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April 14th, 2006
 | 09:06 pm - Play Requests
Want to thread with PeeJee? Can't reach me on AIM? Tag here and I'll get back to you.
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March 24th, 2006
 | 01:31 pm - Ask them anything!
Ask my characters anything, and they or I will endeavor to answer honestly!
PeeJee Shou, of Something Positive
Michael Knight, of Knight Rider
Stevie Mason, of Knight Rider
Dr. Hawley Griffin, of League of Extraordinary Gentlemen
Jeannie, of I Dream of Jeannie.
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December 23rd, 2005
 | 08:22 am - Christmas Gifts!
( For Kitt, Michael, Karr, Bonnie, Eddie, Tim, Asar-Suti, Sunny, Sunny's Parents, Eska, and secondarily (because she knows them a bit, but not well enough to buy big gifts well or reasonably), Svava, Laini, Windows 95, Ray Stantz, Meg Giry, Kitty Pryde, John Sheppard, Indiana Jones, Anthy Himemaya, and River Tam. )
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December 22nd, 2005
 | 06:45 pm - Mount Auburn Hospital, Cambridge, MA
It wasn't her fault she was sick. It wasn't. It might be her fault she was in the hospital, for not being willing to go to the doctor... but it was just a fever! Triple digits or no, it wasn't worth spending the night in the hospital.
It was dark, and it was cold, and she was hooked up to an IV to keep her hydrated and medicated, and she was in the fucking hospital at fucking Christmas with the fucking chicken pox. At least she didn't itch, not really-- no, the spots had risen with the fever, and she just felt like her skin was tight, like she had a really, really bad case of acne. Hot and painful, achy, but not itchy.
In the hospital.
With the fucking chicken pox.
She was almost thirty! This wasn't supposed to happen to grown-ups, and she wasn't supposed to feel like a scared, helpless, fucking lonely little child while she was there. Everyone was away, and... and it just wasn't fair. It wasn't fair, and of course life wasn't fucking fair, but this was one big unfair too many.
She was crying. Hot, embarassed tears, for all there was no one there to see them.
"And this is the story of my life."
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December 5th, 2005
June 19th, 2005
 | 07:10 pm - From PeeJee's Journal-- Endings Are Never Happy. They're Endings.
It's been a long time since we've seen each other. You might want to know what I've been doing for the last two three weeks month* or so.
It started because I was tired after work, exhausted. Just wrung out completely, and I just didn't want to go to the bar while I was that tired. The next day I wasn't in the mood, I wanted some quiet.
After that I asked a couple of clubs for sampler CDs, which I do have.
And then I went grocery shopping, worked on my other game...
And then I realized I was avoiding Milliways, so I figured it was past time to sit and work out just why. I wrote for a few hours, at the computer; typing without really paying attention, just letting words come out of me. It's like spirit writing, but with a keyboard. What would be scrawls and scribbles with a pen is comprehensible, in a word processor.
See.
The thing is, I love you. And I know you love me.
And I know that I'm taking the coward's way out, but you also KNOW me. I don't trust myself to try to say this out loud. I don't trust myself not to garble it, or change the subject, or give in to the urge to hurt.
That I love you has not changed, will not change. You're too easy to love. But I don't think that I can stay in this relationship anymore.
The more I think about it, go over it in my mind, the less it sounds like it's going to last, to stay.
I knew from the beginning that you weren't mine, that there was only a small, by comparison, part of you that you could dedicate to me. It's never bothered me, and I've accepted it-- because it was always enough.
But lately, I haven't felt like I'm yours, either. And it hurts.
We haven't been the same since your accidental humanity, and I didn't expect us to be. But we really haven't been good since I left you in Nevada, and I don't know why that is. I'm not inclined to imagine why.
We've been drifting apart. You more to Michael, me... just apart. Toward home, towards those dangerous people I meet who are, honestly, so much more like me. So much closer to what I am, and I find that in part I don't want to inflict my presence on you.
I found myself thinking-- I don't remember when, but it was a long time back-- that I would hate to break up with you, because I know it would hurt me more than it would hurt you. I wish I remembered when that was as clearly as I remember the thought, because it should have been my first clue.
That something was wrong.
That something was ending.
I never really envisioned us lasting forever, I don't think. We're too connected to our own worlds, and when I sit and think of weddings-- as I've done, recently-- I can't picture you and yours on the groom's side as easily as I should. I can't picture us in an apartment together. I can't see anything but visits, you to my place, me to yours, back and forth like tennis balls.
I didn't expect to be writing something like this. I didn't expect it to be so very soon.
There is a small and astonishingly childish voice in my heart pleading with me not to write this, not to do what I plan to do. That I shouldn't break up with you, because I still love you.
And love is not love that alters where it alteration finds.
I love you. So, so much.
But I can't be in a relationship with you. We're not suited, anymore. Not like we were.
I wish that I could apologize for this, I truly do. But you've had my apologies, and they don't always mend everything.
I should say this to your face, but every time one of us starts this conversation, or one that might lead to it, in the flesh, we find some reason to stay together.
And we need to stop doing that. We both have done it. I knew... I've known for some time. I've been mourning this relationship since you left for Xanth. I knew, then. I told Karr, Tony. And then... you wanted to start over.
I didn't say no.
That wasn't wise of us.
The next move is yours. My things are gone from your room; along with this journal, I'm returning the comlink you gave me (it seems too expensive and important to keep) and my key. If there's anything else you've given me that you want back, let me know, or leave a note with Bar.
This journal is yours to keep or return to me, as you will.
I'll be around. Not now, but soon. I'll be around.
If you still want to speak to me, that's up to you.
It was wonderful, being a part of your family for a little while. I thank you for it.
And now, I say goodbye.
*I've been trying to get into the bar for the last two weeks. I couldn't, and I don't know why.
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May 17th, 2005
 | 09:43 pm - In Kitt's Room
Mmmm bed.
Warm bed.
Warm bed with another body in it.
Warm bed with a body belonging to Kitt in it.
Curled next to Kitt, head resting contentedly on his chest, was PeeJee. She wasn't what most people would call fully awake, but she was there and he was there and they were there together. So awake or not, she was happy.
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May 9th, 2005
 | 04:14 am
Kitt's room was tidy as ever, and there were still a few of her things among his. Parka, hairbrush, a book or two.
Captain Sniggles.
PeeJee tried not to think that she might be taking it all home soon enough. She wasn't here to mourn a potentiality.
She was there to leave a gift, and cleared a place on the dresser for it.
Maidenhair fern. The only living relative to the ginko tree. PeeJee remembered that, and wanted... something. To give Kitt something that meant something. To apologize, to hope.
She settled at the desk and started to think of what to put on the card.
Dear Kitt,
I don't know how much we've lost, or if we're still losing it. I no longer no how you want me, if you want me, much as I've never really understood why you wanted me. I only know what I've done-- I have made mistakes, and grievous ones. I can't change the past.
I would like to hope for the future.
I may not remember everything, as you do, but I do remember some things. Some of what I remember is even important.
I hope you like the fern. Please find a care sheet enclosed.
Always yours,
PeeJee
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May 6th, 2005
| 06:25 pm - From PeeJee's Journal-- the Notebook again
Watch Me Ramble Aimlessly!
We've been drifting apart lately.
I'd have to be blind not to notice it, and I put the blame squarely on myself. I know you don't like to instigate the romantic stuff... and lately I just haven't really been feeling romantic. I'm still waiting on those test results, and it kind of kills the mood before there is a mood.
Look at me, making excuses.
I'm sorry about Trent's Kingdom (a place-name I don't know how to spell). I can't fix that, and I can't... change any of it. I wish I could. I hope it's not the straw (or stick or log) that broke the camel's back.
I hope we didn't end before you left.
I hope, if we did, that we can start over.
You've had a lot more time to think than I have-- I've only had two days at this point, and I spent most of that buzzed, drunk, or smashed. Whatever I've been thinking hasn't been clear. Today I'm doing better-- had a hangover potion, a good meal, a long workout, a lot of water. I'm not as foggy, I'm able to think past the fact that I love you.
I love you.
And I'm worried about what will happen when you come home. Your answer is important, vital, even; I know you've felt lacking without both shapes available. And I know Michael is liable to overreact-- he's a sweet, lovely man, and considering everything I don't really blame him for his abandonment issues. They're probably very new to him.
So this... this is just to say that I know I'm not a heroine, that I'm not perfect or sweet or always good or brave... but I am still yours.
Even if you no longer want me.
But I'll be here, no matter what, until you work things out with Michael. Until then, until you know and you're both stable, I'm just here. Support if you want it, need it.
That much I already know I can do.
I love you.
And the structure of this sucks completely.
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 | 05:39 pm
Passing out just isn't fun, whether you're a pup who's had too much vodka or a mun who finally got eight solid hours sleep from eight in the morning until four in the afternoon, although PeeJee at some point woke up and took care of a few things-- namely, her mess and the fact that she needed one of the Bar's hangover potions. Alas, she slept through Kitt's arrival and has no idea he's upstairs instead of still in Xanth.
And, still being slightly groggy, she didn't think to check his room. Instead she went home to feed Davan's cats (stupid clown train) and check her messages. Still nothing from the doctor's offices, which meant Monday at the earliest.
The gym beckoned, with its innocent punching bags just waiting to be beaten into submission.
Feeling marginally better (and less like she wanted to fling herself, sobbing, into Kitt's arms the moment she saw him), PeeJee returns to the bar...
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May 5th, 2005
| 06:04 am - From PeeJee's... Spiral-Bound Notebook.
My Love is Not Like a Storybook Story
The stories are full of beautiful, brave, resourceful heroines who are willing to do anything for the men they love-- walk the world until they have worn out three pairs of iron shoes, never speak or laugh once in seven years, hold on tight no matter whether he's turned into fire, ice, a lion, a dragon. Rarely are these established relationships; often it's a case of love at first sight.
Clearly, I'm not a fairy-tale princess.
But then I've always preferred the story of Hua Mulan, who went to war in her father's place and won honor and glory for her family and country. Cinderella never really compared. Tonight-- nearly this morning-- I wish I were the sort of girl in those stories. I wish I could walk away from home, family, friends, for love. I wish I could make it worth the trade, worth the minimum price.
But I can't.
I'm proud of you for doing it, for finding that strength of will. Just leaving was risking your life, I know, and I'm afraid you're not coming back. I'm afraid I'll have to tell your family that you're lost. I'm afraid for everyone Trent has transformed, you, Karr, Meg, Delphinius. But I'm so very proud, because it's really probably better that you do this yourself.
You see, the stories are also full of young men who face trials and quests, and come home the better for it.
Please don't come home married. Just... please.
I hope you come back to us whole. I hope you come back to me at all. I hope it's 'the equivalent' and not a year. I really, honestly, do hope Michael forgives you. I hope he doesn't come in, or ask how you wound up with the ability to change. I hope you don't change enough, in your time away, that he notices.
I hope to hell the vodka kicks in soon.
I hope you come back before I have to explain where you've gone to Bonnie and Karr.
I hope you live through this. I'm sorry I couldn't do it for you, but... it's not mine to do, I don't think. IF it were, I'd have been able to.
I'm so sorry. I would have, if I could. I doubt I could do it for myself. It's like a story. It has to be you, and there can't be any mixing magic.
Ahhh, there's the vodka. Better put the pen away before this starts to look like spirit writing.
I love you.
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April 27th, 2005
 | 11:00 am - Late-Breaking Bad News
Once upon a time in Boston, there was a phone call.
And PeeJee set up meeting Aubrey for lunch, because she had something to tell her. Maybe Davan noticed that she was looking a little... down, that day. Maybe he didn't. Maybe he was at work.
Oh, shit, work. PeeJee called them, too, both jobs, and arranged for Thursday off.
You could get out of work to go to a funeral.
Lunchtime came. PeeJee waited.
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April 15th, 2005
 | 07:56 pm - In Kitt's Room
Following this...
His room was... very much the same as it had been. Aside from PeeJee's journal, which had fallen out of her purse last night and been placed on the nightstand by cleaning staff, and Captain Sniggles lounging on the bed, there was little enough evidence of PeeJee's presence.
There had been last night, but she'd decided it was time to take things home and do a load or two of laundry before moving back in. Ish.
PeeJee went right for the journal as she and Kitt entered. "I'd been hoping I'd left this here."
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April 12th, 2005
| 02:58 am - From PeeJee's Journal
On Frustration
I really want an orgasm right now.
The only trouble is, the kind I can give myself aren't doing much more than taking the edge off-- and not much of the edge off, at that.
I want hands on my skin that aren't mine. I want lips against my mouth, my neck, my breasts. I want a fall of gloss-black hair to brush against me. I want hands in my hair, and I want to hear Kitt call me beautiful again.
It wouldn't matter what did the deed-- his hands, my hands, his mouth, my vibe. God, leaning against him, my breasts in his hands, while I worked the vibrator...
I've worked out, I've had cold showers, hot baths. I've tried everything I can think of to try on my own, but I'm just... stuck in this phase of... wanting him there.
Kitt's not ready for sex. Not even near-sex. And I understand that, I respect that, I don't want to push him to anything that makes him at all uncomfortable. I just...
It's an ache. My body wants his body to be there, hands, faces, skin. Uglies need not bump, I just... need him... there.
Maybe I could settle for that backrub we never got around to.
I don't know what I need, maybe. I just know I need something, and I can't push Kitt for it. He's in there, he's part of what I want, and I miss him. So much. I miss...
I miss him. Four legs in a bed. Two shoes on the floor next to mine. Someone to wash my hair, my back, even if I have to do my own chest.
I want to be close to him again, and I don't know how anymore. Somehow in the weeks since Nevada, I feel like I've forgotten something important, and... need to get it back. And I don't know how, and I don't know how to ask Kitt.
I miss him. Sharing space, I miss that. I miss...
That. Together, us. Sleeping. Sharing space. His room at Milliways, his room in Nevada. Maybe someday my apartment. We hadn't been apart for long until he was kidnapped, and then... this is the first we've been apart since coming home. My home. His vacation. His home is Michael.
I think I miss Michael, too.
Fuck, this is not the simple sexual frustration I thought it was.
It's probably making it worse, for a given value of worse. But it's not as simple as I thought.
Fuck.
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April 6th, 2005
 | 04:33 pm - Catching up with the real world...
When PeeJee left Milliways, she was prepared for a couple of different things-- for six weeks to have passed, with her friends in a panic, for no time at all to have passed, or for the week she'd felt like she'd been gone to have passed.
None had passed.
Which meant that, by and large, she needed to tell people that her friend actually hadn't needed her, that the trip had been cancelled. Telling Davan was trickiest, as she'd forgotten to take off the earrings Kitt gave her, or to change back into the clothes she'd worn when she left.
Getting back into the swing of work was a pain in the ass, as usual, but PeeJee went to it as though she'd had a vacation, renewed and happy.
The internet, too, was a source of fun-- she had things to look for, after all, to print out and entertain friends with. There were a couple of useful how-tos on a sex shop's website that she printed out for Karr (idly browsing the site, as well, because who could resist, really?), several interesting articles on asexuality as a normal human sexual orientation-- and on being in a romantic relationship with an asexual. It might be a while before he was ready to read them, but she printed them out anyway.
While she was online, she did a vanity search-- typed her name into Google and looked for images, just to see what came up. Along with a German girl-group and a surf shop whose website was down...
PeeJee found something horrifying. Her mother had donated PeeJee's childhood teddy bear, Captain Sniggles, to a thrift shop... and he'd been found and modified for use as a sex toy for a Certain Kind of furry.
Understandably, that was the kind of furry that PeeJee had problems dealing with. Aubrey tried to bid on Captain Sniggles, but apparently he was a hot item and Aubrey was constantly outbid. Andy, a friend of Davan's, recognized the seller-- and her shady auction practices. As this was an insult to online auctions, furries, and PeeJee, clearly it was time for drastic measures. The Teddy Bear Liberation Front might seem a little bit like overkill to most people... but then most people would consider $400 a steep price to pay for a plush toy with a penis sheath sewn in, too.
All ended happily for everyone involved-- except the shady auctioneers, of course-- and PeeJee showed Davan her appreciation in typical fashion.
And while that took about a week, apparently Milliways has decided to make up for lost time...
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February 24th, 2005
| 06:32 pm - Boston, Late February
Not long after this...
She'd had some vacation time coming at 'real work,' so settling things up there, leaving Davan some money for rent and utilities, hadn't been all that difficult.
Cab had wanted a reason, though, and seemed disinclined to accept a perfectly deadpan, "I have to go to nineteen eighty-three to help out a sick friend."
"This is more payback for the waitress issue, isn't it?" Cab folded his arms. "Don't you think you could at least tell me the truth?"
"Cab, I've told you what I'm telling you. You can call it the truth if you want to."
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February 13th, 2005
| 06:56 pm - From PeeJee's Journal
For Kitt, at a later date.
Tomorrow, at least the way time is running in my Boston, is Valentine's Day. It's going to suck, I think, because I don't think there's much chance we'll be together. (Of course, it's entirely possible you'll walk through the door tonight all sheepish smiles and whatever I write here will be both redundant and silly.) (And yet, I look up, and the door stays very much not full of Kitt.)
I tend to get a little homesick on Valentine's day.
You know that I haven't been particularly lucky in love, and Valentine's is one of those holidays that tends to make you feel a little bitter if you're not in a relationship. Or if your relationship is in a rough spot, or if you are stuck, as we are, with the 'distance' portion of a long distance relationship.
I always had a good example, though, for Valentine's Day. My father is excellent at remembering things-- names, dates, how many times I was suspended from school. You'd like him, I think. He never forgot a holiday, Valentine's included. He always had a big bouquet of roses for my mother, and a smaller one of rosebuds for me. When I was small enough, he'd pick me up and spin me around, saying that he wanted to dance with his little girl before some lucky man cut in.
Someday, somehow, I'd like for you to meet my family. I think you'd like them, and vice versa. I don't know how we'd explain anything besides the fact that we're a couple, but I think you'd like them.
I think if he knew everything, if he could understand everything in a way that convinced him he wasn't going crazy, or we weren't, I think my father would approve of you. Unfailingly polite people impress him, and you are certainly that.
I miss you, Kitt. It's only been a week, and I miss you terribly. Trent explained what happened, that he may have made you a bit more extensively human than you're used to, so I've gone from the "Is he lying dead in a ditch somewhere" worry to the "I hope he's coping okay and finds a way to tell me so soon" worry. Karr misses you, too, and probably more than I do. He's been a dolphin for the last couple of days-- someone warmed up the lake and the outside, it's like summer out there. Every so often I'll glance out the window and catch him leaping through the air. He seems to be having fun.
Happy Valentine's Day, whenever you read this.
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February 9th, 2005
| 06:49 pm - From PeeJee's Journal... Details of Tim's Tarot Reading
(From here.)
Six of Mugs Me on the card, very cool, looking into empty beer mug, sad.
Good memories, new opportunity. But I still looked sad.
The Valkyrie Svava by the lake, way in the background. Kitt up front, expression serious, emotional.
Hope, faith, spiritual love.
Totally and completely.
The Rose Bride Purple-haired girl (not me, skin too dark) with a knife. Casual pose.
Bad shit's coming my way.
Well, fuck.
Nine of Wands Girl who looks like Topanga from Boy Meets world hanging upside down. Some kind of accident, car crash.
Unpreparedness, refusal to fight. Whatever the Rose Bride meant, this one means I can't fight it.
Again, I say fuck.
Three of Roses Mordred, but he pushed the roses out of the way.
Bastard son, black sheep, black knight. Unwanted son? I should read more Arthurian crap.
I might have to talk with Karr about this.
The Lovers Two guys with wings in the background, but Kitt and I up front, looking content if not happy.
A good ending.
Yay! I like good endings.
But I'm sitting here worried about this.
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February 4th, 2005
| 05:33 pm - From PeeJee's Journal
On Michael and Kitt-- a First Draft
The thing to remember about Kitt is that he's not human.
He can look human, in Milliways, sure. He makes a very attractive human, at least according to my sensibilities. But as for being human, in his heart and mind?
No.
Never.
Nor is he a car, something else he can appear to be, all low-slung lines and gloss black finish. The car is a thing of beauty itself, but it is no more Kitt than the manshape.
Kitt is a computer. A program, a series of responses written out by humans, for a single human. He is a being made, not born; created with careful deliberacy to serve a purpose.
In knowing that, in having that, he is perhaps a little more fortunate than a good number of humans. For Kitt there is no existenstial dilemma; his answer to Why am I here? is necessarily To aid and protect Michael Knight.
To a human who sees Kitt as a human, that purpose might seem a little limiting.
Kitt doesn't see it that way-- and not because he can't. He is quite capable of seeing Michael Knight as he is. More often than not, he complains about his driver, about the hazards of ketchup and cola and chocolate carelessly dropped on beige upholstery; about tastes in music and Michael's tendency to play the field.
I have heard him speak of boundless enthusiasm, of a man who whoops with joy or triumph regularly.
I have heard him speak of determination, of pride, of a man who lost everything only to rise up and accept, embrace, a new life... a life designed for him by the same man who designed Kitt.
They work, the pair of them, for the Foundation for Law and Government. They go where they are needed, where they are called, and ask nothing in return. The Foundation is supported by grants and donations; Michael does not live on a salary but on a stipend. Kitt repairs, his parts and hardware, are supplied by Knight Industries, the company behind the creation of the Foundation. They work together, Kitt and Michael, to stop corporate thieves, to rescue the kidnapped, to protect the defenseless, to right wrongs that conventional law enforcement is powerless to touch.
To provide intelligent solutions to violent problems.
To prove that one man can make a difference.
Michael Knight was not chosen for this job by chance. He has been a soldier; he has been a police detctive. He has seen battle and crime. And yet he has never lost his drive-- he has never ceased to want to make the world better. Kitt is designed to help him in doing that. He is a person inside a machine, a ghost in the shell, dedicated heart and soul to Michael Knight-- for Michael's protection, for his own protection, and for the safety of society at large.
Kitt, in Michael's presence, is indestructable. He has driven through concrete walls without suffering a scratch; he has parked over explosives and only suffered minor damage-- and that, solely from being sharply jarred by the blast. Kitt, in his natural form, in the car, is something very like invulnerable... from the outside.
Inside is a slighty different story. Inside Kitt is a dazzling array of lights, of electronic vitality. Inside Kitt is the realm of Michael Knight, of a trustworthy driver.
And trusting his driver is bound up in Kitt's very self.
He is programmed, Kitt, to protect human life, Michael's life above all.
And Michael is dedicated to Kitt, to the unique and beautiful life given to him as a helpmeet and protector. When Kitt was, for lack of a better term, ill, it was Michael's voice, Michael's presence, Michael's words that reassured him, that comforted him-- that, in the end, healed him. Twice Kitt's mind has been in danger; once violated, once twisted around by words. Both times Michael was there, in the end, to save his partner.
It is not, however much it may look from the outside, a one-sided relationship, a bond that tethers Kitt to Michael. They are a unit; a team. They are a part of each other, regardless of who is made of what, regardless of shape or species. For Kitt, Michael will always be the most important figure in the world. For Michael, there will always be Kitt, abiding and faithful, in a world with precious few anchors for a man who does not exist.
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February 3rd, 2005
 | 05:15 am - From PeeJee's Journal
On Kitt, as a Car
I'm sitting inside my boyfriend.
Knowing me, knowing my life, that sentence could have something to do with some strange vengeance enacted by my friends. Fortunately for everyone involved, that's not the case.
My boyfriend is currently shaped like a car, and I am sitting, warm, in his passenger seat.
It's hard to keep my mind on the page-- he's asked me what I think, and thinking is so much easier on paper. I don't want to look at the paper, though. I want to look at him, at this other face, this shape that is, to him, so natural.
He's beautiful.
He is so beautiful.
The dashboard-- his dashboard-- is alive with lights, a Christmas-tree display of vitality. Three bright-red bars dance in time with his voice.
And oh, his voice.
It's the same voice, light and crisp and accented so familiarly. And while the lights give me a focus, the impression of a face to look on, his voice is all around me.
I am held inside him.
This is so different from hands and faces.
I know full well others have sat here before me. I know that others will sit here after me. I make no claim, I can make no claim, on the interior of this car.
But this is different.
Because I know.
I know the mind behind the dash. I know the soul behind the voice. I know the person behind the programming...
And I Know every gesture, every little comfort, is deliberate. Every word, every nudge to the heater, the door opening... There is no careless arm around my shoulders, in here. There is no comfort, no intimacy, no affection offered without thought.
And that is truly singular.
I find myself wanting to run my hands over every surface, outside and in. I want to know the feel of that warm black hull-- Of Kitt's, not Karr's. I want his upholstery under my skin, to feel the fabric of it under my fingers. I want to touch his dashboard-- preferably without pressing any buttons. Just touch it. Let my fingers wander, learn the layout of his body.
Words, for this experience, are inadequate. This is beautiful, as Kitt is. Vital as a heartbeat, as breathing someone's breath. It is as intimate as a lover's touch, and more so because it is thought of. Wanted.
I am held within Kitt.
Words fall short.
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January 31st, 2005
January 19th, 2005
| 12:55 am - In Kitt's Room. Again.
Someday, PeeJee was going to have to finish getting her things out of Kitt's room. That day would not be today, however, as she and Kitt entered the room, both carrying jackets too warm for the indoors. Granted, PeeJee's was draped over her Official Milliways Purse (full of lots of handy items she didn't normally feel a need to carry).
"There. Now no one can hear me teasing but you," she said as the door closed.
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January 15th, 2005
January 13th, 2005
January 11th, 2005
| 02:27 am - In Kitt's Room
She closed the door behind her, locked it, leaned on it.
Everyone was here for a reason, Svava had said. Learn something, do something, teach someone.
What the hell was she here for? She knew what a broken heart felt like. She knew what it was like to lose someone she loved, to not be able to do more than look at them, know you love them and be unable to act on it. She knew about betrayal, about pain.
She didn't seem to be able to teach Kitt anything about anything, either, with the possible exception of how incredibly stupid humans could be.
She did love him. Very much. She loved the pure and innocent sense of him, his voice, smile, laugh. His blush, the way he floundered when flustered. She loved Kitt, and she wasn't going to give up until he said it was too late.
Which he had not said.
PeeJee slumped to the floor, crying openly and clutching the wrist bearing her commlink.
She hadn't understood anything, but at least he'd left her something to do. Someone to contact. His partner. What in the hell Saint Jude had to do with that, PeeJee had no idea.
But the crying needed to happen. There was no one to beat. So. Tears. Sobbing.
When she was, at last, drained enough to stand, PeeJee made for the bathroom, to wash her face and have some water. Thus braced (and with a roll of toilet paper on the bed in case of relapse), she fiddled with the commlink. Getting the battery out had involved buying an eyeglass repair kit-- it was the only way to get a screwdriver small enough. The battery itself was still in her purse. It was just a matter of putting things back the way they had been.
That done, all the screws screwed into place, PeeJee stared at the blinking 12:00 AM for a few minutes. She glanced at the instructions Kitt had given her...
She set the commlink to 'One.' "Michael?" she said, hesitantly, then, "Mr. Knight? You might want to look at your printout again." Hurt and confusion was still evident in her voice.
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January 9th, 2005
| 02:17 am - So Proud.
She had watched them, Karr and Kitt. She had watched them talk, fight... had watched Karr's scanner speed up-- a sign of intense emotion-- had watched what looked like sadness and wonder roll across Kitt's face.
She'd felt her heart leap when Kitt stretched across Karr's hood in a hug, when he'd climbed inside his brother's cab. She'd watched them head out to the lake with a smile on her face.
Maybe she wasn't completely fucking things up.
Of course, she hadn't heard a single thing either of them had said.
Kitt's room seemed a little empty without him in it, but this? Was Kitt's triumph, and Karr's. She had no place in it, no place disturbing the brothers.
But she put the commlink on before going to sleep.
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January 8th, 2005
| 02:17 am - I think I knew this already.
| You scored as Chaotic Good. A Chaotic Good person is someone who has little intrinsic respect for laws or authority, seeing them as insufficient to sustain what's right. These people work according to their own moral compass which, while good, is not necessarily always aligned with that of society. Despite their chaotic tendancies, these people are good at heart.
Chaotic Good | | 80% | Neutral Good | | 70% | Chaotic Evil | | 70% | True Neutral | | 70% | Neutral Evil | | 60% | Lawful Good | | 50% | Lawful Evil | | 25% | Lawful Neutral | | 20% | Chaotic Neutral | | 15% | </td>
What is your Alignment?
created with QuizFarm.com |
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January 7th, 2005
| 03:07 am - In Kitt's Room
"I've sort of been staying here, off and on," PeeJee told Kitt as she led him up from the bar. Her tone was almost apologetic. "There's some of my stuff around... and I'll pick up the extra days, so don't sweat the tab."
The room had, indeed, picked up traces of PeeJee as she'd stayed more frequently there... she had clothes in a dresser drawer (somehow she'd felt leaving them out in a duffel bag would clash with Kitt's tidiness), a pair of shoes just a bit under the bed, and a few hair things out on the dresser.
Nothing else had been much disturbed.
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January 1st, 2005
| 02:38 pm - In Kitt's Room [Locked to Svava]
Kitt's room is almost just as he left it... though as well as his drawings, there are a few of PeeJee's things on the dresser, as well. A hairbrush with a few strands of purple in it, a pair of Definitely Not Kitt's shoes poking out from under the bed-- nothing she can't pack up in five or ten minutes, but... there are faint but clear signs of Girl.
PeeJee settles onto the bed, letting Svava sit where she will-- there are still two chairs, and plenty of bed left over. "So."
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December 29th, 2004
 | 07:26 am
Oh my god, this is fucking hilarious. Bullet-time ping-pong! Okay, so the video's kind of shitty, but...
Just click the goddamned link. You'll laugh.
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December 28th, 2004
| 06:13 am - *grins*
I am a happy PeeJee!
And I spent the night in the bar. Well, above the bar. With Kitt! Fully clothed. It was really, really nice, except that I didn't get a chance to take off my bra. This probably makes me a lot happier than is really healthy for me... particularly considering I haven't quite managed to tell him everything about my last breakup yet. Like the two important details; that Kyle had proposed and that I kind of beat the shit out of that lying sack of cheating asshattery.
I really will tell him. But that's the sort of thing where you have to tell a guy gradually. I mean, when he's programmed to protect human life, you can't just up and say that hey, guess what, I cracked the skull of the last man who done me wrong. And three ribs, a collarbone, his left femur and patella, dislocated four fingers, plus assorted soft tissue damage.
It's my theory that a violent breakup lessens rebound time.
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December 27th, 2004
December 24th, 2004
| 05:39 am - Out Of Milliways-- Late Night Email
PeeJee has finally come home from Milliways after talking yet again to Kitt. Before she's ready to settle down for the night, she has to at least tell someone, or start to.
And the only person to tell is Aubrey, becaue it's Milliways, and Aubrey is in Texas.
So.
Email.
Hey.
Look, um, I know you're doing the whole home-for-the-holidays thing, and I hate to bug you and I know you don't know when you'll get ahold of a computer. But.
So I was bored and I went to the bar... you know the one. Where Tim hangs out. Anyhow. I met this guy.
And he's amazing.
But there are a lot of qualifying factors to how amazing he is, like the fact that he's not human. Or didn't start that way.
Anyway, need to talk. Email or call or ping me or something, because I need to talk. I know how you hate listening to my relationship woes, but until Davan ends up at the bar, this one's kind of on you. Or drag Davan to the bar and then I'll talk to him and he'll be bitter that we got to the geek bar first or something.
I'm for bed. Catch you later.
Yours Flailing,
PeeJee
PS-- you want to beat the crap out of some guy named Fez? I think I'm supposed to sell tickets.
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August 25th, 2004
| 12:09 am
Testing.
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