Notebooks and hospitals
Jun. 26th, 2004 10:26 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
xaaraPop woke me up this morning by poking me on the shoulder and sticking a beautiful handmade notebook about two centimeters from my face. "Look what I found at a yardsale," he said.
"Look at what I found," I said, holding up my alarm clock. "And look - it hasn't rung yet." But then I took a better look at the notebook and forgave him instantly. It's a wonderful piece of craftsmanship, hemp bound and closed with a piece of bamboo that fits through two small holes in the front cover. It's almost too pretty to write in.
Little sis is still in the hospital, recovering from foot-draining surgery. Lots of digusting fun. I spent something like seven hours with her yesterday, watching Animal Planet and Anastasia and talking about various random things. I love that hospital - it doesn't smell like a hospital, which is a great relief. My sense of smell pretty much determines my comfort level in strange environments.
LiveJournal was being screwy yesterday, so I didn't manage to make my daily post, but that's okay, because hey, nothing much to report. Just the usual drabble. And since I didn't get to post it, you get an extra bonus two drabbles today!
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Xander
We go out to dust vampires. Once again, the Scoobies do the fight evil save world thing.
Except tonight the vamps ask about Buffy.
"Where's your Slayer?" says Big Vamp. "Why don't she come out to play?"
"She's busy," I lie. "She doesn't have time to waste dusting two fledglings like you." Which ranks negative points on the comeback scale.
"I ain't seen her in a week," Small Vamp says. These aren't brilliant demons, but they understand quickly enough while only processing one thought at a time.
I dust them easily enough. But if they're wondering, then others are too.
<<<<>>>><<<<>>>><<<<>>>><<<<>>>>
Spike
"Teach me how to fight." Bite-sized has never asked me for anything and it doesn't look like she's going to start now.
"Why?"
"I'm tired of being helpless."
"You're anything but helpless, Bit."
"Everyone else is good for something, but I just get in the way."
I want to explain that she's the reason I fight, but decide against explaining that to a 14-year-old. I've lived for a century: teenaged girls have always been a bloody contradictory mess. "Sunset at the training room?" I ask.
She grins, all freckles and brown hair and lankiness. "I'll pound you into the floor."
"Look at what I found," I said, holding up my alarm clock. "And look - it hasn't rung yet." But then I took a better look at the notebook and forgave him instantly. It's a wonderful piece of craftsmanship, hemp bound and closed with a piece of bamboo that fits through two small holes in the front cover. It's almost too pretty to write in.
Little sis is still in the hospital, recovering from foot-draining surgery. Lots of digusting fun. I spent something like seven hours with her yesterday, watching Animal Planet and Anastasia and talking about various random things. I love that hospital - it doesn't smell like a hospital, which is a great relief. My sense of smell pretty much determines my comfort level in strange environments.
LiveJournal was being screwy yesterday, so I didn't manage to make my daily post, but that's okay, because hey, nothing much to report. Just the usual drabble. And since I didn't get to post it, you get an extra bonus two drabbles today!
<<<<>>>><<<<>>>><<<<>>>><<<<>>>>
Xander
We go out to dust vampires. Once again, the Scoobies do the fight evil save world thing.
Except tonight the vamps ask about Buffy.
"Where's your Slayer?" says Big Vamp. "Why don't she come out to play?"
"She's busy," I lie. "She doesn't have time to waste dusting two fledglings like you." Which ranks negative points on the comeback scale.
"I ain't seen her in a week," Small Vamp says. These aren't brilliant demons, but they understand quickly enough while only processing one thought at a time.
I dust them easily enough. But if they're wondering, then others are too.
<<<<>>>><<<<>>>><<<<>>>><<<<>>>>
Spike
"Teach me how to fight." Bite-sized has never asked me for anything and it doesn't look like she's going to start now.
"Why?"
"I'm tired of being helpless."
"You're anything but helpless, Bit."
"Everyone else is good for something, but I just get in the way."
I want to explain that she's the reason I fight, but decide against explaining that to a 14-year-old. I've lived for a century: teenaged girls have always been a bloody contradictory mess. "Sunset at the training room?" I ask.
She grins, all freckles and brown hair and lankiness. "I'll pound you into the floor."
