-August- It's weird.

You'd think it'd be hard cooking for seven.

(None of us really eat anyways.)

You'd think it'd be hard keeping this landfill of a house clean.

(Victorian. Would be worth a small fortune if it were fixed up.)

You'd think it'd be hard keeping sane when your boss is constantly drunk off his ass and won't stop flirting with you.

(Seriously, Spence. Stop that.)

But somehow, we get by.

And Amanda, I realize my coffee tastes like a war crime. I'm sorry, okay? You try keeping up with the messes you people leave behind and cook and tell me how much time you have to perfect your soy cappuccino with extra foam, no cream.

Not that I mind, though. In all honesty I'm absolutely terrified of the brown, twitching messes of burnt starch and stingy beef you people called stew I first ate when I came here - and you still make when Spencer sends me to do the small deliveries.

Prep for the latest delivery is going well despite my protests and the fact that somebody has managed to decrypt our radio frequency and now communications are down. I guess it's back to cellphones and pig latin for us until we get a new one up and running.

Great. Looks like I'll be climbing and disassembling another radio tower tonight.

Wahh wahh let's complain some more, shall we?

In all seriousness, I do actually have to go get to work on that.

Boss says this deliver's pretty important so our back-up isn't an option. We're handling sensitive material so we've got to be sure we can't be tracked or overheard. We don't want a repeat of the DL-9 incident. The last thing we need is to pick up and move again; wreck or not, this house is ideal for people like us, and the cafe across the street makes a mean cuppa joe.

Maybe I should ask the owner about teaching me how to make a decent espresso.

I'm sure Amanda would appreciate it.

-August- Return to Slender, guaranteed not to strike since ...

Now, telling you would spoil all the fun, wouldn't it?

I can't say I like this idea.

Blogs are connected to computers and computers have routers which have IPs which can be tracked by evil incarnate.

Speaking of the government.

Spencer, I don't know what in the world is going through your head while your brain floats in that moonshine I made for you well over a month back, (you're not supposed to drink it after more than two weeks, you idiot!) but this is a bad, bad, bad idea. You know I have beef with men in suits and not just the slender ones.

Hi there.

Name's August St. Claire.

I don't believe we've met.

I specialize in building and problem solving. Before I got caught up with the lush currently sitting across from me and downing another bottle of bourbon, (apparently now through my last five quarts of moonshine - Jesus man, how are you not dead yet?) I worked on a farm. We weren't your run-of-the-mill grain-and-leather harvesters, though; papa and I specialized in aliens. More specifically, crop circles and UFOs. To narrow the margins further: faking them.

It started off easy enough. Throw some paper shapes on the ground and arrange them until they make a pretty picture, the blow it up about 150 times and press it into your corn field. When people began to grow bored and the crop circles weren't paying the bills, we switched to UFOs. When those failed? Fake aliens, made out of chicken, pastries, and a whole lot of eggs and honey to hold it all together.

Let's just say that we got so good that we started getting a little too much attention.

You see, I've been followed by men in suits my entire life.