Fray-Adjacent

June 2010
Juliet's Birthday (Rory, Cally)
July 2010
There's a what in the fishtank? (Bridge, Jen, Z)
October 2010
Homecoming Carnival (Bridge, Parker, Isabel, Billy, Z, Anakin)
At the dance
Sunnydale Preunion Oh God (Willow, Tara, Kennedy)
December 2010
New Year's Eve 2025 (Bridge, Z, Jen)
March 2011
Galaxy Quest Marathon (Bridge, Z, Jen)
June 2011
Strawberry Social (Kennedy)
August 2011
Twitterfeed (Bridge, a cast of thousands)

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.
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[OOC: For the fort-buddy. ...Still not you, Madrox. A NWS scene follows this post, but is filtered.]

After talking with Cally outside, Xander ended up spending a lot more time in the garage than he'd thought he would. Cleaning tools up and putting them away, trying out a few of the machines already up there, poking at the box for the model Bridge had given him to see if he had all the necessary tools to put it together.

Not exactly a bustling social activity, but he'd had plenty of that already this week, what with waking up with company, going out for coffee and on patrol, spending time in the office enjoying the nice view, hitting Caritas and...yeah.

Sometimes it was nice to relax with something familiar, be someplace where -- unlike everyplace else on the island - he was sure of what he was doing.
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[ooc: for a particular visitor, lala. Also it always said afternoon, yes.]

Xander had unlocked the doors up there and was checking out the facilities... but not speculatively eyeing the corner room that looked like it could easily be set up as a carpentry workshop because that would mean he was thinking things he couldn't afford to be thinking.

He'd left a note downstairs at the desk indicating where he was, just in case someone came by looking for him, and one on the door of his apartment.

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[OOC: Locked to a couple of specific people to preserve sanity; veritable mountain of work on desk may mean bouts of SP-from-Hades-the-place.]

Xander was expecting to have to deal with all kinds of fallout from this weekend; he knew minor property damage was likely to be the least of his worries. What he wasn't expecting was that it would somehow end up being his broken door he was currently fixing. Diligently. With every tool in his travel case, now moved out of his former room at the Arms, spread across the floor in front of the glass doors, just in case he might need them.

Trying to occupy himself so he didn't leave yet another voice-mail message, or start thinking too hard about why he hadn't had a response to any of them? Or thinking too hard about anything, really?

Why no.
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[OOC: For do we really need to say? Why no.]