HM - seriously?

...as the sparks fly upward

The Spirit of the Twentieth Century

Voice Mail & E-Mail
HM - seriously?
ashockingbitch
"Right, you've reached Jenny Sparks. If this is Jack, I'm still not bloody speaking to you. Since apparently some of you might not know this bit, leave your message after the tone and I'll get back to you if I feel like it."

BEEP

((OOC: This post will be linked to in my profile, and can also be used for sending Jenny e-mail or text messages, if you so desire.

In creating this journal, the author has assumed the identity of a fictional person for use in the role-playing game fandomhigh, for the sole purpose of entertainment, without intending to obtain a benefit or to injure or defraud either the person who created the fictional person, or any reader of this content. The author does not purport to be the creator of the fictional person, or to be affiliated with the creator, or with any person or entity with an interest in the fictional person. The author does not claim to be the person who is being used as the graphical representation of that fictional person, nor intend to obtain a benefit or to injure or defraud that person by use of their image.))

The Carrier, Earth Orbit, Late Sunday or Early Monday, Who Knows
HM - seriously?
ashockingbitch
Swift was gone. So was Apollo. That wasn't the worst part; the worst part was that Midnighter didn't even know someone was missing. Jenny hadn't had the heart to tell him yet. Right now, she was gearing up for an argument as she stalked into the situation room. "We need to land the Carrier."

Less arguing than expectedCollapse )

Cambridge, England, Friday Morning
HM - coffee is necessary to sustain life
ashockingbitch
Jenny was standing in line at the Starbucks around the corner from the front entrance to her college, waiting for her morning caffeine infusion before she headed to lecture, still smelling like a bar from last night, when something pinged in her head and Jack Hawksmoor's voice broke in over radiotelepathy. She was really going to have to do something about that one of these days. She wasn't in the Authority any more and it was just annoying.

Talking in Jenny's head.Collapse )

((Establishy.))

A Pub, Cambridge, England, Wednesday Night
bugger me gently
ashockingbitch
Apparently, when one was at university, one was supposed to do things like study and write essays. Jenny thought she'd gotten out of this by reading philosophy, but noooooo. But bugger all that, there were pubs and they had alcohol. You weren't supposed to smoke in them now, but Jenny had never been much of one for 'rules' or even 'laws.'

"Hello," a boy said, leaning up next to her at the bar.

"Not interested," she told him, and he cursed and went back to his friends. Kids these days.

"The great Jennifer Sparks," the next person to lean on the bar said, and she sighed.

"Not interested."

"You haven't even heard what I had to say."

"Didn't have to. No one ever starts a proposal I'm interested in like that."

"You've come down a long way in the world."

Oh, it was going to be that kind of proposal. "Not particularly. I've always spent a bulk of my time in pubs. And really not interested." She actually turned to look at him. Tall. Handsome in a greasy sort of way. Probably superpowered. "Now get out before I put you out." He got out. At least maybe they were getting smarter. It would mean more of a challenge to the sort of people who dealt with that sort of thing these days. She signaled the barkeeper to pour her another scotch.

Pixie Dust, Monday
kitty Jenny plots your doom
ashockingbitch
Jenny let herself in to Pixie Dust on Monday. Yes, it wasn't her usual day, but she wanted to get some inventory done and start preparing things for the eventual handover of management to...someone. Possibly Ariel. Oh, dear. Therefore, she didn't actually open the shop, and was hoping no one would notice her moving around inside and try to come in and buy something. She was feeling particularly antisocial today, it seemed.

She was just booting up the computer when...she turned into a cat. A flame-point Siamese, to be precise (not that she knew that), so the series of yowls that emerged from her throat were to be expected. Also, probably curse words.

Now if you would excuse her, she would just be trying to open this bottle of gin she kept under the counter without the use of thumbs. Dammit.

((Establishy!))

Sidney Sussex College, Cambridge, England, Friday Afternoon
HM - a smoke in the hand
ashockingbitch
At two twenty-nine PM GMT, Jenny set down her glass, said, "Gentlemen," to everyone in the London pub, and then, "Door," and stepped through an orangey hole in the world and into a conference room in Cambridge, for an appointment that should have happened at least two weeks ago, but when it came to Jenny, there were always special circumstances. She suspected they hadn't believed she was serious until she called at the end of the standard interview period to inquire after the status of her application.

Also, there were way more people in the room than there would have been for a normal student interviewing for admittance to Cambridge. "Miss Sparks," the one she suspected was in charge said after a moment, sounding more wary than anything. "Please, have a seat."

This could be interestingCollapse )

((NFB due to distance, NFI. OOC okay))

Room 401, Tuesday Evening
HM - actually smiling
ashockingbitch
Sometime during the break, Jenny had finally realized that it wasn't just that her roommate wasn't around very much, all of Agnes's things were gone, too. That...explained a few things, actually.

Never let it be said Jenny was the most observant person on the planet.

Now that she'd realized she wasn't sharing with someone (and that she could stop smoking out the window, thank God, with winter coming), Jenny had decided to rearrange the room to be more to her liking. Generally, when she had to rearrange furniture, she told someone like, say, Apollo where she wanted it, then stood back and watched the fun. Since she had to do it on her own this time, it was taking a while and not going very smoothly. A lot of banging and dragging sounds could be heard from the open doorway to room 401, occasionally accompanied by some very creative and foul-mouthed swearing.

((Door and post open!))

OOC: Rename Madness!
OOC fairy
ashockingbitch
Due to circumstances that don't need exploring, I had another Jenny journal with a substantially more awesome username sitting unused, and recently deleted it and bought a username token for when it purged. Then I got sick of waiting, because I have the patience of a goldfish, tried adding an article, and that was free.

So spiritofthe20th is now ashockingbitch. *pets new name* I now no longer have three characters with usernames beginning with 's,' so the likelihood of Steve accidentally saying 'fuck' has gone down substantially.

You may now return to your regularly scheduled RP madness.

Room 401, Friday Evening
electrified hair, Jenny is angry
ashockingbitch
Jenny Sparks had, in her time in Fandom, willfully destroyed over two dozen iPhones. The current one had lasted a little more than three months. It was a record.

It did not survive the end of the call she received on it tonight, one full of cursing and statements of hatred for alternate realities. Jenny dropped the smoking ruin on the floor and stepped over it to write Agnes a note telling her she'd be back when she got back if she didn't die first. It was her idea of being considerate. Then she said simply, "Door," and stepped through an oscillating orange-gold opening in the air which closed behind her, onto the Carrier, and into a battle already in progress.

((Establishy!))

Room 401, Sunday Night
HM - seriously?
ashockingbitch
Jenny stumbled through a Door into her room, still drunk and possibly stoned, fresh from a spring break spent terrorizing innocent pubkeepers refamiliarizing herself with London. The original intention of her trip had been to remind the government that she was still around, so don't do anything stupid, but she wasn't sure it had quite worked out according to plan.

Oh, well. Gordon Brown was hardly the first PM whose desk she'd puked on, and he probably wouldn't be the last.

She collapsed facedown on her bed, fully dressed, and was unconscious in about a second. So pretty much a usual night for her, then.

((Establishy!))

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