(no subject)

Having arrived in town to collect on that dinner with Roy, I discovered that Lieutenant Hawkeye had dragged a rather exhausted and distinctly spotted Roy & Ed to the office. Apparently, she doesn't trust them not to scratch, and had some urgent paperwork. While we were confirming the dinner reservations, and explaining to the concierge that the Colonel was no longer contagious, Elycia produced a wall & crayon masterpiece! ♥ We'll see her in the National Museum someday, I just know it!!! ♥ ♥ ♥
Ed appears to have contributed also.

paint fumes . . .

Well, here I am at let's-not-talk-about-it o'clock and I do believe the office is finally almost completely painted. (Thank you all for manuevering around the ladders and buckets today, I just didn't have the time to finish over the weekend. Especially not after Black Hayate's green footprint adventure.)

I have to say, ventilation is a wonderful thing and whoever closed the east windows today despite the large and very noticeable signs is a bad, bad person. The paint wasn't dry and they are now all. stuck. shut. Paint fumes . . . (Colonel, I apologize - there may be a broken window, pretty sure it's just one. There was frustration and possibly a firearm involved. I reprimanded myself.)

Huh. The crunchy stuff in my hair is unsuprisingly, I suppose, paint. I seem to have half a head of green hair. Oh yes, by the way - I've decided it's a bluish green paint. Not a greenish blue. Just so you know. You know what would have been a good idea? A fan. Fans circulate air - air that there would have been more of, if the damn windows could be opened.

You know, when I was a child there was a window in our house that would get stuck all the time. My father ended up having to transmute the very edges into bearing grease one summer because it was so hot and that window was so stuck. That was even before your time, Colonel. Which I suppose would be good, if it would be anything it all. We certainly didn't need a brush fire on top of what the sun was doing on its own. Not that I'm saying the brush fire that happened later was your fault, even if you were out there by yourself at the time.

Hmm, I do believe the non-brush fire summer was the first summer I had "real" shooting lessons. Before that it was just whenever Daddy could get some free time and round me up as well - six year olds are rambunctious. Though truthfully, my father had to wait nearly a decade before I would sit still long enough that he could really start carving out the er, nevermind. That's not really something to get into now. That was Sundays. Sundays were alchemy days and today is officially Tuesday. Which, if I remember correctly, was small firearms days. Firearms days were always just to please me - it was a pretty obvious indulgence, even to a pre-teen. My father certainly had his own plans for me. But then, whose doesn't, I suppose?

,k,jiiuhuhg o;jyyjyjyyoj;y u     Oh, damn. I kind of passed out on the keyboard there, didn't I?
I think I'll go take a quick walk around outside then finish up in here. I expect you won't have to worry about avoiding ladders and such tomorrow.

Just wondering....

Anyone ever thought that we should redecorate the office?

Whoever keeps writing "I'LL GET YOU, BASTARD" at very low places on the wall is kind of annoying. Perhaps we should start painting over the death threats, Sir?
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