Every vibe in the world for the internet spouse...funny, that's caught on for my local beta, too. He's always asking about "the missus" these days. Allyson, what Deb said. About being in your book. Besides I've named a character after you, anyway.(I probably should have asked first, huh? But she's a hero, so I guessed it would be all right.) Deb, not a problem. I could relate...see tag. (There's this bumper sticker a lot of disability movement people have that says that "natural" thing...to make the point that because we're different, doesn't mean there's anything to fix, nature's infinite variety and so forth..) Everytime I see one, I think of natural things that aren't all that pretty, you know?

Vibeage for Deb, writage for Allyson.

Still pondering green.

Can she have a decent date, erika? I don't want to impose, really, but one of us, either fictional me or real me, should get some smoochies.

In the last book, he was decent, very hot, and married. Maybe she'll get a single one next time...

Thanks, erika. My fictional self is content.

deb, all the good karma you sent my way is spun back in your direction.

Vibes to Deb~~

Heh. Allyson, having read your avatar's adventures in the first half of erika's first one starring her? She has no problem with the smooches. And she can have lunch with ita's fictional avatar, Domitra Calley, bodyguard to a rock star. In While My Guitar Gently Weeps, she gets herself a very pretty chewtoy, a martial arts-loving roadie named named Doug Hewlet, who is based on this guy, at least physically.

I thought ita would like him to play with.

Mmmm, chewtoy. What? Not poaching, just drooling. From the sidelines. As it were.

He's a very pretty chewtoy, I think part Maori.

ita, when shown his picture, had no objections to her avatar playing with him, and I do not mean rugby. In fact, her employer - the rock star - offers to stand outside her bedroom door and make sure no one bugs them, for a change, since protecting him from whackjobs is her usual gig, and he spends a lot of time in the bedroom with predatory ladies.

Sneaking in a "green" drabble under the wire...

Green

The highway signs are green, with every possible destination spelled out. This many miles to New York City, this many to Pennsylvania, this many still to go, wherever you’re driving.

The children are settled in the backseat, strewn with Goldfish and cookie crumbs, well-thumbed books and the baby’s toys, empty soda cups from the rest stop meal at McDonald’s. They don’t know how tempting it is to look for a place green with late summer’s lush trees, with quiet streets and neat little houses, a place to call home.

The light at the exit ramp turns green. I keep driving.