meh.

[lyssie]

am probably dropping fh tomorrow (or, y'know, Sunday, when I have some free time). There doesn't seem much point in staying: I don't participate anywhere (except with Willow, and once I feed her to the wolves hand her over to the scary Galactica crowd, she'll have lots of interaction). And it's not the free-form, silly rp I was expecting. I barely have the brain to do 'in class' replies, and that seems kind of pointless, in the end.

I suppose if I'd gone to high school, I'd be more in tune or interested.

Oh well.

Tomorrow, I get to work 8 hours.

Comments

[(Anonymous)]

One down, the other to float for a bit, I think. sigh.

Note to self: if you have the energy tonight, edit the phone tree and then edit the post on the ooc comm, and post a new link to it (plus the nice, dl-able .txt file) for any and all use.

[(Anonymous)]

what the hell. No one has 'commentspam is love' as an interest! And in this group one would think it would have been done ages ago. hrm.

[nakedtoes.livejournal.com]

*steals it from you*

[lyssie.livejournal.com]

Whee!!

[woodface]

*cuddles and is sad because Cam liked Sparky*

[(Anonymous)]

Sparky says it's kind of nice not to have to worry about flunking out due to lack of interest.

*pets*

[woodface]

Yeah. So now Cameron is angsting to Weir about losing his love and his roommate. *pats him*

[(Anonymous)]

*spams self with b7friday and ffriday fics*



Aeryn's buying a gourd when the thief's fingers slide across her waist, searching.

Two seconds later, he's on his back, her pulse pistol at his throat.

"Please..." he says.

And he's covered in dirt and things she doesn't want to name--the dull terror in his eyes reminds her of Stark.

She remembers this sort of desperation, the need to survive driving her to any manner of actions. Her grip loosens.

But she's not so lost to Peacekeeper training that she gives him anything. Instead she stands, sheathes her weapon, and walks on.

The thief's hand closes around the gourd.


-=-=-


no more regret

"You've got the cargo?" She's trying for tough and no-nonsense, but the man she's dealing with knows her far too well.

A flicker of a smile at the edges of his lips is gone a moment later when the newly-ripped skin around his eyes puckers. "I've got it. You willing to pay?"

"More than you." Jenna figures she's allowed to sound sardonic now. A part of her wants to reach out and smooth a finger across his lips, but that's not what they are to each other anymore.

His eye darkens and he looks away, then nods. "I suppose it's too late to apologize."

"We made our beds, Blake. There's no point in trying to change that." Her own smile starts, then falls off as her second mate appears, towing the pallet they're to load.

"They're looking for this," Blake says, his tone one of warning now. All personal attention has disappeared. He's a professional, worried about his stolen cargo making it past Federation embargoes. "I'd hate to pay your tariffs and have it not arrive."

Jenna shifts, sensing Seldena's anger at this slur to their characters. "Are you accusing me of charging more than we're worth?"

"Not at all," as if sensing the shift in their attitudes, Blake steps back, hand twitching towards the blaster on his hip. "Let's just say, I know the Federation well."

"So you do." Knowing Seldena is competently eyeing his trigger fingers, Jenna turns her back on him. "Loaded?"

"Yes, Captain." Ever-correct, the dark-haired woman's clipped reply echoes with an accent few can place.

"Jenna..." he starts, but stops, as if uncertain what to say to her.

But she knows what to say, and it's a bitter lesson, too. As her boots make deep thunking noises against the decking, Jenna says softly, "Goodbye, Blake."

-=-=-=-=-=-