Fray-Adjacent

While Fandom weirdness had been laying low for a while aside from certain timeline-related Moments Of Awkward, holiday and birthday-type activities had more than stepped up to fill in the space. So tonight's a rare night of relaxing in front of the tv, since most of Xander's non-party time this week has been spent up in the workshop, not being an elf. Exactly.

But certainly not burglarizing Christmas, unlike someone on his tv screen right now.

[OOC: For the non-redheaded tiny Jewish Santa b-word-person.]

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.

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[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.]

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."
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[OOC: For Bridge, infesty discussion topics NFB, please.]

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]

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.]

"Shut up." Xander was not talking to a frog. At all.

Okay, maybe it'd be more accurate to say Xander was not speaking to the frog. What? Jeremiah kept staring at him.

"Did Giles put you up to this? Dawn?" Xander had a unique definition of 'not speaking,' yes.

"Rideep?" //Cricketplz?//

"I'm so not having this discussion with you. And not just because I don't speak Frog."

Xander wasn't talking to a frog; he was putting a frog tank in the bedroom.
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[OOC: For the BFF]

Xander? Hiding out in his apartment channel-surfing and avoiding all contact with humanity instead of venturing out in public? After a meeting at the birthday party he and Peter had thrown for a certain advice-giving BFF had led directly to something he was unsuccessfully desperately avoiding thinking about, last night in the park?

Whyever would you think that?
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[OOC: He's not exactly expecting a phone call, but that's what this post is for.]

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.
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[OOC: for a certain returning wayfarer, yis]