needsaparrot: (computer)
To: bcarson@spd.gov
From: acarson@spd.gov
Subject: Squid-raising 101

Hey, have you noticed anything weird about Cam-Mollusc recently? Off his feed, you think? He keeps rolling his ball over to the shelf with my dinosaur figures on it and knocking them all down.

love, Xander

P.S. Dinner at that place with the two-headed waiters tonight?

[E-mail is to the boy, obviously, but Xander's around for incoming mail, calls, or twinkies.]
needsaparrot: (computer)


Ray was right. Sitting down wasn't a problem. Leaning back was a problem. Which was why Xander was sprawled out on his stomach on the living room rug, tapping away at his laptop.

Dear Willow:

You missed underwear gnomes. And people being shirtless in the park. And I miss you and I got a (top secret) tattoo. These things are only indirectly related. And also something else but I invoke BFF privilege #23 to not tell you what until later in exchange for you being the first person I tell when later happens.

How's tricks by you?

love,
Xander


It would be wrong to send it to himself and BCC both of them. But not like special hell wrong, so he hit Send.

[Linkdroppy, but open for the BFF if she wants to reply!]

needsaparrot: (computer)
Despite Willow's closing rhyme, Xander had walked home slowly after radio, thinking about... well, a little bit of everything. Fandom weirdness. Upcoming graduations. Sooner-coming anniversaries. Nanaimo bars.

What? He had to pass Luke's Diner.

When he lets himself into the apartment, he's glad to see Bridge's jacket draped over the back of a couch, but most of the lights are out. There's a dim glow from the master bedroom, and he follows it back there, quietly pushing the door open. The lamp on the nightstand is turned down to its lowest setting, just bright enough to make out the shape of Bridge's face in sleep, half pressed into the pillow.

After this morning's wake-up call, Xander doesn't have the heart to disturb him. Instead, he just stands in the doorway for a long time, watching the shift of the covers, rising and falling to the slow, steady sound of Bridge's breath.

Finally, he turns and walks back to the living room, pulling out his laptop to tap out one last e-mail before returning to crawl under the covers himself.

To: wrosenberg@councilofwatchers.co.uk
From: purplefrog@yahoo.com
Subject: Do not ask. Never, never ask.

Dear Willow:

I didn't lick the frog. Do you know a spell to....


...love, Xander


__
[Linkstaaaablishy! B-word-person modded with permission.]
needsaparrot: (xanderswillow)


To: wrosenberg@councilofwatchers.co.uk
From: purplefrog@yahoo.com
Subject: Know What's Funner Than Drunk-Dialing Parker?

Letting a five year old Bridge (see attachment) drunk-dial Parker. Except for the drunk part. No, he didn't stay five, or this e-mail would start with "I didn't lick the frog. Do you know a spell to..."

What else? Yeah, I can send you the podcasts of not-you and me reading the news - not sure why I didn't think of it before. But I'll skip last week's. My gift to you, because I love you and I don't want you to die of alcohol poisoning.

Speaking of gifts, my anniversary with Bridge is coming up on Sunday. I'm thinking one year plus or minus eighty-five and some change is just not the Lego Anniversary, y'know? Got any ideas?

love,
Xander

bridge5.jpg

[Estaaaablishy/linkdroppy. Xander is over here if you need him!]

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: (computer)
From: Xander Harris
Subject: Non-Surprise Birthday Party

Who: Bridge Carson

When: December 6th, 6 p.m. FHT and probably up early for slowplay

Where: Mauvaise Chance Apartments, 1st Floor Holosuite

Why: 42 Free cake. You don't turn 18 every day. Unless you're trapped in a time-loop.

Don't bring: Time-loops. Unattached limbs (detachable is fine). Vampires. Anything else is fair game.
____
[OOC: If you know Bridge but Xander doesn't know you, Willow who was modded with permission forwarded it.]
needsaparrot: (xanderswillow)
To: purplefrog@yahoo.com
From: wrosenberg@councilofw.co.org.uk
Date: 11/15/2007

Dear Xander: You'd BETTER be okay. I mean it, mister. Don't make me come over there... as soon as there's a there there again.

love,
your BFF who is not wigging out that your phone says it's out of area and e-mails to you or anybody with a fandomhigh address are bouncing because there's no post traumatic stress syndrome there at ALL, nope, no sir.
__

To: wrosenberg@councilofw.co.org.uk
From: mailer-daemon@yahoo.com
Subject: [message failed]

Mailbox "purplefrog" unreachable.

This may not be a permanent error.

>Dear Xander ...
__
[OOC: Establishy, and NFB since it never reached the island!]
needsaparrot: (xanderswillow)
To: purplefrog@yahoo.com
From: wrosenberg@councilofw.co.org.uk
Date: 11/13/2007

Tech, low: I refer the distinguished gentleman... )
__

To: wrosenberg@councilofw.co.org.uk
From: mailer-daemon@yahoo.com
Subject: [message failed]

Mailbox "purplefrog" unreachable.

This may not be a permanent error.

>Tech, low: ...
needsaparrot: (computer)
To: wrosenberg@councilofw.co.org.uk
From: purplefrog@yahoo.com
Date: 11/12/2007

Dear Willow )
needsaparrot: (computer)
To: Parker
From: Xander
Date: Wednesday, October 17th

>Half relieved not to be there, half very very very ... concerned for you. And Bridge. And the others. Gah.

On the other hand, you're missing possessed board-games with funny monkeys. And, okay, man-eating spiders, but what's a little man-eating between friends, right?

Go ahead. Take it. That was me handing you the straight-line on a plate.

>*mutters to self in Chinese and wishes for you to be unemployed in secondary job*

How about underemployed? I'd settle for that. Keep the Slayer, lose the vampires. She could save the world from dust bunnies, mimes, and bad cheese. Oh, or we could just hire her out to protect all the other kids from the Invasion of the Parents this weekend, poor bastards.

No, I'm not sure if I mean the kids or the families. Better them than me, is all I'm saying. Thank God all I have to worry about is the evil undead.

And the bad cheese.

~Xander
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)
Xander's got an e-mail home open, half-written, as he lounges on the couch with the laptop. Oddly, it's not to Willow, this time - not that it's always to her, but she tends to get the bulk of them due to BFF privileges.

This time, though, it's to the other best friend.

Dear Buffy:

So I met Bridge's parents. His mom pulled a knife on me. Good times. I'm not in tiny card jail, though, which I think I'm supposed to take as a sign that they like me. In other news, mini-Fandom-Andrew got the lead in the school play. I'm not sure if I should warn him about possible fairy possession or warn the school about possible monkey-demons. I'm not sure this school would even notice possible monkey-demons; it's not like we did.

64,000$ question: What if Angel'd still been evil after he got the soul back? What would you have done? Except you did, when you killed him, so I guess I'm asking what should I have done to hel---


If you think, given how close that gets to mentioning things he's never mentioned, that this letter's going nowhere fast, you're not wrong.

[OOC: For the guy whose parents haven't put Xander in tiny card jail yet.]
needsaparrot: (computer)
To: wrosenberg@councilofw.co.org.uk
From: purplefrog@yahoo.com

Dear Willow )
needsaparrot: (xanderswillow)
To: wrosenberg@councilofw.co.org.uk
From: purplefrog@yahoo.com
Date: 6/27/2007: 5:18 pm
Subject: re: This, That, Other

*poke whenever you get back from wherever you've been all week* So am I going to Hell for supplying vodka to the underaged or just for dating them? Eight out of ten underage boyfriends want to know.

love, Xander
__

To: purplefrog@yahoo.com
From: wrosenberg@councilofw.co.org.uk
Date: 6/28/2007: 2:57 am
Subject: re: re: This, That, Other

What, the gay sex and Barbie-stealing wasn't edgy enough for you? Show-off.

love, Willow
p.s. And now I shower. You do not want to know where I've been all week.
needsaparrot: (computer)
So, Xander is sitting in his living room with a laptop in that most surprising of places, his lap, and a long familiar Dear Willow typed on the screen in front of him. Of course, that's as far as he's got.

Because really - Dear Willow: So remember that relationship I used to have that was only slightly illegal? Well, you can cross off both the 'used to' and the 'slightly' now. Then on Sunday, our kids from the future (including my son with Parker and no, that never happened kthx) showed up. And one of them was actually ours. Mine and Bridge's. Really, seriously ours. And I'm completely in love with her. According to her (see attached), it involved a jar. I'm hoping that was five year old for 'Petri dish.' And then they left. And I miss them liek whoa. And now he wants me to meet his parents and he thinks they won't have any problem with the fact that their seventeen year old son is dating a twenty-six year old man. Also, I think I invented a new tv show. Love, Xander.

Yeeeah. He could just pre-write the reply. Dear Xander: Again with the frog-licking? Love, Willow.

So. Laptop. Lap.
needsaparrot: (z-girl-neutral)
To: wrosenberg@councilofw.co.org.uk
From: purplefrog@yahoo.com
Subject: Five Most Recent Ways To Reassure Yourself That I am Actually In Fandom

1. I fixed a leak for a man named Moist.

2. Talking about the weather includes the words "pudding rain."

3. My ex-roommate isn't returning my calls because she's on another planet.

4. My ex-boyfriend is jailbait now drunk-dialed me last night to ask me about nose-cheese.

5. I WOKE UP SEE ATTACHMENT WTF.

love,
Xander

P.S. Whoever invented the underwire must die. Well, he's probably already dead, but you could bring him back, right?
__
Attachments: omgwtfbbqiamagirl.jpg | noseriouslydidimentionwtf.jpg

[OOC: establishy; there'll be an open MCA office post in a bit.]
needsaparrot: (computer)
You'd think after last night, Xander would be sleeping in, and he did try, but he woke sometime long before he felt really rested. Rather than stare at the ceiling until it was a decent hour to call...people, he got up, showered, and did stuff that wouldn't wake anybody up who wasn't already awake.

It was hella later in Brazil, so he did try to call there, but he was met only with Kennedy's apologetic voice. He left a message for Willow with her and a Happy Birthday one on Buffy's cell, then went back to peering at his laptop. Noting the number of truly new e-mails that had already come in, he decided the old ones could wait until he'd saved everybody some WTF.

To: E-mail flood victims ) Sorry about that... )

Then and only then did he let himself read through the messages he'd been sent while he was gone, with the cellphone on hands-free so he could finally listen to the rest of his voicemail while he read.

When the last 'old' message started playing, though, Xander lifted his gaze from the screen and just stared. And then made a call it was always going to be too early to make.

When three hours had passed with no response, he made another. Which was ALWAYS a link, yes.


__
[OOC: Open for a call from [livejournal.com profile] izzyalienqueen that he's not expecting, as well.]
needsaparrot: (looking up - seated)



Or possibly shortly before first period, if you still measured things that way.

"Hey. I let you sleep as long as I could, but this is kind of where you get off."

Xander blinked and opened his eye muzzily to catch a nice view of the ceiling of a luxury stretch Honda Civic. An unopened manila folder was still clutched in his hand, he noted. He'd barely functioned well enough when he got off the plane to find the arrivals desk, figure out which car was waiting for him, and crash in the back-seat while the driver loaded his luggage. Reading faxed printouts or checking his e-mail was somewhere up there with advanced physics at this point; he hadn't even been awake enough to remember to turn on his phone.

"I checked your stuff in at the hotel, but you'll have to walk on up there by yourself," the driver was saying. Xander shifted and stretched to find that the only thing in the car with him was his laptop bag, propped under his arm, and the folder. "End of the road for anything bigger than a golf cart."

"...golf cart?" That'd be about when Xander opened the door and looked outside.

He was pretty sure his driver said something to him after that. Possibly there was even a tip involved. Possibly the biggest tip the guy had ever received, or maybe a drycleaning receipt; he couldn't be sure. Xander was too busy walking and staring, a bag over his shoulder and a manila folder in his hand.

Right about then, a few e-mails went out. Too bad he doesn't know that. )



[OOC 2: Just establishy. He'll be in town, lalala.]

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