Doors

[Locked to Jan F]
[While he's waiting on this call to get connected to Toby's room.] Jan? You around, honey?

[Locked to Shailee T]

I think I've finally recuperated Is it too early for me to ask if you're busy this weekend?

Who is this commissioner and why isn't his name James Gordon?

don't give a damn what you got on your to-fucking-do list today, you come screeching into the fucking drive like that you're going to take out more than my fucking bike.


or I'm going to ram my fucking fist down your throat.


guess I'm building a new one.

Lucivar, pick one: Ladvarian, Kaelas, grown up Daemonar and myself move to your Eyrie's living room, or you move back to the Hall.

[Left on Luke H's car seat, mid-day.]
[The envelope contains the photograph that Saint gave her. It's black and white, and it's nearly five years old. Knees drawn up to her chest, her bare feet on a chair, dirty fingernails and a faded dress that was less than a dress. She's barely pregnant in the photograph, too thin and looking thin and too old around the eyes. And the photograph itself is striking, more National Geographic than anything else, a stark expose of street life in two tones. She includes no note.]

[Locked to Saint R]
This is free to a good home on Craigslist. Is it too old to work? They don't say what year it is.

[Later in the day after this, once he's back through the door and home. Posted anonymous!]

Looking for a kid that likes to cry in hotels.