Hmmmm.

I never do more than one drabble, but for some reason, this week's theme seems to have provoked two.

Be Sure You Mark The Board "Private"

He almost never loses at this game.

Literati is far more fun than realworld Scrabble. Here, he can pick and choose his gaming partners; there's no puppy-eyed pouts simply because he doesn't choose to play with TV-educated American teenagers who think words like "hellacool" are legitimate.

It helps, of course, that he's a librarian. It also helps that none of his onscreen co-players could possibly see his online ID - "OxBlood56" - and link it up to Rupert Giles, librarian, watcher, university sorcerer.

Until, one day, someone crashes a game and types "Hello, Ripper."

And the user ID is RayneMagix.

First time ever, I actually did all three of the three Sunday100 allows.

"Not All Sidewalks Are Safe" (rated G, spoiler free)

The chalked set of squares on the pavement hadn't been there that morning. Anya was certain of it.

"What on earth is that? Why is it on the ground in front of my shop?"

"It's just a hopscotch board." Dawn sounded regretful. "I haven't played hopscotch since I was, like, nine, when those mean twins down the street chased me away. Those girls made me cry."

She hopped, first on one leg then on two. "I wish I had them here; I'd kick their asses, mean little brats."

As she hit the final square, the pavement opened.

"DONE!" screamed Halfrek.

Wow, Deb, was so not expecting that.

Okay, here's a little something...it won't be an epic like my last one. Homicide/Buffyverse Kay/ Whistler

To say that Kay Howard started that night pissed off was the understatement of the year. She'd been here twenty minutes already and had that loser friend of John's even called yet? No. And she'd gone to some trouble tonight, shaving all the way up her thigh and everything. And she never did that. Only for special occasions. And if she ever met the guy(and it had to be a guy) that designed these shoes, he would learn something about the business end of a service revolver. Sighing, she opened her purse, found her cell phone and called Munch.
" Don't help me, ok? Cause I could end up alone in a bar without you helping. And don't ask me to explain Women to you anymore. I'm not so good at Special Ed."

"Who is this?" he asked, sense of humor bigger than his brain, as usual.
"Ha fucking Ha. Always the comedian."
"I aim to please."

"Well, you missed".

His voice softened. "Aw, Kay, I could come down there, if you want."

" Great, then I can be your pity date."

"Don't underestimate pity. Some of my best wives were pity dates once. He's a good guy, Kay. He'll show. It's you, after all."

"If he doesn't, I can hunt you down like a dog then, hmm."

"I love it when you think win-win."
"Idiot." She hung up.

Oh my.

KAY!!!!!

When she's done shooting the shoe designer, I'm hooking up and buying her a drink, damnit.

Yeah. Me too, for all the gals that some dumb guy didn't find "fuckable" enough.

Hell, I love my high heels, colour me Jimmy Choo's bitch, but I never went on a date in my life, I loathe whole concept of "fuckable enough" (bunch of stupid bullshit, man, we have all got the necessaries, you know?).

I know precisely where she's coming from and I would love to shoot Manolo Blahnik, just for feeding my inner narcissist with so much pain. High heels, much as I adore them, are of the evil.

Yeah, well I wouldn't know. But it's a fairly universal women's complaint, otherwise. And I thought more for Kay, since she doesn't dress up all the time. And I think Mr. Blahnik should be very careful crossing the street if she is after him.

But it's a fairly universal women's complaint, otherwise. And I thought more for Kay, since she doesn't dress up all the time. And I think Mr. Blahnik should be very careful crossing the street if she is after him.

See, it's my own fault, the high heels love. I honestly don't think they were originally for standing in, so much as they were for, er, well, lying on your back while wearing. But they lengthen leg and cause pain at the same time, so they feed the inner narcissist and punish it at the same time.

And if Kay's got a bead on Manolo, I'm covering from the window across the street.

That? Must See TV, right there. Oh, the universe of foot pain I missed by not being born AB. Of course when I was a girl, they paid a therapist( the rapist) to simulate the same thing without the ego payoff, so there you go.