-August- Domestic

No news is good news, right?


Though I suppose that's not entirely true. We've been posting, but we're falling back into our old habits of speaking (well, typing) without actually saying much. It reminds me of when we first started, the boss forcing arbitrary posting quotas on us; one post a week, or you're getting your pay cut/meds taken away/whatever  suited us at the time, except now it's more introspective and that we want to, (well, I want to) not that we have to. It's nice to get it all out, and even better for collecting our thoughts, even if half of the posts we end up writing up don't actually get posted.

( And I kind of wonder what'll happen to the mountain of drafts once this blog is finished. Do we put them up? Are they worth reading? There are certain posts we've all agreed to put up after... well, as goodbyes, but what about the rest? The three-line posts that never became more than the shell of a story? The five lines of thought that hit a wall and never got a chance to continue? We clear them out every once and a while, sure, but you have to wonder... )

We're all fairly content right now, and I guess that's the reason for any real lack of posting. The House has gone all but silent, we're rebuilding, Spence is travelling, and slowly we're getting our deliveries back on schedule. The boss has already mentioned the small deliveries we've run; one- or two-day trips that were really never worth mentioning, and aside from a couple scuffles with some locals who didn't take kindly to us down in Louisiana, everything's been quiet. Peaceful. Even on that last trip I managed to pick myself up a nice souvenir or two (my collection of cookbooks is nearly complete, and I've managed to find the books I lost in the last House fiasco) and, really, there isn't much to report on.

The House is back in order (well, as in order as it can be) and we're managed to get the furniture back together. And while the new sofas aren't the same shade of green as when I unpacked them (Spencer says it's because the House doesn't like green. I blame IKEA.)  everything's back in order. Kitchen's restocked, walls are repainting, and my bedroom is back in its place in the west wing.

And while Spence is out travelling I'm still getting word from him every night. The boss has always been... distant, but he cares about all of us. Even everybody at home seems closer, though we've always been kind of awkward about it. It's a strange thing to describe, really. In the year or so I've been here it's never felt more like... well, like family. Like a home, and not just a House. Somewhere safe.

I suppose then this post's my own two cents into what's going on here. I've got a delivery starting next week. A major one, should probably take more than a few days. A old friend of the boss' is requesting some delicate materials to be transported. Normally we don't do this kind of stuff, but the two of them apparently go way back, plus she pays well. I'm not really complaining.

Stay safe, everybody.

-Spencer- Team, you all really need to cool the hell down

After all, it's your Boss's job to promptly /freak the fuck out/ at any given opportunity, puke in the foyer, then shag his girlfriend.

And I /wish/ I was making this all up.

In between cleaning up my own puke and trying to figure out what to do next, August found me when I had my brainy specs on. Embarrassing, but something about him....

"Blog. Now."

And he swept off towards the garage, probably where Steele was brooding.

He looks older than he should.

So here's what's going to be happening. Not what I WANT to happen, but what's GOING to be HAPPENING because you all seem to forget who's paying you, keeping a roof over your head, and, more importantly, is keeping you lot alive.

First off on the Doc issue, I get it, I invaded the space in which she set up shop, but here's the thing; it's my House. So let's be honest here; I'm going to do what I damn well please. She didn't HAVE to take Steele's room; there's how many spares that we have from all the dead couriers? Twenty? Thirty? Superstition is not something that is a fair excuse.

So she made it clear that she'd rather not stay in one of the spares, so I sent her on a delivery. It may be a hard one but the pay is good and, really, she NEEDS to get out of the basement. Don't you all worry your pretty little heads; Doc is my oldest courier, and is more than capable of handling herself.

Steele, you're right. About everything. But we're past the "Spencer is mean and keeps secrets and is smelly and gets all the hot guys while I don't" (Don't deny it) stage of our relationship. I've been perfectly clear; I've made my point, and shown you what I have to do.

Don't test me.

And as for this whole Star situation...

How about a story, hm?

A long long time ago in a really shitty little town, there was a kid that asked too many questions in a group of fifty. They called this group "The Titles", and it was their job to become the bestest little sociopaths they could ever hope to be.

And of course, like every good narrative (or shitty one, depending on your preference), they were wheedled down one by one.

He wondered sometimes, y'know. Wondered about normal kid stuff, wondered why sometimes they were forced to /watch/.

I still haven't found any answers.

It got to a point that they were all old enough to be afraid, because that's when it starts, doesn't it...? Nothing matters when you're not afraid, when you don't look out of the corner of your eye because you really don't know better.

So he stared; the kid who asked too many questions. Stared at his own eyes for as long as he could, because he didn't want to forget. they could take everything else away, but they could never make him forget that look; the look of being afraid.

I hadn't seen him very often; maybe once or twice on the street, in photos, a few times in dreams- I never had contact, not like Elaine did. It only took one glance. That look. I'll never forget that look, because that kid was I. Was me. Was the author of this post.

That's why. Because I know what it's like to be lonely and afraid. I know what it's like to play a role, play a part, dance on strings because that's the only way to stay alive. I know, I know, I KNOW, we all know. We all know that look, because we see it in the mirror whenever we sit down and decide that a little vanity never hurt, every single one of us.

That's right.

I went in on this because Star is a scared kid. That's all. Not for shits and giggles or because Elaine wanted me to.

Everyone deserves a chance, right? And we give them that chance, no matter who they are.

That being said, Doc, I wish you the best; I guess if you can't sleep in a proper room, you'll have to sleep in a car.

... Stay safe, alright?

Anyways. Star's out of the basement, Elaine and Steele have sort of stopped with the "come at me bro" thing they had going on, and, well, otherwise...? Things seem to be going well. Too well. I can't help but wonder...

...

I can't help but wonder if He's up to something.

So it goes.