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)

When you're living in the future with no job to speak of and not much to do but watch tv with alien subtitles and answer e-mails from your fellow alumni, shockingly enough there's plenty of time for things like preparing an anniversary dinner.

Not that he didn't know that traditionally one month was like the Kleenex Anniversary or something, but dude. He was a Harris. Well, an ex-Harris. One month without even threats of divorce or flying crockery was probably a new world record for his family.

And thus there was Chinese food, because it was something not made by a synthesizer, it was something he could walk in off the street and order without being afraid humans couldn't actually digest it, and oh yeah -- it was what they'd eaten on their first date.

[OOC: for the S-word person! No, not you, Sean Connery.]

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.

So.

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

[OOC: For the BFF. Will also be a linkdrop soonish, la.]

Xander's in the kitchen, being thinky. And cooking. Which mostly consists of poking at the food synthesizer to see what wacky-but-still-edible things he can get it to make, since he knows better than to trust himself with an actual stovetop while engaging in thinkiness.

It's not bad thinkiness, necessarily - despite the construction project being over, and the last week of it being tainted with Umbridge-related nastiness, they had put the school back together. And Umbridge was gone. Resoundingly, loudly gone. Yay.

But other people are going to be gone too, which less with the yay. And, well. Thinky.
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[OOC: for the less-than-pleased BF]

Apparently the weekend -- exits and entrances, expected parties and unexpected reappearances, applause and explosions, and... brunch, as you do -- had finally caught up with Xander, because he was nursing one of those hide-behind-the-eyepatch headaches. He'd already taken something for it, but that was just keeping the dull throb from creeping out into the rest of his head.
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[OOC: for someone with a festive umbrella. No, not you, Jamie.]

If there were any squirrels still awake who'd been unlucky enough to get assigned a possession story?

There was a 3/4 full bottle of rum just outside the door to Apartment Negative Pie. Xander put it there somewhere between the call to Rory and the other one. That he totally didn't make.

Why Xander put the rum outside in the lobby had something to do with going through the first bottle too fast and hoping to save some of the second for after the call that he totally didn't make. Which was all well and good in theory, but completely dependent on the highly unlikely possibility that after he hung up from the call he totally didn't make, he'd remember there was a bottle outside his door. Or... a lobby outside his door.

Just sayin'.
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[Establishy. Though squirrels are welcome to steal the rum. Xander won't notice, trust me.]

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.]

Xander? Had not had the best night. Oh, it had started off well enough, but then his potential meals-and-more had been fangblocked by that little blonde Slayer, and his reunion with Willow went tits-up too, and not in the fun way. Actually, in the crossy, burny, owie, insult to injury way. He was tired, he was hungry, he had cross-burns on his chest and he-didn't-want-to-think-about-it in his hair, and the last thing he wanted to do was trek halfway across this damn island on foot to get from the preserve out to the hotel again.

Which is why when he passed the apartment building with the darkened full-length patio windows on the ground floor, he cocked his head and peered inside. A whine so high-pitched that probably only dogs and vampires could hear it announced that there was an alarm on the place, but he traced the sound to the well-concealed little box it was coming from, and ripped out the wires connecting it to the door. Then he shrugged, wrapped his jacket around his hand, and ( punched through the glass )
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[OOC: So very very very establishy only because omg 4:30 a.m. Unless BFF-with-benefits would like to track him here and show up before dawn.]

Right, this wouldn't be Xander pacing around, worrying about Bridge and Z and cursing the lack of new news, in between poking verrrrry carefully at the old news in his in-box in case something jumps out and bites him. Which hey, Fandom, always a possibility.

He was also hoping he might hear from somebody who'd be likely to understand how completely fraxx0red his brain was right about now.
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[OOC: For willbedone]