Am, you are a very, very, very, very odd person. Keep going.

Also, if people want to take regular old photos of themselves in their tiaras I will scan them in and put them in our tiara gallery. Actually, I should set up the gallery and have everyone send me their photos.

Very very very odd struck again.

I read what Lizard was saying about poetry and something clicked. I've been trying this in prose for nearly two weeks, ever since I saw 'Lessons', but poetry suits it much better, I think. Prose demands to have some sort of plot, to go somewhere, but poetry can just be 'in the moment'.

Spike, of course (you'd tell me if it turned into William, wouldn't you? I trust you on that); comments welcome.

In the walls and in my head:
The Other One- Old One- came tonight.
I tried to cut it out but it stuck.

Too late to wish I were dead,
I was late, but she could still fight.
Should have warned her. Made her duck.

“You’re pathetic,” that’s what it said,
“Like our little songs in the dark of night.”
Dropped my board in the water. Schmuck.

Devils With Halos

Now that the Canadians have 4x10

==========================

He's staring once again through iron bars, praying to anyone who will listen that the end will once more justify the means. Foolish to have thought he knew what he'd be up against, what they'd be up against. More foolish still to have considered himself prepared based on book learning and one encounter with what he'd assumed at the time was Angelus. That wasn't the real thing, no more than the Doximall-induced bliss had been real.

For as terrifying as that small taste had been, it is nothing compared to what he's feeling now, a cold chill that has nothing to do with the darkness they are fighting, everything to do with the darkness they've brought forth. He's brought forth. Once again, he's taken matters into his own hands. Should something go awry, no matter that they all agreed to it in the end, his will be the hands stained with blood.

If this fails, the repercussions will be far worse than a pillow in the face or a knife to the throat, and he's no longer sure that there is anything any of them can do to gain the cooperation of their captive.

The laughter echoes in the room, in his head, and he can hear the echo of every one of his many failures reflected in the notes. There's no trace of Angel in that laugh, in that smile. Angel took no joy from his moments of malice. Angelus, he feels certain, will delight in nothing save malevolence.

Ooooooh

wibble

I am very close to building a shrine to Plei. IJS.

You don't have anything else to do with your life than write more of that, do you, Plei?

with a life size statue of her on one side, and a life size statute of Scruffy!Wes in the other, with a space next to it for visiting statutes (Jayne, Gunn, etc)?

edited to say- you'd never guess I was a lawyer would you, since that's really supposed to be statues.

I'm writing porn with the rest of my life, thank you very much.

I've been challenging myself, you see. Last time, it was to write something in 500 words, no more, no less. This time, I decide that 250 was my goal.

Oh, what a great idea Perkins! Though, I think room on each side, Scruffy!Wes on one side and To Be Rotated at will on the other.