work - of several kinds - was fine, even though his Slayer's taking off for another dimension for the weekend.

But people leaving, people who left, people who might get a little nervous about the idea of him going anyplace... It would make anybody sane consider moving into a fort for the near future.

Granted that doesn't explain why Xander's doing it.
[OOC: For the fort-buddy. ...Still not you, Madrox. A NWS scene follows this post, but is filtered.]
needsaparrot: (sprawl)
After a night of patrolling with Mel turned into Slayerfest 2007, Xander had decided to pass on following that up with a trip to Caritas, and had instead headed home to relax. He could thus now be found curled up on the couch poking about a new copy of a certain book, now that his laptop was all shipshape and internets-getting again, post-blackout.
[OOC: for certain expected guestages.]
needsaparrot: (sprawl)
Xander sat in the den, books and printouts about vampires, Slayers, time-travel, use of technology with the supernatural spread out around him, laptop in front of him. He hadn't really been getting anywhere, and not just because Willow and Giles were the experts at this kind of thing and he... knew how to use Google and had passed the stage where he got distracted for very long by woodcuts of nymphs. There just didn't seem to be anywhere to get.

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.

needsaparrot: (sitting)
After a week full of encounters, some of them less awkward than others and at least one a lot less expected than others, Xander was alone.

More specifically, he was sitting alone at the small table in his kitchen, with a beer and a box.

The tv out in the den was playing something old enough to have a laugh track and familiar enough that he wasn't really listening to it. He'd just left it on for the noise.

You'd think he'd be out there watching, since it wasn't like he was doing anything else productive, like going through the box. He was just sitting there in the kitchen, slowly sipping his beer and flipping through the first thing he'd found packed at the top of the box: a photo album.
[OOC: for a certain returning wayfarer, yis]
needsaparrot: (listening2)
After sloshing out for some lunch and checking the outside of (Y)MCA to make sure the rising damp wasn't making its way into the apartments, Xander was sitting in the living room with his laptop, listening to the radio again, since the first run-through had mostly been obliterated from his memory by his momentary freakage at Broots' totally incorrect description of yesterday's TOTALLY NON-MAKING-OUT-FILLED events.

Freakage slightly less now that he noted the ongoing theme of 'squirrels gone wild' in last night's broadcast, but still.
[OOC: For a phone call. ETA: and a visitor, la]
needsaparrot: (ducking head)
That noise coming from Xander's apartment wasn't the rhythmic thumping of a head against a wall this time. It was the sound of a guy singing in the shower about ordinary days. Loudly. So loudly that he didn't hear the phone on the bathroom counter proving that Simon and Garfunkel made a really crappy counterpoint to Great Big Sea.

Until he stepped out, wiped the steam off the mirror, and had to fumble for the cell with wet fingers before it buzzed itself off the countertop.

Then there was an outgoing call.

Then came the thumping.

[OOC: open for a specific call, but if anybody feels like dealing with him before then, he'll answer the door. He'll just be a basketcase.]

November 2011

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