I think I need to clear my head. I'm going for a run.
No, I certainly don't apologise for waking anyone up last night. (And no, Kitty, I still will not apologise to your dragon.)

May I explain something to the population at large? I know this is a difficult life lesson, not getting killed by magical or mythical things, but I have become quite good at it, so please allow me to impart some wisdom in the hopes that the mass insanity will perhaps pass someday soon.

Sensible people don't bring monsters home. Sensible people do not keep monsters as pets. Sensible people kill monsters. It has worked this way for many centuries. You know how your parents ostensibly told you never to accept things from strangers, or would have if they hadn't been such crap parents anyway? This was because those things might hatch into unspeakable horrors and eat your intestines for breakfast before killing everyone you know and engulfing the world in everlasting darkness.

But no, I forgot, it's a cute baby monster. That makes everything all right.
I'm going to Moscow tonight to do some extracurricular reading for Eastern Europe/Central Asia class. Does anyone I like need anything while I'm there? I'm at the national library (there's some quite interesting classified stuff in the national archives, but I don't think that's allowed for class material, still being top secret and everything) most of the time.

By the way, Kitty, I'm borrowing your short black skirt while I do it, because there's a very old night-shift guard who has a weakness for pretty girls and bribes in American dollars. Don't worry, he wouldn't last five seconds in a fight, and can't use his gun very well as he's arthritic. It's quite sad actually. I found that out the first time I practised my cat burglary skills.

(I've dedicated that hole in the ceiling to myself. It made the most spectacular noise you'd ever heard. Missed me by three meters, of course.)
Oh, for crying out loud, you bloody heathens.

Would you stop angsting over your silly pagan god, please. If he is like every other god in this universe, such as for example Loki, then he is a bloody bastard like the rest of them. There is no use whining about atonement. If you want to atone, atone; if you don't think it's possible, don't. In any case, stop carrying on, would you?

Go shoe orphans or something instead.
Classes aren't as bad as I thought. Much less worthless than I expected, on a whole, although the algebra and the physics were pretty basic, and I will never understand the point of analysing literature. This is not a valid life skill. I'm sorry, it's true.

Hopped over to Moscow during lunch to figure out what all the fuss was about in Chechnya these last few days. Mostly learned some very interesting new terms in Russian, which I won't repeat here out of respect for those of you who find indelicate discussions of human anatomy gauche. It wasn't very educational -- awfully entertaining, though. Nothing much to do in Moscow at night other than look at things the Communists managed not to destroy, at least if you've only got an hour in between classes.

The food there was much better than it is here, though.
Well, school should be interesting. I guess it's time to adjust to having a schedule again. After eight years, this should be interesting, in a moving-inevitably-toward-the-twenty-first-century way. It had to happen sooner or later, no matter how many times I got shipped off to another dimension.

Thankfully I don't have to worry about getting a higher education, or I might be concerned.

August kind of sucked. I'd be optimistic and say, "Maybe September will be better," but optimism in large doses makes me quite ill, and cuts in on Jamie's monopoly anyway. Instead I will say, "Perhaps in September nobody will get blown up."

Now of course somebody will be blown up; that's how things work here.

The optimism is in hoping it's someone I don't like.
Jubilee's not anywhere I can find in the main business district in town, including the mall. Since I actually give a damn about where she is and if she's okay, I'm going to keep looking, and I will check back here every so often.

Oh, hell no.
Kitty's going to room with me. No fuss over it, thank the gods.

Who's in our suite? When are we supposed to vacate this room? The public needs to know.
x_magik: (Crawled out of the world ~ Dead things)
Well, the art show was very nice.

Before the gunfire started, anyway.

My ears are ringing. I'm just going to . . . sit still for a bit.
So the violent dead Greek fan club showed up again.

Bloody hell.
Well, we’re back.

Hurrah for us.

Shower took the scent of Asgard out of my hair. Thank every god there is. And finally some clean clothes -- I'm burning those jeans. Too many stupid men bled on them. (Not to mention the damage they took when Miss Blaire pushed me into that lake. Gods.)

I do have some exciting career prospects now, though. I think I might join the mafia. They need people to break fingers for them, don't they? It appears to be a talent of mine. (And really, Miss Blaire, I didn't even hurt them as badly as they deserved to be hurt.)

I intend to look into it.

A List

Jul. 27th, 2004 10:58 pm
I made a list today. I thought I would share it using my journal, since I have been accused (unfairly) of not sharing very much. Consider this less "damaging and mean" than "horrible and cruel". I would hate for you to be inaccurate on my account.

Nine Things I Will Do When You Are Less of a Moron

1. Be less judgmental.
2. Be more pleasant in the company of people I don't like.
3. Consider the feelings of others.
4. Listen openly to differing opinions.
5. Consider you to be a useful member of society.
6. Not disparage you behind your back.
7. Read meaningful, life-affirming books.
8. Stop making sarcastic lists.
9. Eat my vegetables.

Now if you'd just get cracking, I could become the girl I always wanted to be. You're really standing in my way.

Also, the next person who tries to convince me that I'm supposed to fix something I have no intention of fixing will be having a nice swim with some very territorial sharks. The next person to do it in my bedroom while I am involved in something that is more interesting than they are, like the 1931 Soviet famine, will not be so lucky.
Just caught the tail end of the news broadcast being rerun. I saw mutants. I think.

Is everyone -- well, first, who was there, and second, is anyone we know involved, and third, if two holds true, is everyone alive? Because I haven't seen explosions like that since... a very long time ago.
I am sure that all of you heard what happened yesterday -- I can't imagine you didn't, as I think it was audible in Norway -- but as I am thoroughly bored with the topic I shall endeavor not to betray my family further by having a personality. It appears being kidnapped by a mad demon lord counts as disgracing the family name. As they're dead, I'll reserve my judgement there.

I will say that in case anyone's forgotten, I'm not the one who got the mafia to kill my parents and almost the rest of my family when they came after me. I'm just saying.

Despite the urge to take off for someplace quieter (I'm guessing disappearing somewhere warm where it's legal for me to drink as much as I need want would be against the rules? Someone tell me I'm wrong), I think I'm going to go and see if I can't go and work the rest of my thoroughly bad mood away. (Gloves this time. Really. Bloody hands not actually attractive, as it turns out.)
x_magik: (Lost in the wasteland ~ Limbo)
Oh, bloody hell, all right. If it will get you all to stop harrassing me, or siccing your dubiously-qualified instructors on me in the case of those of you who don’t have the intelligence to figure things out for yourselves (not that I’m surprised), as Professor Xavier has so kindly pointed out it might, I will spell it out in language you might understand.

Yes, I’m a mutant; a teleporter, to be exact. In very untechnical language, I create light circles through which I can travel at will. By ‘at will’, I mean that I am thankfully in control of my powers. By ‘in control’, I mean they only activate when I want them to, and then to my specifications regarding size and entry/exit points. I know it’s terribly out of vogue to know how to use your powers properly, but you’ll just have to live with it, I’m afraid. I’m certainly not going back to the phase where I randomly ended up twenty miles down the plains or on top of a bloody mountain in my bare feet. (Or down the road here, I suppose.)

Furthermore, yes, I know magic. In an equivalent you may understand, if you are one of the very few people here with enough brain capacity to comprehend simple analogy, I have enough magic to power a light bulb for maybe twenty minutes. Then I’d have a hell of a reaction headache, and pass out for twelve hours. If this is sounding familiar to you, it’s because I had a very irritating encounter with a man I am told is an ‘expert’. He very expertly proceeded to give me a migraine. Impressive, I know.

I was going to write a very long and involved post detailing all the ways my having to say this to appease those of you without any sense was ridiculous, but instead, I’ll leave it at this: In spending quality time with the newspaper, I've discovered that there are indeed people in this world who go around doing things that other people don’t like because it’s right and good. They consider themselves morally righteous, and they are convinced that their intentions are pure enough to justify the means to their end. They live by the policy that those who have nothing to hide have nothing to fear, which some of you seem determined to mimic.

They even call themselves friends. Isn't that nice?

Now, if I could please go back to being -- what were the words? -- right, maladjusted and unsocialized without everyone making it so damn complicated?
Now that I've woken up (did I really sleep for six hours? That'll just do wonders for my circadian cycle), I am going to attempt to treat my migraine headache and retreat to my room, where I hope I won’t be disturbed. (You may all read that as: If you disturb me, there will be mass violence, and don't think I won't resort to projectiles. Take it as a threat all you like.)

Were I a different kind of person, I would have some very strongly-worded things to say about people who cannot mind their own bloody business. People in the plural. Was there a memo? Anyone else up for giving it a go? I'm sure you all have some hard-earned life experience you're just dying to share. You might want to hurry, though, or my headache will go away and you will have to settle for less net suffering.

I hate this thing. Computer screen's flickering at me. I think it's cursed. It, or me.
It's been nearly a three weeks since our last incident, which means we'll probably have another Earth-shattering drama of some kind soon. We're even getting a new instructor, which in my experience means that we will have either soldiers or the mafia in quite short order. (Also, everyone seems very excited about the new instructor. What's the big deal?) Hoping for the mafia; I have some very strongly-phrased things to say to them which may or may not involve a blunt object or ten.

My vote, however, goes to Thursday, and vampires. We haven't had any vampires; they've got to show up sooner or later. Perhaps they'll be Canadian vampires, fitting in with our new arrival. I am not sure they exist, but they probably do in some form; of course, I have never met one personally. (Vampires, that is, not Canadians.)

I'm off for a run outside, since it's gorgeous out. Having weather that goes by the actual course of nature is fantastic.

A Lesson

Jun. 22nd, 2004 06:51 pm
I should preface this by saying that I don't know anyone involved, I am not in any way affected by the outcome of this recent attempt at active suicide, and I think that in times of crisis most people ought to be forcibly incapacitated. Perhaps this will colour your perception of the comments that follow.

That said, the number of you who are appallingly poorly schooled in the mythical quality of "common sense" seems to grow at an exponential rate these days.

Allow me to explain: Going into a fight where you don't know the odds is a very, very stupid thing to do. Going into a fight where you don't know the odds and your backup consists of more alarmingly stupid people who live in a house with telepaths lives in the range of IQ commonly attributed to shellfish. Going into a fight when there are people who would do it for you, because they are nice philanthropists in leather (and some of them indestructible; see: my brother), is simply insane.

Not to put too fine a point on it, but what on Earth is wrong with you people? Your first reaction is to say, hey, let's go help out? You know, even for those of us who grew up fighting for our lives (and I am well aware the number includes more than just me), it's a bit like saying, "Well, I survived hell, but I think I'll give it another go just to see what happens."

In a display that shocked me almost beyond human comprehension, Clarice seems to have maintained the coolest head of all in this little predicament. My world is quite out of order. My world has fallen back into place. See below.
We're back. Artie's safe. I left him watching television -- some cartoon, gods only know what -- in the rec room, if anyone wants to find him. I didn't know whether to stay with him or not, but he could probably use somebody who understands children a bit better than I do. He might be a little upset, due to going through the whole ordeal this afternoon, and he'll probably be acting oddly for a while.

I must say that I'm quite surprised. I wouldn't have imagined any of you having the, well, the capacity to do any of those very creative things I saw today. I'm not sure if I should congratulate you or not for such unexpected mettle. It was very enthusiastic, though.
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