( voice ; filtered to spike (70%) ; pre-sunrise )
[ today, buffy summers turns twenty-six. she is a bucket and a half of mixed feelings on this subject but remains determined not to let any of them unbalance her too violently. after all, she has enough other things going on in her life -- things that threaten her carefully hoarded happiness without injecting the additional stress of wondering how she's managed to stay alive long enough to meet this birthday. in the end, it's not actually the sort of thing she's eager to spread around.
and so, when she addresses the journals at large? she makes barely a mention of the momentous occasion: ] Riddle me this, Luceti -- what's up with toast always falling butter-side down? There's gotta be something unnatural and hinky going on there. Probably the same sort of unnatural hinkiness that always leads to one half of a pair of socks poofing into non-existence.
Today? I've had both things happen. The buttered-toast-meet-floor thing and the footwear-disappearance thing. Typical. Anyone wanna go for a coffee? Piece of pie? Order of toast graciously not prepared by me?
That goes for you newbies, too -- never let it be said that I refused to make friendly with an unfamiliar face. I'll be the blonde in the mismatched socks sitting at a window table in Seventh Heaven.
[ and so, the slayer will spend the better part of her morning and early afternoon at the restaurant -- meeting with people, chattering, doing anything but actually marking the day of her birth. pre-restaurant action is available for housemates and she'll doubtless have her dance-card booked up by one particular pirate come the late afternoon. ]
[ today, buffy summers turns twenty-six. she is a bucket and a half of mixed feelings on this subject but remains determined not to let any of them unbalance her too violently. after all, she has enough other things going on in her life -- things that threaten her carefully hoarded happiness without injecting the additional stress of wondering how she's managed to stay alive long enough to meet this birthday. in the end, it's not actually the sort of thing she's eager to spread around.
and so, when she addresses the journals at large? she makes barely a mention of the momentous occasion: ] Riddle me this, Luceti -- what's up with toast always falling butter-side down? There's gotta be something unnatural and hinky going on there. Probably the same sort of unnatural hinkiness that always leads to one half of a pair of socks poofing into non-existence.
Today? I've had both things happen. The buttered-toast-meet-floor thing and the footwear-disappearance thing. Typical. Anyone wanna go for a coffee? Piece of pie? Order of toast graciously not prepared by me?
That goes for you newbies, too -- never let it be said that I refused to make friendly with an unfamiliar face. I'll be the blonde in the mismatched socks sitting at a window table in Seventh Heaven.
[ and so, the slayer will spend the better part of her morning and early afternoon at the restaurant -- meeting with people, chattering, doing anything but actually marking the day of her birth. pre-restaurant action is available for housemates and she'll doubtless have her dance-card booked up by one particular pirate come the late afternoon. ]
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