( colligo ¬ get collected ) → network.

Dear Morgan Freeman,

I like you. I do. I think you're awesome and I stick up for you. I even don't steal too many things from the library because it's your stuff and I don't want to steal from you.

But turning stuff into gold only when I'm touching it? That's just MEAN and now I'm mad at you. And payback is never cheap.

You've been warned. So have your plucky knights.

♥ Parker

Al was sent back. I went to his room this morning when I got that text about losing powers and such and he wasn't there. Thought maybe he went out early, but then I noticed his name wasn't on the door of our flat. So now it's just me and my ability to turn my fingers into sporks at lunchtime.

I just wanted to say thank you. Again.

I don't know math so good anymore but all the stuff I write looks real pretty now!

My head is going to explode. My stomach is trying to escape through my mouth. And the sun is way too bright. Somebody turn it off already.

Also? Alcohol is evil.

That is all.

So. I decided to treat myself to a shopping spree today.

And the second I walk out the building, "Material Girl" starts playing.

Because apparently, that's my brand new superpower. My life has a soundtrack.

If "Eye Of The Tiger" starts playing when I go on patrol tonight, I'm not going to be happy.

Where the heck did my powers go? I can't freeze, I can't blow things up, all my powers are GONE!!! Who is the person responsible for taking my powers and then replacing it with some stupid power of being able to make people dance? Come on, as much as it is funny, I seriously can't do nothing with it that will help me if something bad comes our way. Give me my powers back!

This is not fun. Everything I touch grows flowers. There are flowers in my bed and on the couch and the doorknobs and even my damn PDA! Now I know what it's like to be Poison Ivy; except that basketcase can turn her ability off. Thank god I'm not green though and the only other thing her and I share is our hair color.

Go ahead Forge, I know you're just dying to get back at me for laughing about the IT thing.

Okay, so I think the estate agent thinks I'm some sort of waster or homeless person chancing my arm or something. An inability to shave combined with a lovely bruise on my cheek gives off entirely the wrong impression. Alas.

Fuck.

This.

Moony.

Seeing as I am now a muggle. Again. And post-it notes are not sticky, and so are no fun, and you have turned into a complete girl about having notes written on your face, I will now be leaving you all 'buy milk' messages on the network.

Or scrawled onto the wall.

You are welcome.

Also - we need milk.

Everyone else - Who fancies the pub? Homeless-beard man? Ariadne can apparently be our token sober person.