Musings

[Call to R. Ignace.]

[Ring. Yay hangover calls. At least they've progressed from vague emails.]

[Text to S. Preston.]

See Poe this morning, I won't make it in.

[Delivered Friday afternoon to Bathos 502]

The box is plain, computer-printed address label. Inside is the scarf that had been left behind at the hospital, laundered and folded neatly, wrapped in tissue paper. There is no note.

-----

[Delivered Friday afternoon to Aubade 504]

This box is also plain, though the address is handwritten, no return address. Inside, wrapped in tissue paper, is the top that had been left behind that night. It's been cleaned professionally. Tucked atop the tissue paper is a short note.

Reina,

My apologies for not returning this sooner. I would like to see you again, under less alcohol-fueled circumstances, though I understand if you do not share this thought.

Yours,
Shiloh

So. You think I should be worried if someone says 'the game is on'?

[sent in the early hours of Friday morning, between one and two]

[email to Preston's work account]
Preston,

I'm not going to be at work tomorrow wait it's later today. I'm wallowing in self-loathing while nursing a hangover not feeling well. I'll let Mr. Sparke know.

[email to Anton's work account]
Mr. Sparke,

I just sent an email to Preston, but I wanted to cover my bases. I'm not feeling well, so I won't be coming into work today. I think I had sex with one of your competitors in a limo I am an idiot I should never be allowed to drink I expect to be better by Monday. I should be done wallowing in self-pity by then Have a pleasant weekend.

[text to I. Hughes]
Drinking buddy, I have a hypothetical question for you, if you have a moment.

[Locked to C. Callahan.]

I'm sorry for confusing you the other day.  I'm hoping it won't happen again.

[Locked to R. Ignace.]

Ms. Ignace,
Thank you for speaking with me Sophie the other day.  I appreciate your taking the time to converse with me her in French.
Sincerely,
A. Henderson

[Phone call to A. Black]

Ring, Ring

[posted early Sunday morning, around 3am]

Cures for nightmares? Or something to help me settle back down to get a few more hours of sleep? This is like a week straight. Something has to give soon.

Who else wants to move? First zombies, now this. I'm beginning to think it might be best to never leave my apartment again.

[The email is sent the day he misses work, in the early afternoon, at which point she is a frazzled mess and has lost one of her shoes.]

Preston,

We missed you at work today. The tax team almost strung me up to sacrifice me to the gods of the IRS, but I found someone in legal and financial to help. I've also seen more the US Tax Code than I ever wanted to, and I think I may have stapled part of one of our copies to a lawyer's jacket, but I could be wrong. That whole stretch of time is a bit hazy.

Anyway, I hope you're just down with a cold and it's nothing serious. In this city, you can never tell. [...] And since you put the offer to me, if you need to talk about anything, I'm here.

Reina

[Call to R. Ignace]

Ring.

[Public, posted anonymously with Rescue icon.]

I'm out. Find some other naive idiot to do your comm work.

[Call to A. Sparke.]

[Immediately after this.]

Ring.

[Work email to Reina.]

That... feeling you had earlier. I think it didn't just happen to you.

[email to P. Rawlings. Tuesday evening]

Preston,

I'm working from home tomorrow, I set up some meetings that I'd rather take from here.

A.

[Email to R. Ignace]

Reina,

I won't be in the office tomorrow, I'm working from home. I'm having a few meetings that aren't on the calendar, so just email me any messages in order of urgency and I'll get to them eventually. Maybe.

Also I might need you to follow up on a few phone calls for me, nothing serious or complicated. Preston's busy or I'd ask him do it. Are you alright with that?

Anton

[The email is sent from her work account to his, shortly before 5PM]

Mr. Rawlings,

Out of curiosity, do you know what the glowing blue thing embedded in Mr. Sparke's chest is?

[The body of the email consists mostly of pigeoned together French and Spanish words, with some English thrown in for flavor. It is mostly incomprehensible, but clearly rage-filled. The last sentence is really the only readable thing.]

ORIN MONARCH IS AN ASS.

[Filtered to R. Ignace]

Really Reina? Really?

Answering Machine Barbie paging Straight Man Ken.

Oh good, it's still raining. And a balmy 31 degrees to boot.

[Locked to R Ignace]
I have a strange request. The mirrors, do they require visual? Or can one be rigged to only work on audio?

Work got boring, so I thought I'd send you a message. I'm bidder 13, by the way.

I think a lot of people come on here their first time and probably ask about the city or something, but I've been here a while so...hi. Not new to the city at all, so I don't really need recommendations for good burger places or things like that. Answer this question instead: if zombies aren't enough to make everybody flee the city in droves, what's it going to take? Are we a particularly stupid bunch, or just tenacious? I leave the judging to the people, I just think it's interesting.

Come one, come all, to the convention of all those wanting to drink themselves blind.

We are tired, we are bored, we are overworked (or some of us are), whatever we are, we certainly need to party.

A get together of like-minded friends is proposed. And soon.

All in favour?