Alana hadn't quite made it back to the island Saturday. There'd been this early shopping trip to Baltimore that had turned into a comedy of errors, and, long story short, she'd ended up crashing for the night at a house party hosted by a couple who were way too into Space Battles. It was late Sunday morning before she landed in the Perk, sipping on a vat of coffee the size of her head and wondering why there seemed to be kids all over the place.

[OOC: Open post!]

myownface

It was Valentine's Day, and love was in the air! Or pollen. Love pollen? Something like that, anyway. It wasn't like the holiday cared any, after all. Not when there was a dance to be had. And this year's dance had just the thing to take everybody's mind off of that pesky pollen!

That's right, dancing. Which, to the uninitiated, might seem a bit redundant for a dance, but Town Hall wasn't having any of that. The whole place was decorated to look like a dance club, complete with funky blue mood lighting and laser lights. Glowsticks were optional, glitter was everywhere and might or might not be an excellent excuse for boykissy, and the music tracks tonight seemed to be a selection of Marvin Gaye and Barry White music... Along with a selection of songs from Lords of Acid.

One did not question the dance. The dance knew what music the students needed today.

[ Arrival/Mingling | Photographer | Punch & Food | Dance Floor | Shadowy Corners | Chaperones | OOC ]

not-called-icky.livejournal.com

The history section was having a debate with the poetry shelf. Ichabod just ignored them an turned up the volume on the radio. Should any customers show up today they might be surprised about how noisy a bookshop could be.

[open!]

pasunereveuse.livejournal.com

Yesterday's conversations had helped Celia gain a bit of perspective, insofar as the mere existence of a letter wasn't as devastating as she had made it out to be in her mind, particularly without context. And that, at least, meant that she had stopped spontaneously flickering lights and breaking teacups.

...even if she hadn't actually sought out Ichabod for an explanation. She was still too hurt -- the possibility of a reasonable explanation aside, she still felt deceived -- to actually stop avoiding him, and she still didn't quite trust herself not to cry or something else equally humiliating.

But today was still a step in the right direction, in that she was busying herself with tidying the shop. And for once, she wasn't using her magic, instead actually pulling items off the shelves to dust them and rearrange by hand. It helped that thanks to Christmas, the shop was bright and filled with greenery, even if her mood was still a little bleak.

[open shop and post!]

not-called-icky.livejournal.com

Perhaps the books were going into hibernation, because they did seem quite asleep, all of them. Ichabod wasn't going to complain. He could go through the latest shipment without being disturbed, and when that was done he made a pot of tea and sat down to read, not feeling the least guilty about doing that at work. It was best to enjoy the silence while it lasted.

[Open and OCD-free!]

not-called-icky.livejournal.com

Book Haven was a quiet place today, but quite disorganized. It seemed like every book had switched places with another one, seemingly at random, which was unfortunate if you were looking for anything in particular. Ichabod would advise just exploring the shop at random today.

[Open and OCD-free!]

not-called-icky.livejournal.com

Was this a dream? Ichabod Crane had woken up in an unfamiliar room that he certainly did not remember falling asleep in. Quickly he had fled the building and now found himself in a park. All this was quite disturbing, especially as Ichabod was supposed to be on his way to the village of Sleepy Hollow to investigate some particularly grisly murders. Now, it seemed, he found himself stranded.

Placing his bag on a bench, he sat down next to it. Was he imagining things or were there flamingos over in that pond?

[Open if you want to talk to Ichabod or just happen to be in the park. Ichabod is now Ichabod Crane from the movie Sleepy Hollow, played by Johnny Depp.]

not-called-icky.livejournal.com

Ichabod arrived at a quiet shop, which was nice for a change. It turned out that the books were sleeping, which some of them betrayed by occasionally snoring and talking in their sleep. Despite this, the shop was open and books would be sold, awake or not.

[open and ocd-free]

not-called-icky.livejournal.com

There were books howling in the shop today. Ichabod was pleased that he already knew of the wonderful invention of modern earplugs, so he didn't have to suffer through it. He would however remove them should a customer arrive, in which case they would have to deal with the noise.

[open and OCD-free]

myownface

Upon entering the Town Hall tonight, dance attendees might notice a very definite theme tonight! A very definite, very sparkly theme tonight, with enough glitter strewn around the place that there were, in fact, glitterdrifts piling up around the edges of the dance floor. Everything was glittery, or sequiny, or rhinestoney, with a sort of sci-fi punk sensibility about it. Ish.

You'd be surprised how difficult it was to find 'Glitterpunk' as a genre on google for reference.

Welcome to Homecoming 2014
GLITTERPUNK!

stacyexperiment

The carnival was still going strong, and of course the booths were always a big draw! Whether you wanted to kiss someone, see them sopping wet in late October in Maryland, or just throw pie in their face, there was plenty more to do!

There was probably still glitter involved somehow.

[Post I | Kissing booths | Dunk tanks | Pie tossing | OOC]

stacyexperiment

Soooo the carnival was out this year, due to that whole murder carnival this summer. But it did bring the arrival of the Homecoming Fall Festival, which was open nice and early for everyone to get playing around and mingling. You might even be enticed to come in just by the dulcet sounds of the zombie band playing at the concert stage. Yeah, that was a thing that was happening.

There was plenty of new fall-themed stuff going on to see and explore, and who doesn't want to catch up with everyone who's come into town for the weekend? Come one, come all, and remember to stick around for the parade! Because this was a town full of stairs and that was gonna be interesting.

Oh and you were almost guaranteed to leave with glitter on your person but you knew this job was dangerous when you took it.

[Food | Tables | Pick a Pumpkin | Petting zoo | Music Stage | Corn maze | Hay bale obstacle course | Homecoming parade | OOC | Post II]

endsthegame

The school had instructed everyone going on the fall break trip to gather up at the causeway late on Sunday afternoon.

There was a little designated area for the luggage to the right, while students and teachers could gather up on the left. There'd been an instruction about winter wear in the invite, too - hopefully everyone had complied, considering their destination.

Now it was just a matter of waiting for the portal.

[[ open for all trip-goers. first trip post will go up later today. ]]

iceolatedqueen.livejournal.com

It was another brightly sunny day today, with a few clouds scattered across the sky above, and the flamingos were out in full force, congregating by the edge of the pond to watch the events that were going on in the park today. When the park got busy, food tended to be involved in great quantities, and several of the large pink birds were hoping that maybe somebody would throw some shrimp their way.

Wouldn't you like to, parents and assorted other visitors? Ignore the glitter and the people food, stop talking to those ridiculous teenagers you were here to see, and come pay attention to the birds!

Or don't. It wasn't like the flamingos could do anything about it, anyway.

[Open brunch is open!]

not-called-icky.livejournal.com

Ichabod sat down on a bench by the pond, already exhausted from guiding his father around Fandom. Celia must have done a brilliant job of creating illusions for the older mr Crane, as he so far hadn't paid much attention to being in the wrong century. Now they faced the ultimate test, however, which was meeting with Celia and her father (and Ichabod has promised himself not to make things worse for Celia by saying what he truly felt to him).

"Please, father, have a seat. They will be here shortly."

[Ichabod and his father are here for Celia and Hector, but the park is open for your park needs. If you want to say hello that will happen before Celia shows up. Also, Mr Crane the older isn't seeing what is truly there, as Celia is creating illusions for him so as to not freak him out.]

voiceoverdue

The place was set up and appropriately glittered, Cecil was in his very best tie and well-trimmed furry pants, there was plenty of food for before, after, and between, Foucault was guarding the punch bowl against spiking, and all the equipment was ready - now they just needed the people!

This was so exciting - almost like a PTA meeting, but with fewer lethal hazards!

[ooc: ocd ~~on its way~~ up!]

Current Mood: excited
Current Location: Community Center
Current Music: tbd

not-called-icky.livejournal.com

Ichabod opened a very quiet bookshop. Perhaps this silence meant the books had finally accepted that he worked there and so given up on their pranks? He didn't count on it, though. Hoping it wouldn't cause them displeasure he arranged a new display, selecting some books on contemporary art. It should of course come as no surprise that the taste in art too had changed considerably since his time, and some were even quite shocking. Perhaps he should ask Celia if she wanted to go to an art museum soon?

[open and OCD-free!]

not-called-icky.livejournal.com

Ichabod opened the bookshop, and after arranging a few new arrivals on a table he picked up one of the cookbooks that filled the display. Was is cookbook season? Whatever the reason, he found that there were more pictures in the book than actual recipies, but that every picture made him long for the meals at home. Not that there was any resemblance between the dishes in the book and what his father's cook made, other than looking tastier than anything he had managed to prepare himself.

[open bookshop]

nobloodymessiah.livejournal.com

So Eleanor and Celia were on complicated terms at the moment. It wasn't bad, they weren't exactly fighting, but neither of them were budging, which was casting a serious pall over an already long week.

This was exactly the sort of moment that called for the beach party they had been meaning to throw all bloody summer. Obviously, what they needed to do was stop planning and just throw it. Tell a few friends, ask them to tell a few friends, and get the message out that way.

Holding it spur of the moment made it a very simplified party -- no themes, no decorations, no posters tacked up around town. But they did have the essentials: food, music, and a large bonfire.

Really, what else did you need?

(Open to EVERYONE, EVER. Feel free to assume someone mentioned it to you or that you just stumbled by for no good reason. There's a bonfire, it's easy enough to spot! OCD ~~INCOMING~~ UP!)

not-called-icky.livejournal.com

"Can you please be quiet!"

Ichabod addressed the books sharply, fed up with their mumbling, which was quite distracting. The books, however, seemed to pay no attention to him.

"A bookshop should be a quiet place. Where people can browse the shelves. Quietly!"

If the books disagreed they didn't speak up, but they didn't fall silent either.

"Can you please go and have your meeting somewhere else!"

There was a moment of silence and Ichabod thought he had succeeded. Then all the books tumbled out of their shelves and landed on the floor. He closed his eyes, shaking his head slowly. This did not cause the books to move however, so he got to work putting them back, vowing never to speak to them again.

[Open shop, expect SP from me.]

not-called-icky.livejournal.com

Today the books behaved like books. They were quiet. They stayed on their shelves. Ichabod was going through the newly arrived titles to get an idea about them. There was a pot of tea on the counter. In fact, today was just how he had imagined how working in a book shop would be, but he occasionally glanced behind his back. Quiet bookshelves were not to be trusted.

[open shop]

nobloodymessiah.livejournal.com

Today was another one that was difficult to place musically. Eleanor grabbed CDs in piles of six or seven at a time, but ended up returning them after only a minute or two. Soothing music didn't fit her jangling nerves, and upset music just made her feel worse.

Maybe she'd put on some of Aunt Grace's music and have done with it.

(FLEEING back to work so SP is in effect until later tonight zomg)

fh_thumbprick

Had the carnival changed? Retreated? No, but perhaps it had filled up even worse over the past twenty-four hours or so.

The look on that mustached man's face certainly exuded a certain amount of triumph as the lights went on again early on Sunday morning. He stabbed the ground with his cane and watched; if experience counted for anything, then there would be yet more pouring into his carnival today.

The feeding was good, here.

That scent of cotton candy rolled over the island once more, and the carnival's music touched what it could not.

It's a new day, Fandom. Come, enjoy it.

fh_thumbprick

On Saturday morning, the smell of cotton candy permeated the island once again as the booths at Cooger & Dark's Pandemonium Shadow Show began to turn on and light up. There were more attractions to see today than there had been yesterday, and wasn't that just wonderful?

There was plenty of room for even more shows, if today's visitors weren't careful.

Once everything was ready, the tall man with the dark mustache stepped through the main arch again to survey the grounds and, seemingly finding everything satisfactory, he disappeared back into the small tent away from the grounds.

The carnival was open, offering more merriment and delight... and likely some terror as well.

not-called-icky.livejournal.com

The shop was quiet when Ichabod opened it, which should be considered normal for a bookshop, but Ichabod knew better. He didn't quite trust the books -- well, perhaps one at a time, while reading them, but definitely not when they had the opportunity to team up -- and cautiously looked around to make sure everything was fine.

As nothing strange seemed to be going on, he began to unpack a newly arrived box, now and then eyeing the shelves at the back of the shop.

"Perhaps I'm suffering from paranoia," he muttered to himself. The next moment, a loud roar was heard and all the books burst from their shelves, flapping wildly, only to quietly return to their places a few seconds later. Ichabod just stared, then shook his head. At least he wasn't going mad.

[open and ocd-free shop]

not-called-icky.livejournal.com

The sound of waves rolling in was something he was starting to increasingly appreciate. It had a way of calming the mind, and had been a relief from the moans and voices on Ingvar island. Ichabod certainly didn't believe in superstitions like ghosts at home, but since this place operated by different rules, it seemed, he wasn't entirely sure now. Or rather, he had come to terms with using the word 'haunted'.

But today they had moved back to the dorms, which were no longer infested. This, among other reasons, put Ichabod in a good mood, as he leisurely walked along the edge of the water, his coat slung across his shoulder.

Then he took another step and the world changed.

Why has he so much smaller? Why did walking suddenly feel awkward? Ichabod let out a noise which sounded nothing like his voice and flapped his wings -- wings? -- and rose into the air.

So he could fly? He was a bird? Bewildered, he landed on a rock. blinking slowly. What was he to do?

[Ichabod is now an owl, as I'm going on vacation. Expecting one, but open beach.]

not-called-icky.livejournal.com

Ichabod opened the shop after the Doctoring 101 class, which meant he had spent the morning at a circus drinking something far too strong too early in the day. In short, he wasn't quite sober. The books, either feeling a little insulted by this, or because he hadn't brought enough to share, decided to play hide-and-seek. They didn't tell Ichabod that of course, but any book he looked for wasn't where it was supposed to be, and was eventually found in a strange place. Well, there weren't too many strange places, and all of them favoured hiding in the cleaning cupboard, so eventually it got quite predictable.

[open and OCD-free shop. Apologies for missing last week]

professor-lyman.livejournal.com

Since there was no need for a mid-summer welcome picnic, the administration had splashed out on this one: the tables (located under giant tents) were groaning with sidedishes from corn on the cob to potato chips to baked beans to several dodgy-looking jello salads and the grills were set up along the beach cooking chicken, hamburgers, hot dogs, ribs and veggie burgers. There was an ice cream sundae bar, watermelons, enough lemonade and ice tea to swim in (please don't swim in it), coolers for more adult beverages if you were an adult or sneaky about it, and areas roped off for tug of war and relay races and pick-up softball games if people were in the mood to be more active than just stuffing their faces and waiting for it to get dark.

The music was playing loudly--one of the more esoteric of the zombie band's offerings--and the sun was shining. It's hot, it's humid. It's the 4th of July and there's plenty of free food to go around. Come on over!

not-called-icky.livejournal.com

The books were quiet today. Ichabod was beginning to hope that his first day at work of being laughed at by a shop full of books was just bad luck, but one could never be to sure on this Island. Enjoying a peaceful shop, he had taken a seat behind the counter, and would sit there reading until a customer required his attention.

[Open and OCD-free]

solarhippie

Under different circumstances, Karolina might have had some reservations about this relocation to the smaller island she'd never been on (and couldn't think of anyone ever having been on). But, the current circumstances were that she thought she was going to still be earwormed at least two weeks from now, so she would have been willing to relocate anywhere at least for a while, provided there were no singing bugs there.

So, she was quite happily on the ferry with her backback slung over her shoulder, looking out towards Ingvar with some curiosity. Hey, maybe this would be fun! And at least it wouldn't be bouncy castles this time.

Now if only she could have kept herself from absent-mindedly humming that freaking song...

[ooc: Open for both your Ingvar-bound ferry and Kar-bothering needs!]

not-called-icky.livejournal.com

Today the books were very quiet. Ichabod had felt a little uneasy about his second day at work, as he had been laughed at by a whole bookshop full of books the week before. He took a seat behind the counter, occasionally glancing over his shoulder to make sure the books were still behaving.

[Open, OCD-free and SP]

not-called-icky.livejournal.com

Ichabod arrived at the shop for his first day of work feeling quite exited. It was the first paid employment he had ever had, it involved books and (and this he wouldn't admit to himself) his father would not approve.

Opening up the shop and making himself familiar with what was on the shelves, he suddenly heard a faint giggle. Who else was in the shop?! Then he heard it again, this time for another direction and a little louder. He located the corner it had come from, and moved all the books from that shelf.

There was nothing there. But someone snickered behind his back. Ichabod spun around, but yet again there was no one there.

Then there was a loud guffaw, which went on long enough for Ichabod to identify the source. A copy of A History of the World was shaking with laughter on its shelf. It's neighbour, a book on British Colonialism, joined in.

It turned out that the books where laughing at him, mostly behind his back. Ichabod sank down on the chair behind the counter, not sure whether to be astonished or offended. He eventually settled on both.

[Shop is open and OCD-free]

pasunereveuse.livejournal.com

Celia had been in a good mood. She'd had an absolutely wonderful weekend, and while she hadn't been literally walking on air since Friday night, the thought had crossed her mind a time or two. And there had been polar bear cub playtime, to boot -- she really couldn't have asked for a better series of days.

And then this morning she'd picked up her mail, and found a letter postmarked from Paris waiting for her, bearing her father's untidy scrawl.

She'd waited until she was at work before she'd opened the letter. It was filled to the brim with Hector's usual lies about how fantastic things were -- she'd lived that life long enough to read between the lines, and correctly interpret his stories of champagne and furs as his spending more time than he probably ought to in Montmartre.

But it was his last paragraph that stopped her in her tracks, with more instantaneous terror than usual.

As always, I hope that you've kept up your studies. I don't need to remind you that your opponent could appear at any time, and you need to be ready to prove yourself. I will be in touch again once I'm back in the country -- perhaps the time has come for me to see for myself how well your tutelage has paid off at this school, and if I am dissatisfied with the results, you know what will happen.

The letter ended there, with no 'Papa' or 'Father' or even a 'Hector' in closing. Celia's eyes retraced the thinly-veiled threat a few more times. She felt her skin heat and her stomach churn, the hair at the back of her neck prickling as her frustration and fear and anger grew.

She heard the sound of glass shattering, and shut her eyes. A few more crashes, and Celia was under control again, though it looked as though she'd be spending her day piecing vials and vases back together. She threw the letter on the counter, forcibly pushing all thought of her father from her mind, and set to work mending what she had broken -- ironically enough, an exercise he'd probably have her engage in if he was still monitoring her training.

[open, OCD-free but angst-ridden, omg.]

not-called-icky.livejournal.com

Sunday should be a day of rest, which for Ichabod meant that drinking coffee and eyeing through some of the books he had borrowed from the library made perfect sense. While occasionally taking notes and concentrating on what he was reading, he found his thoughts wandering more than usual. He had spent Friday on the mainland with Celia, which had included a visit to the Science museum as well as stargazing. The girl who had quickly become his closest friend on the island was more than a friend, perhaps, and he alternated between a warm tingly feeling at the thought of her smiling at him, and a more concerned sentiment that perhaps this wasn't the best situation to develop a deep affection for a young lady. However, he felt he had little control of the matter.

On a less complicated but more annoying note, he had managed to get into an argument over the price of water in this establishment. Apparently it was expensive and sold in bottles. One would think that in a time where man could fly though the air with the help of machines water should be freely available in coffee houses.

[open!]

doesnotkneel

The weather was certainly beginning to look up - moreso than Edward was used to this time of year, but he wasn't about to let that stop him. Rather, he would let it guide his choices on these days when he had very little to do with himself-- he would go down to the beach and see if anyone else was interested in joining him there.

Which is to say, he was taking a dive in the water, from the highest point he could find on the surrounding rocks; and he was enjoying the refreshing splash of cold it offered him, even if it was still a bit chilly.

He swam a few laps until he got tired of that and got back to the beach, where he went looking for the second highest point on the surrounding rocks.

[[ open! ]]

not-called-icky.livejournal.com

It was a beautiful day. Well, perhaps apart from the air being heavy like a thunderstorm was on its way, but even that could be enjoyed as a display of the grandeur of the natural world. Ichabod had found a table at Chilly Boulder, where he waited for miss Bowen to meet him for an introduction to ice cream, one of her favourite desserts from this time, by the sound of it. He looked forward to the experience, and even more so for sharing it with miss Bowen, the thought of whom made his face warm slightly.

The waitress stopped by his table. Ichabod looked up, and smiled at the pretty girl. "Madam, I am waiting for a friend to join me, and will postpone ordering anything until she arrives. She has promised to be my guide in entering the world of ice cream, which I have been told is an exqusite treat."

The waitress blinked. "That's ok," she said.

Ichabod adjusted the collar of his coat self-consciously. "You see, we are both from times where places like this are not to be found, but she, having been here longer than me, has kindly offered to share her experiences of the modern world with me."

While most of the customers here liked ice cream, and many were from odd places, the waitress smiled tensely at this display of enthusiasm, which seemed a little exaggregated for, well, ice cream. "I'll be back when she gets here then," she said and fled.

[Ichabod is here for Celia, but open]

not-called-icky.livejournal.com

"What do you mean? Are you suggesting there is more than one type of coffee?" Ichabod snapped at the staff behind the counter in the coffee house. He had little patience today with the oddities of this time, and right now all he wanted to do was sit at a table, drink coffee, read through the pages he had printed off the Wikipedia (Who knew if they would be in the computer the next time he looked?) and see of there were any interesting news to pick up. Someone had yet to tell him about the radio and the squirrels.

"Uh, yeah, we have a menu over there," the barista said, pointing. "All those are different kinds of coffee."

Ichabod looked at the menu, frowning "None of this makes any sense at all. How am I supposed to tell the difference between a 'Frappucino' and 'Macciato'?"

"If you just want regular coffee, we have that too."

"Fine, I take that." Ichabod didn't look entirely impressed.

"Small or large?"

There was a pause. "Large." That would save him from attempting to order a second one.

Picking up his mug, Ichabod spotted a table by the window and flounced across the room towards it. He took a seat and picked up an article of ancient Greek dialects. This would surely make him forget about modern life for a while.

[open!]

flickofthewrist

Flick hadn't really been getting out a lot lately. He didn't really mind that either. He'd been doing just fine sticking to his room and the dorms and occasionally venturing out for class or to go off island. But today, he'd taken a leisurely walk into town and settled himself down on a bench.

The weather was warmer and that plus the feeling of the bench between him reminded him of some better times in New York. Benches weren't ideal for sleeping on but when he'd been too wrecked or embarrassed to go to Joi's, they made for good makeshift beds. He'd slept in worse places.

Flick stretched out his legs in front of him and leaned back, propping his head against the back of the bush and closing his eyes. Maybe he'd fall asleep here for old times sake. Or maybe he'd take a rare moment to himself to not think about anything and not worry about anything.

[It's an open place so the post is open too]

Current Mood: quixotic

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Welcome to Homecoming 2014GLITTERPUNK!

Fandom High RPG

Welcome to Homecoming 2014
GLITTERPUNK!