The door slams shut behind me, and I stomp the snow from my boots onto the hall rug. I drop my bags on the floor with more than a little relief, and head up the stairs. Vacations are nice and all, but it's good to be home.

Bwah ha ha ha ha!!!

t Realizes that Bangor is inland... Decides to go with it anyway...

~Nooooo…SeA Is FoR CooKIE…SeA iS FoR CoOkiE!~

You realize this caused me near-fatal eye-rolling and snerking, don't you?

Realizes that Bangor is inland... Decides to go with it anyway...

Well...there's ...err...river frontage. And besides, Ry'leh is 20 minutes from Bangor by Cthulhu reckoning. ;)

You realized this caused me near-fatal eye-rolling and snerking, don't you?

~tweNTy minUteS froM banGOr ... acTuaLly, ctHUlHu haS an eXceLLent viEw oF stePhen kINg's gARAge...~

Oh, gosh, snerk

~CtHuLHU WaNts ThiS oNe. It Is ShInY.~

And there I broke. It's all about the shiny.

Ow. I hurt myself laughing.

~Nooooo…SeA Is FoR CooKIE…SeA iS FoR CoOkiE!~

I give a sigh of relief and slump down on the deck

"Is good enough for me."

SNERK

As long as that post is, it really should be COMMed.

~Nooooo…SeA Is FoR CooKIE…SeA iS FoR CoOkiE!~

You broke me. That and the shiny.

Wrod to the COMMing.

t dragged into the thread after giggling like a loon in COMM. Go Team Future Spouse-in-law

A knock at the door?

Hmm.

I set my mug down precariously on the arm rest, slide a scrap of paper between the pages of my book and hurriedly pull on the new curly-toed slippers from Goblin Market. I can't help shivering as my toes grow and curl automatically in a fashion that really shouldn't be allowed, and there's the shadow of a stifled Mona Lisa smile curving my mouth as I pad over to the door.

To my absolute delight, it's a large carrier pigeon with a package from Atlantis.com - presumably the Return of the King DVD I ordered last week. Guess they ironed out the fritz in the time machine after all. I make a mental note to send flowers to Mr Wells. The pigeon is about the size of an alsation and it's wearing a cloth cap with racing stripes embroidered down the side. I squint at the logo automatically: Dastardly Inc. Nice to see that they're back in business. According to the gossip columns, he's back with Mutley again, which is quite sweet.

The pigeon accepts a handful of rice crackers and flaps off on its way, effortlessly avoiding the flurry of brightly coloured feral paper kites. A small UFO zips past on business of its own and the air carries the melodic cry of the muezzin perched atop a slender minaret three streets away. Closer to hand someone is playing Rhapsody in Blue on a Harpsichord. I grin, and close the door.

I open the package hungrily and do an impromptu Numfar dance (not particularly fashionable these days, since Salsa became the rage, but I have a soft spot for the Numfar clubs of old). Return of the King. With commentaries. Yay!

I glance at the other slips of paper and frown.

Huh. They're going ahead with the Black Light District, according to the flyers. I'm not quite sure how I feel about this, but I try to be broad-minded about it. I'm a liberal kind of girl, after all; I mean, this isn't my cup of tea, but some of my best friends are into physics and it's their choice. So long as they don't flaunt it in public where I have to see, I guess it's up to them what they do with their time.

I find myself wondering whether anyone I know might be a closet physicist. I mean, I know some of them are out and proud - the biannual Pride March makes it very clear that they're part of the community. And I'd be lying if I said I wasn't sometimes - well, a little curious.

The names don't leave one in any doubt about the sort of clientele they're aimed at. "The Mobius Strip". "BarYon." "Schroedinger's Pussycat." "Top 2 Bottom." "Black Holes." "Strange Charm." "ConFusion." A whole street has been taken over by Late Night Physics Clubs.

I bite my lip, take a sip of my warm amaretto, and find myself oddly tempted to take a little look.

Not to mention Quark's...