La. I am a fine form of flatness. Sitting upright approximates horizontality badly. I should very much like to lie.

Down, that is.

Alan-Arnaud afflicted me with no less than three frightening fic ideas yesterday on the bus home from work, the scariest of which was titled Enjolras and Cosette: A love story.

It is NOT what you think >:)

Sebastien Grantaire, courtesy of the Laura's Sanity, has come over here to keep the Adrien company. The Adrien is... hyper. The Sebastien seems bemused.

But he's eating okay, and his liver seems mostly intact, so those are pluses. His Grantarian brethren are conspiring to take him for root beer floats soon.

With the probable exception of dear Marion, who's been unconcious for a couple of days. This isn't horrible. He'd been in a rather bitchy mood.

At the moment, Cori and I are exploring the rather Ill fated relationship of Timothy "Templar" LeComo (aka, Luther Blissett), and Debra Bassick n�e Riley, Falconer Nutcase. Two walnuts in a shell, those two.

I dreamed about the seven dwarfs and 12th grade media production last night. Spiralling corridors to hell. I was playing Snow White and Partia-The-Kitten.

Which reminds me: I love the Sims. *grins*

And you too.

<<agé chose>>

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