Fray-Adjacent

You'd think two days of monster-hunting, junk-food-eating and playing Power Rangers would wear out a pretty small five year old, right?

Riiiiiight.
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[For wee!bedtime]

Xander rolled out of bed this morning completely unaware of any weirdness of the day, though it being Fandom he was sure there was some, somewhere. He wasn't really trying to guess what, though; instead he was pondering (by way of hands-on experimentation) one of life's eternal questions: is it really evil to cheat at pancakes? Does making the batter yourself make them taste better?
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[OOC: Stupid timezones. There's a morning thread for a specific weeperson, and an afternoon thread open for anybody else who might have reason to toddle by.]

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.

Between his alternate self's son with Parker, some alternate Bridge's son with Marie, and the much more surprise appearance of a daughter who Xander was still having trouble believing was possible, he was operating completely on go-with-the-flow logic at this point.

So after a long afternoon in the Park with all three of them, and calls to certain people's alterna-moms, MCA #0 had suddenly turned into YMCA #0 for the night. The couch in the living room was folded out into a bed, extra sleeping bags were strewn on the floor, popcorn had been popped, and hot cocoa was currently waiting to cool down.
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[OOC: For the extended Carson and Harris brood.]

Having finally sent Bridge home this morning because hey changes of clothes are nice, Xander was heading out into town in quest of coffee that didn't come from a --- okay, coffee that didn't come from his machine.
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[OOC: For someone wee.]

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.

Funny how processing information involved ( suddenly being back in his office )


( And then there was a knock. )



[Continued in a not-work-safe direction in a filtered post here.]

Unlike Monday night, Xander wasn't drinking to see how drunk he could get. (Or counting nipples.) He was just sitting in his living room, the tv turned down low, a tumbler of non-black, non-evil somethingorother in his hand, thinking about... well, Things.

Also, wondering if he should call back, now that a check of his phone revealed he hadn't dreamed this morning's weird wake-up call, or... think about Things some more.
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[OOC: For, er, Things.]

Xander was slouched on the sofa studying the layout of the building, wondering if he could get away with adding another wing or something to deal with the slow but steady stream of new townies that seemed to be trickling in, considering that Giles had filled the last available apartment and with the landing pad on the roof it wasn't like he could build up.

He wasn't using it as an excuse to have something to stare at besides the wall while he obssessed about various conversations, some of them more unsettling (and less one-sided) than others. At all.
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[OOC: For a specific visitrix.]

If Xander had a hammer - oh wait, he did.

There was some small irony in the fact that what he was hammering away at was a bookshelf, but really it was just something to pound small, sharp pieces of metal into at very high velocity and even higher volume. While wearing proper eye-protection.

*BANG*

It was helping. Really.
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[OOC: For a specific visitor.]