Subject:	[e-l-p-i-s]
Time:	2:45 pm.

If When you love someone--really, really--won't you do anything for their sake? Isn't that the point?

And if you won't, if you're too weak or too tired or too nice or too scared someone will hate you the way others have hated you, then you should just plain get the hell out of the way.

Really, really.

Comments: Read 6 or Add Your Own.

Time:

1:09 pm.

No fair, no fair. I found her, finally found her, and the tricky, tricky beastie dragged her away.

And then I almost found her again, I did, I did, but then she went fuzzy and now I can't find anything to follow.

She's an animal; I'm a god.

So why can't I find what she's hidden?

Oh.

I get it.

Tricky, tricky beastie.

(OOC: Translation? Elpis is looking for Mischa. Sato locked Mischa in a warded house. Elpis tweaked things to allow Mischa Internet access in the hopes that Mischa would spill the location--or get someone to find her. Sato capitalized on the fact that she "owns" Mischa's dreams by compelling the girl to sleep, making her "inaccessible" to Elpis. Tra la la. This is what happens when my lunch breaks lacks entertainment.)

Comments: Add Your Own.

Subject:	OOC: I speak the word from which I was made.
Time:	9:48 am.

For anyone wondering what Elpis curse/boon/whammyjammy to Death actually was here's the (supposed) draft. Because I'm an anal bugger, I am.

( And may your heart bear witness to all you denied...until death do you part. )

Comments: Add Your Own.

Subject:	there's a crack in everything // that's how the light gets in
Time:	8:05 am.

The problem with people who spend their lives fixing, fixing, is that they always looking for what's wrong and never for what's possible. Worry, worry, pecking like a rooster. It's not very encouraging.

I'm okay.

She's okay.

Go away. (I'll call when I'm done.)

[OOC: For the record, Elpis' posts are not on Allegra's journal.]

Comments: Add Your Own.

Subject:	OOC: What of soul was left, I wonder, when the kissing had to stop? (Robert Browning)
Time:	11:09 am.

So.

Should I skewer the srz bzns potential of Elpis' "coming out" by having the kid bounce around town randomly kissing gods and mortals and big-eared children ~~to raise her energy~~? Or should I handle the matter with dignity and drama--yeah, okay, why are we even having this conversation?

^_____^

(Why a kiss, you ask? Because nothing, absolutely nothing, raises expectations like a kiss.)

kisses are a better fate
than wisdom.
~e.e. cummings

[Posted herein because I'm trying to avoid besmirching the OOC comm...for now.]

Comments: Read 80 or Add Your Own.

Subject:	With you nothing seems impossible, it all seems to fit the frame.
Time:	8:34 am.

So! Because I'm a total dork about finally getting a chance to play Elpis full out, here's some (sponcored by YouTube) tunes to keep in mind regarding her upcoming walkabout.

( And so I came to gaze upon the stars, when they were yet unborn / And consequently, tear at my old scars, and the mask I had outworn... )

Comments: Add Your Own.

Subject:	OOC: Elpis......[ Hope ]......Allegra
Time:	11:50 am.

In honor of the fact that 1) Allegra is about to get her arse smote and 2) Elpis is getting a coming out brawl, let's have some hopeful words showcasing the little dear.

( When hope is hungry, everything feeds it. )

Comments: Read 40 or Add Your Own.

Subject:	My reputation in the neighborhood is that I do my best when I'm up to no good.
Time:	4:50 pm.

Fact of the day? Being British does not automatically authorize me to teach Arthurian lore to preschoolers. Regardless of what the local library after hours matrons believe otherwise.

On the other hand, I got to behead a puppet. Yet one more glory to cross off the list.

Life? Good.

[private]
Attack at library. Collapsed in the kiddie loo. Eli made sure no concussions on menu.

It's the seventh this month.

Fuck.

[/]

Comments: Read 5 or Add Your Own.

Subject:	[left on the Highway answering machine: Friday, 4:00 AM]
Time:	1:41 pm.

"--ucking machine. Seriously. Ok, hey? This message is for Harper. Harper. Everybody else step away from the machine or plug your ears. Aw'right? I'm giving you to the count of five: one, two, th--fuck, ride's here. [a motorcycle revs, laughter, the muffled groan of cheerful swearing and in a minute, bastard and more laughter] Ok, Harper, you'd better get this and damn appreciate it, you prat, because--well, I still say you two are idiots. 'Kay? She left Venice. Gone. Vanished. Ziiiiped out. No, I don't know where she's now and neither does Robert. Who's royally pissed at you, by the way. Mate, I don't know what you pulled but stay the fuck out of Italy for the next decade. Also, your police record is nut-numbingly boring. Seriously, possession? Wuss. Anyway, you get it yet; she ditched Robert. He was it and she left. So don't blow it by doing anything else blond and crazy, because Mischa is--hey. Hey! The fuck are you doing to the tires, Ralph? Are you completely fuckin'-A stupid or--[line goes dead]

OOC: Of course, just 'cause the message is there doesn't mean Cam's the one who gets it...

Comments: Read 35 or Add Your Own.

Subject:	The problem with children is that you have to put up with their parents. ~Charles DeLint
Time:	2:21 pm.

So.

We all remember the mating meme, yessss? A rollicking good time was had by all and much pseudo-trauma inflicted upon our imaginary innocents ~~(and Marijuana)~~.

Thus in the spirit of such wackiness, and because I could use a giggle, you sods, here's your challenge:

WHO'S YO' DADDY?
a.k.a. The Frankenstein Meme

Every imagine your character as a tiny tot? Ever wonder who'd be fit to raise them? Ever imagine your monster as another monster's earnest, or not, parent? Well, then why didn't you say so!

1) Post your character(s) with either, or both, of the following headings: Up for Adoption or Out to Adopt.

2) Reply to others, offering your character as either parent or kid. Reply with three "family facts" pertaining to the pair.

Coincidentally, it's scientifically proven that being raised by Baku restaurateurs results a deeply ingrained pathological distrust of Ronald McDonald or that creepy Wendy girl.

Comments: Read 35 or Add Your Own.

Subject:	The wheels on the hog go...
Time:	1:26 pm.

In hindsight...I'm shit-all-bad at thinking plans through.

Here's the mess: I'm due to visit Pappy, who is my pappy, and spend a little quality with the crusty goof. Thing is, he lives over in Bethboondockburg. Which is a kind of far. Far as in Pennsylvania.

...ok, ok, so it's not that damn far. It's still far enough that if I try walking Pappy will blow a gasket and sic the state troopers on my arse. ~~Again.~~

Normally, I'd get a bus ticket, a bottle of Jack, and load of Benadryl or get my sister, earphones, and load of Benadryl. But sis is bumming in Italy and the local bus lines honestly bugger the shit out of me. I could try conning Matt into playing chauffeur again, except I think they're still trying to get the stains out of his upholstery so, um, no. And there's nobody else in town I trust near my unconscious self.

In conclusion?

I fucking miss having my own fucking wheels.

Fuck.

Comments: Read 6 or Add Your Own.

Time:

11:28 am.

"Why do we care about singers? Wherein lies the power of songs? Maybe it derives from the sheer strangeness of there being singing in the world. The note, the scale, the chord; melodies, harmonies, arrangements; symphonies, ragas, Chinese operas, jazz, the blues: that such things should exist, that we should have discovered the magical intervals and distances that yield the poor cluster of notes, all within the span of a human hand, from which we can build our cathedrals of sound, is as alchemical a mystery as mathematics, or wine, or love. Maybe the birds taught us. Maybe not. Maybe we are just creatures in search of exaltation. We don't have much of it. Our lives are not what we deserve; they are, let us agree, in many painful ways deficient. Song turns them into something else. Song shows us a world that is worthy of our yearning, it shows us our selves as they might be, if we were worthy of the world.

"Five mysteries hold the keys to the unseen: the act of love, and the birth of a baby, and the contemplation of great art, and being in the presence of death or disaster, and hearing the human voice lifted in song. These are the occasions when the bolts of the universe fly open and we are given a glimpse of what is hidden; an eff of the ineffable. Glory bursts upon us in such hours..."

[Salman Rushdie]

Comments: Read 3 or Add Your Own.

Time:

11:44 am.

Finished the schedules, double-checked stock, ordered and reordered all the wet and tasty details, and have all in all ensured Zion keeps on truckin' without me at the bar's helm. Saturday's my last shift as Queen of the Gin. Can't say I won't miss some parts of the gig but...ah, well. Chief did cut a disgustingly charitable "sayonara" check (his bye, not mine) so no worries about trading my flat for a pile of cardboard under the overpass.

(Also: THERE! NOW NOBODY CAN SAY I DON'T OWN LUCIFER'S COUCH. Actually, it's two delightfully comfy office chairs but, never mind, I have duct tape.)

Hm. Ok. So. Guess it's time to find the next new show.

PS: Matt, you're still my hellbitch. ♥
PPS: I stole extension cord. And curtains. And--um, that paperweight-y thingamagic?

Comments: Read 25 or Add Your Own.

Time:

3:37 pm.

Venice?

She's in fuckin'A Venice. That's--okay. I'm going to start laughing now. Loudly.

Not sure when it'll stop.

Seriously, mishka? This is your way of "dealing with it", limping off to Little Count Fauntleroy? Lame.

ETA: Damn Italians.

Comments: Read 16 or Add Your Own.

Time:

10:17 am.

To borrow the grimy vernacular of my borrowed homeland:

Dude, where's my sister?

Currently I've got a last-minute note [Be good. DOCTOR.], keys to her place, and zero success with her personal number. (The work number yield nothing but polite "can't-divulge-our-staff's-schedule-but-could-I-take-a-message frou frou.)

This is annoying. I am annoyed.

~~The kid's tossing and wringing is not helping. Supernatural conflict gives her metaphysical indigestion. Or something.~~ What's this noise about the holies and the newbies having a row?

Comments: Read 6 or Add Your Own.

Subject:	OOC: Jascha Glaskov -- Kissing tigers!
Time:	12:56 pm.

OOC: A bit of info about the aforementioned Dr. Jascha Glaskov. A notable composer-cum-conductor and opera director, Mr. Glaskov's name is golden in musical circles. Likewise, he's a prominent vocal teacher with a close relationship with the Juilliard Opera Center and the Met.

Also, he doesn't actually exist.

But, damn, if it wasn't fun "finding" someone who gets under Allegra's skin.

( Opera is not sensible or profitable. That's poker. )

Comments: Add Your Own.

Time:

12:14 pm.

It's amazing how easy it is to spend a week sleeping in any bed but your own. Checking out Langrée at the Mostly Mozart festival was definitely worth the trouble. (Stefan Vladar, I take back 30% of the things I said about you to Da. Honest. That was one bitchin' rondo. Still debating on whether to catch Adams' Flowering Tree.

Have to go unearth my mail now.

ETA: I'm invited to a what?

Comments: Read 2 or Add Your Own.

Time:

1:58 pm.

This just in: testing edible cocktails on sister's doorman...

...will get you a thirty minute trilingual (verbal) flaying on moral responsibility in scientific endeavors.

On the plus side, hey, we're talking again.

Real reason she let me into the apartment? Eating. Seriously, call Ripley's; there's real food in Mischa's kitchen. Which is vaguely disquieting, actually, 'cause Princess only finds time to cook when she's too worried to ~~over~~work.

Hmm.

Comments: Read 39 or Add Your Own.

Time:

11:42 am.

I've just been crowned master and commander of a bar with a budget that's downright heavenly.

I can manage stock and menu. I can hire; I can fire ~~probably~~. I can set my own adorable hours. I get a raise.

I'm going to have so much fun.

[private]
Paperwork? I mean, come on, paperwork? Also, modern romantic interpretation be damned; Hades is a cretin. Apparently.

Comments: Read 43 or Add Your Own.

InsaneJournal for Allegra Lenkeit // Elpis.

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