~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...

wrod

Am-Chau hooks up the television while I forage around for snacks. She mutters something about channel 666 getting the best reception.

"I like the newscaster's cape. A vast improvement over the Naked News," I note as I pile up a bunch of cushions and blankets.

"A brown suit would not go over in Blood." Am-Chau takes a few crackers on her napkin and we both watch the news. Do I imagine it, or does Edward look a bit sheepish when a riot is mentioned?

"That's what we were running from," Am-Chau says. "Can't imagine how it started." There's definitely a, well, tone to her voice, but I don't feel comfortable asking about it. Edward busies herself drawing tiny pentagrams in some ashes she's found by the hearth.

"You and Edward are welcome to stay, if you don't mind roughing it."

"That's okay. We'll call a cab; I just need a piece of paper."

I unearth a ragged sheet of looseleaf which Am-Chau scribbles on before folding it into a tiny airplane. I open the front door and she hurls it straight into the air. We watch as it self-corrects and spins merrily among the snowflakes. Just then a sleek black cat walks in. It looks to be part Siamese, and has a little white splash on its chest.

"Ooh, pretty cat. What are you doing out on a cold night? Am-Chau, do you know whom this cat belongs to? There's no tag."

"I suspect it belongs to you. Pets have a way of finding their own homes around here. Be careful with magical familiars, though, they can be a huge pain in the arse." She motions for Edward, who scampers over with her arms raised. As Am-Chau tucks the tiny bear into her pocket, a silver sled pulled by a team of nine wolves pulls up to the curb.

"Here's my ride. Thanks for helping us out. We'll be sure to make it to your housewarming."

"March 1, potluck. Oh, and feel free to bring a friend if you like."

clovis! clovis! and jilly!

"Hush, you." Am-Chau waves as she climbs into the sled. "See you later!"

I watch them fly down the street before closing the door. I notice a cat flap that wasn't there when I moved in. Sigh.

I turn to the cat, who has already settled herself on a cushion in front of the television.

"You know, I've always wanted a pet called 'Damned Spot'. Could you handle that?" The cat gives me a look of pure disdain.

"Oh, fine, you prissy creature. How about 'Raven'?" The cat thinks it over for a moment, then begins to purr. I open my only can of tuna and spread half of it on a napkin. Now I'll have to buy stuff for the cat as well as myself.

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Furniture arranged. Booze chilling and/or aging. Food arranged. Shovel walked. Flowers in vases. Stereo hooked up. Party Favours ready.

I wonder how many people will actually show up to my housewarming? I should have made a list of all the paper airplanes I sent out. Oh, well.

"You all set, Phrancis?"

Phrancis nods his assent and waves at us to take off. For once, Phred, the bird, and I actually leaving with a comfortable margin of error to get to Penny's party. Things are looking even better when I'm able to flag down a cab in under a minute. We pile in and set out for Dalrymple.

It's a lovely night. There's still some snow on the ground, rare in these parts, and it hasn't gotten grungey yet, so the lights sparkle off it.

"So, boss, what did you get for Penny's housewarming gift?"

I give him a puzzled look. "I thought you were going to get it."

"Nope, I'm sure you said you would take care of it."

"No way, we were talking about it in the bar, remember, and you said... Oh. Wait. Now I remember..." It hits both of us at the same time. We look at the penguin sitting between us, who is now staring up at the ceiling, whistling nervously, and trying desperately to ignore us.

"Okay, we have no gift." I see a convenience store on the corner, and tell the driver to pull over and wait.

Phred and I enter the store and split up. I head for the liquor aisle, and grab a couple of bottles. When I meet up with Phred at the counter, he's carrying a largish box. "What'd you get?"

"It's an InstaGolem®. They're the latest rage."

Yup, that's what it says on the box, "The Latest Rage!!!" I look around the store. The only alternatives seem to be Slim Jims or cartons of cigarettes, so we pay for our selections and head out. If it's new, she probably doesn't have one, right?

The cab is waiting, so once again he head off into the evening.

I take one last look in the mirror before heading out the door. Makeup's good, clothes are both tight and sparkly, boots are made for walkin'. I pick up my purse and leave.

Two minutes later, I reenter the house, grab Penny's housewarming gift (a cutting from my peppermint rosebush), and leave again. Oops.

I throw a crimson cloak over my new dress (white, Empire style, sleeves and hem bordered with delicate gold embroidery) and wait for the carriage to arrive to take me to Penny's. I hope she likes the housewarming gifts. I'm giving her a sgian dubh, because you never know when you'll need a good small knife in these parts, and a set of coupons for free skating lessons down on the canal.