Demon Marcus, Sunday

[myownface]

Ah, weird weekends. Weird, weird weekends. Sparkle would have been more worked up about the whole thing if not for the fact that Atton's counterpart seemed to have an... at least passably level head on his shoulders. Probably wasn't going to go running around the island causing mayhem or anything like that, anyway. That was reassuring, to a degree, and it would probably all be over soon enough. It usually was.

Anyway, he still had a job to do, so he was at work today, trying to coax tiny, tiny horses down from some of the taller shelves.

"If you crap on those sweaters, I swear to god I'll send you all to the glue factory."

Thanks, Fandom.

[OOC: Open! OCD-free!]

Groovy Tunes, Sunday

[furnaceface]

Jonothon wasn't completely certain he trusted Tristan with most of what was in the house. The cats were fine, but the upholstery might not ever be the same again. That said, employee paycheques didn't write themselves, and there were orders that needed to be put in, and there was holiday stock that Jono was grudgingly beginning to admit probably needed to be put onto the shelves.

Yes, even the Bieber Christmas Album.

But he was tucking it behind the real music, where people who wanted it could find it, and he wouldn't have to look at that rotten kid's face all of the time. And then, come the end of the holiday season? He'd probably burn whatever he didn't sell.

Jono had very strong feelings about crappy bubblegum performed by terrible people. Blame Sugar Kane.

[OOC: Open, OCD-freeee.]

Luke's, Sunday

[geniuswithasmartphone]

So Parker had come home yesterday to explain that the island was being weird again and Eliot was no longer Eliot, but some guy named Jake with a terrible haircut. Which meant that Hardison was coming down to the diner today to explain what was going on to the staff.

Only to discover that they were all present, but none of them were themselves. In fact, the busboy was behind the stove and, from what Hardison could see, was doing an excellent job. And rather than ignoring him, as per usual, the dishwasher was actually being friendly. Possibly even flirting as he wiped down the nearby tables.

Either way, it was creepy.

Seeing the staff was here but not themselves, Hardison reluctantly decided to stay downstairs and keep an eye on things. Because even though things were still strained between him and Eliot, he wasn't about to let anything happen to the diner if he could help it.

Today's Specials
Bitterballen
Andijviestamppot
Stroopwafels

[OCD-free]

The Park, Sunday Noon

[saddeserthermit]

Ah, it felt so good to be wearing something that wasn't beige. Or taupe. Seriously, whoever lived in that shack badly needed a life.

But by noon Obi-Wan had managed to pick up a band t-shirt and some leather pants, and with a giant cup of stomach-burning caf in his hands, he was doing pretty good now. Even if he still didn't have any idea where Maul had run off to. He sat down by the pond, cupping his warm coffee, and squinted at the flamingoes.

"I'm sick of pink, too," he told them. It didn't leave much of an impression, so he hit them with a mild mind whammy and watched them flutter away.

[[ open! ]]

Magic Box, Sunday, 12/06

[not_every_mage]

Francis II, King of France and King Consort of Scotland, did not do anything so common as work in a shop. But some kind of muscle memory had taken him to this one today, and -- out of sheer boredom -- he had decided to stay for a bit.

It wasn't a bad place, he thought. Smelled a bit like Nostradamus's chambers. He poked around for a bit, saw enough reminiscent of witchcraft to know he shouldn't poke anymore, and set to writing a letter to Mary outlining his plight.

[OOC: Open shop, open post!]

Above the Streets of Fandom, Sunday Afternoon

[newroutines]

Caine was still looking for an explanation for why he was here. And why Jupiter wasn't, and whether there was anything he could do about either of those things, and whether there was a way off this rock because he'd tried the causeway and it hadn't let him anywhere.

So he'd spread his wings and taken to the air, and he was surveying the town that way, now. Also taking comfort from being up above it all. The island was holding him prisoner but at least it hadn't grounded him. He didn't want to be stuck on the ground.

... There were tiny white horses on many of the rooftops below. This place was strange.

[ooc: Ooopen, if you want to holler up at a winged person!]