Repose

[From Sam's phone. As Cris M.]

[Locked to Misha B]
You're Oliver's boyfriend, yeah? I need your help.

Ringing in the new year with bubbles and stars. May this year be better than last!

What's the best thing you ate in 2016 and how do you hope to top it in 2017?

[After this, from the burner phone to the one number stored inside.]

Ring, ring!

[Written notice to Misha B]

Friday, you are scheduled for a consultation regarding your current treatment plan. Someone will be by to fetch you around 10am.

Regards,

J. Heron

[It was muffled. Through aged walls, whatever was happening in the guest room Damian had situated (which meant dusted and replaced bedclothes) for Jude and Oliver, the sound seeped through to Damian's bedroom. Perhaps they were simply conversing. He could not say. Damian had not shared a wall with anyone in the room over since he'd occupied the Wainright Manor, and so, he was not accustomed to interpreting the reverberations that came through dampened by insulation.—It was annoying. It was stupid. And Damian was very displeased. He did not want to leave his room, but he knew he and Misha had to, to go speak with the other boys.

His hair was still in disarray and he slid into his hoodie quickly, zipping it up to his chin. With his hands in his pockets, a glare at the wall, then Misha, he shoved the door open. It was black and yellow in the corridor, an amber-captured moment of déjà vu. Only this time, there were no ninja. He made an annoyed sound with his tongue on his teeth, but it would have been difficult for anyone outside of him to know what precisely it was aimed at.—The man pulled his hood up, black shield over dark face and hair, and he walked to the door. The pizza Father had ordered was in a warming cart. Titus had fallen asleep in front of it. That was the only thing that elicited a smile from his lips as he bent at the knees to scratch the puppy's head.] Good boy. Come. [Titus stood, gray tail wagging strongly, and he followed Damian as he rather rudely entered the guest room.]

[In response to this and after her trip to Vegas. As 'Saint Nick.']

Why not?

Who: Destiny & Patrick
What: The lastest of last minute new years eve party plans.
Where: Clary House -- does this need a new name now that Michael left the homestead?
When: NYE
Warnings: None currently.

[With as little planning as possible, and the Christmas tree still miraculously intact considering the rampages of a toddler and his terrier, the New Years Eve party was thrown together like ingredients that got dumped into a casserole while hoping for the best. Destiny came through on her promise of booze, there was a cardboard box bottled up with vodka and slivovitz and two kinds of rum. She got ice, and juice, and a dirt cheap brand of champagne that came in flavors like peach and strawberry and classic brut. Wyatt was with the babysitter, and the pig was scurrying around the living room with a carrot in his mouth and a festive hat stuck atop his little piggy head.

Destiny wasn't real good at picking out the appropriate party mix music to play, but considering how she was already a little drunk, the 80s felt like a good place to start. She hadn't gone through with Reece's suggestion of profane glasses, but she'd supplied chips and salsa. Her black thermal shirt was festive with rhinestones glittering on the sleeves. There was also a denim skirt with black tights and no shoes, but the best part of her outfit with the black and yellow plastic hat of dollar store sparkles.]

[With a candor that is reliably Russian, Svetlana begins to offer discounts to those who were regulars at the Bakery and who, if they show up at the Bakery, then lose the discounts. Nobody knows exactly how she knows (there are some extremely well-paid school kids at the local school rn) but she does, predictably and consistently. Whoever is making the pastries? They're very, very good. And the small tables covered in gilt in the bulk of the tea-room have been moved out for couches, heavy-covered in velvet and with deep cushions. The wifi? That's charged for, by the half-hour and the tea blends change weekly. On Thursday nights, the music is sultry and the tea-blends have added kick ]

[Public]

I do not believe in resolution. Free pastry and tea to person who breaks resolution best. By end of January.

[Flash M]

So your sister and I? Used to hang out. Your Christmas card didn't suck.

[Harry R]

Still alive?

[Connie G]

So if Caleb signs up, the B and B is basically being run by Aegis.

[Public]

Is this the part where we make promises about clean living?

[In response to his text and picture about the gift from her secret santa.]

Oh my god
I thought I hid those

My secret santa thought they had a sense of humor. I asked for a sweater. I haven't had a chance to get rid of them yet.

[May doesn't usually drink, and the calendar doesn't mean a whole lot to her. But this year's New Year's Eve sees her opening a bottle that had been given to her in barter many many years ago. The contents are sharp and sweet and exceedingly strong. And after she looks out her window to see her new greenhouse. With no indication of who she's talking to.]

thank you


[May wakes up the next morning, and after making herself some very strong tea for her head and stomach, cringes at her ridiculous display on the forum. The post is deleted in its entirety, from initial entry to all the comments. Nothing remains.]