Nice Deb, very nice.

Thank you for the compliment, Erika. I just thought about someone kind of opposite of me, including a better clothes sense.

Lots of good stuff in here lately. I'm loving it.

Too true, Deena. Mine is more like the Munchkin's, in brighter colors.His look now features a lot of black, which started the Vamp! wheels turning(Looking good for me involves either a big conscious effort to come as I'm not, or someone else going "You're not leaving the house like that. Just...no.)

I just wrote some cheap Vamp!Munch/Kay PWP ...

Commented anonymously in your LJ (I still don't have one -- yay resistance to peer pressure). Didn't sign it with my name, but you'll be able to tell by the tone.

Oh, Karl. Thank you. You encourage me so much...to do what, I think I'd best not say...I've gotten so *nasty* lately. But you love me cause I have the firm, perky, allusions of a much younger woman...if we were to truly get together, you'd catch me quoting "Friends" some night and you'd lose respect for me. Then I'd lose respect for me, too...it's better this way. But I'm very proud to be your favorite literate skank. And I'm touched that you want me to be Mrs. E. Nonymous.(hugging Karl in barely platonic manner))) It's weird how writing Munchkin has brought more of the stuff from college back than anything else ever. Sometimes, I feel like "Where'd that come from?" and without the...chemical inducements that Munch sometimes subjected himself to. And I'm sure that's what's compelling me to ask what kinds of staffs knights are carrying these days;) as well as remarking that "Hey, your smut-immunity is gone." which makes me *obscenely* happy..

There's an lj communit, impulsedriven, and the idea is you get one word under a cut tag and 2 minutes to write, then stop. The only thing you can fix are typos and spelling. That's it. any fandom.

It's produced some really intersting stuff. My two have been:

Ray K, Due South (ink)

Ray sat in the chair, tense and anxious. He wanted this---to get back something of himself after the divorce. He picked the image almost on a whim, he'd been flipping through a magazine at the garage, waiting for his plastic, boring car to be fixed and he saw the ad. He knew that this was what he needed, it reminded him of high school and the person he was before he grew up, before his Dad stopped talking to him and Stella wanted out.

and

Xander (during Hell's Bells), (flight)

Xander walks out into the rain, taking the coward's way out. Walking away. The rain pours down, swirls through down the gutter, the images swirl through his brain. Maybe he can walk forever and no one will find him. It happens here all the time. If he doesn't leave now he'll hit Anya. If she never sees him again he'll never strike that blow.

I took a stab at one of the others but after two minutes I didn't have anythign intelligible.

Oh, Askye, those are neat.

I'm thinking of re-joining the sunday drabble community, but I've forgotten its name. Anyone?

open on sunday

Thanks Deena. The impulse driven thing is cool. I need to find my egg timer to make it easier.

Thanks for the name, and an egg timer is a good idea. I need to get another one. Nick borrowed mine and I'm not sure I'd want it back if I could find it.

a person tries to write, and the cats and the husband suddenly all need something done right now. Another scene that will be finished anon

Los Angeles in summer. Asphalt swelling in the sun. Brown-outs when the city power grid couldn't handle the drain of millions of air conditioners any longer. Angel could feel the heat through the walls of the Hyperion. He supposed the heat should have felt oppressive even to a vampire, but a few decades in hell did have a way of resetting a person's internal thermostat.

It had taken Cordelia to remind him that he didn't live alone any longer. Fred never complained about the heat, but she never complained about anything. Maybe to a Texan, LA in summer was a cakewalk, but Angel noticed she'd greeted her new window air condition with a small bounce of delight.

He heard it running even as he finished his morning tai chi exercises. Have to see about getting her out of that room later. Unless . . .

"Angel! Fred! Breakfast!"

Nailing her cue the way she never could no stage, Cordelia entered the lobby below. The Sunday morning ritual continued.

"You've got a housemate who needs to eat, Angel," had been another of Cordelia's lectures on Fred-care, this one delivered over a box of doughnuts and a tray of coffee. She had found a coffee shop that had a blend so dark and strong that a vampire could appreciate it. She showed up mid-Sunday mornings and made sure that Fred came out into the open for at least a couple of hours, and Angel discovered he didn't have the nerve to bow out.

Two weeks later, Wesley appeared on Sunday morning, towing the Sunday LA Times. The next week, Gunn showed up, saying he just wanted to make sure everyone was alright after whatever events had happened the Saturday night before. He stayed to read the sports section of the newspaper and argue soccer vs football with Wesley.

Angel listened to Cordy bustling around downstairs as he dressed. Fred wouldn't go down until she heard Angel was already there. It was kind of like being followed around by an adoring puppy that couldn't quite bring itself to be in the same room as you. On Sundays, though, Fred would manage to sit on the steps with everyone else in the room. She was slowly working her way lower and lower, and in a few more weeks she might even sit on one of the plush sofas in the lobby.

As he headed down the staircase, Angel heard Wes' motorcycle and Gunn's truck pull up. He wondered which of them this week would be the one to lurk in the courtyard for ten minutes so no one would think they'd arrived together.

Cordelia was setting up on the main desk: doughnuts, cinnamon rolls, orange juice, milk, coffee, and a red plastic pitcher that no one was going to mistake for human friendly again.

"Morning, Angel." She poured him a glass of blood and held it out to him, smiling brightly.

He accepted it, smiling back. "Good morning, Cordy." She went right back to setting up her buffet, but Angel watched her a moment. He had never known a human who not only took his being a vampire in strike but who even went so far as to serve him his blood. Wes and Gunn still twitched just a little at the blatant reminder of what he was, but Cordy didn't seem to care. At this year's Fourth of July party, she'd even put a little flag in his glass, like all the others.

"Good morning, all," Wes announced as he strolled through the doors. Angel raised a brief eyebrow at Gunn walking in right behind.

"Hi, guys," Cordy said. She wrestled with the cap on a glass jar. "Angel, come here and be useful." Sighing ostentatiously, Angel obeyed.

Wesley brought the Sunday paper to the desk and helped himself to a cinnamon roll. He smelled like Gunn's usual brand of soap, Angel noted as he twisted off the stubborn cap on the bottle of salsa.

"Why salsa?" asked Gunn, who leaned no the desk next to Wesley. "Hey, English, hand me one of the glazed."

"Certainly." He handed the doughnut to Gunn, a procedure which seemed to involve more finger contact than Angel assumed was strictly necessary. Wesley caught the faint smile. "What's so amusing, Angel?"

"Nothing. Cordy, why is there salsa?"

"For the nachos, silly." She emptied a bag of chips into a large bowl.

"Nachos for brunch," Wesley commented. "I suppose it makes sense to a Californian."

"It's for Fred. Familiar food, to make her feel more comfortable."

Gunn grabbed a chip and sampled the salsa. "Well, it won't go to waste either way."

Angel heard the faint footstep on the stairs behind him, but he didn't turn too quickly. "Hi, Fred," he said over his shoulder to the wraithlike girl, who had managed to come two-thirds of the way down the stairs.

Cordy gave another bright smile. "Good morning, Fred. Would you like orange juice or milk?"

Fred sank slowly to a step. "Um, juice?"

"Coming right up."

They settled into their Sunday morning routine, sharing the sections of the paper out. Angel took the want ads, but more for something to hide behind as he studied his friends. Cordelia had the entertainment section, Gunn had sports, Wesley was working through the international news, and Fred was giggling faintly to herself over the comics. Angel took a swig of cold, disgusting pig's blood to remind himself not to get too content with his lot in life.