ignore the previous post, if you please; devart's being bitchy.

A bunch of characters popped into my head the other day...coincidentally enough, they all met at a strip club. Why that's a coincidence, I'm not entirely sure, but for the moment I need to get Jays to stop blushing (that fair complection, gets him every time), Z'ev to put his clothes back on, and Amara to stop it with the damn southern accent. And whatever else she's doing, since it's probably illegal in thirty seven states and the District of Columbia.

They don't even have a proper story, but Z'ev and Amara work in a bar/club called The Aurifex, and Jays works for a freelance detective agency. I think he's related to Isoka from the Crazy Clown Story, but only distantly so I can make references to the circus or histories of mental illness. I guess their story will eventually involve a serial killer or mob connections, and strippers ending up dead in alleys and other cheerful things like that, but currently the only things going on are Z'ev loosing articles of clothing (he gets a bit enthusiastic, you see, and his shirt or his tie usually ends up somewhere on the other side of the bar- once, one of his gloves ended up in somebody's drink...) and Amara embarassing Jays horribly. Amara's good at that, and Jays gets embarassed really easily.

I think some higher deity has it out for me- either that, or I'm just really, really repressed. (One can probably tell that I'm not thinking straight at the moment. Johnny Bravo is playing in the background, and today I had someone explain to me an episode of Venture Boys. I hope that the rest of the world has not been exposed to Venture Boys, because even listening to the abbreviated version has made me feel violated. To quote T, "And he thought he could beat the system!" *cringe* So dirty...)

Attention span of a gna- today there was a dance assembly for black history month that kicked much ass! Made me splee all over the place, between the drummers and the masked dancer (so. feckin'. cool.) and the happy dancers and the guys with the fancy footwork and the skinny white kid who could break like a raver- 'twas awesome. And it's very difficult to type one-handed. Stupid cat. *sigh*

Really, I'm still just avoiding my email. I've signed in, you see, but have not yet actually looked at my inbox...