Having grown a bit overwhelmed at Minerva's holiday party, Susan accepts the invitation to step to the back of the flat, where Minerva has left it un-magicked and undecorated. Some casual words and the festive atmosphere got to be a bit much— already had a December from hell just two months ago, and here she is in a December again.

Though she protested that Minerva shouldn't step away from her own party, Susan won't be surprised at all if Minerva insists on it. After all, Minerva was the one who suggested it.


(OOC: Merry Christmas, those who celebrate!)

Another one! We're an OOC noting bunch today, eh?

I'll be gone this Friday - most of Sunday (2nd-4th) for one of my cousin's weddings, so my responses will be a couple days delayed until I get back.

I'm also one of the NaNo-participating people, but I don't anticipate any immediate disruption of my gaming due to it. As you can tell from that statement, I am a first-time NaNoer who clearly has no idea what she's actually getting into. But I planned to write the book anyway, so I'm taking advantage of the collective insanity month to attempt a first draft (or most of one.)

Up for a little while longer tonight, and a bit in the morning, but for the most part-- See y'all again Sunday evening!

voicesinmyhead #1 and #2

Susan wonders when showers started getting that good. She'd had a real water shower back on the station, an amenity for certain personnel, but they had to ration the usage. Hell, she was surprised to find Lyta actually has one in her flat; whatever quarters Lyta used to have were equipped with a sonic shower. If there's a means here to dry her hair, she's not sure what it is or how to use it safely, so she wraps it with a towel for now. Her uniform still hangs to air out after a cleaning attempt the night before; getting wet hair on it wouldn't help. The fluffy purple bathrobe looks ridiculous, but it's functional enough. The antihistamine Dr. McCoy provided her with helped her get to sleep, but she doesn't feel much improvement from it and she woke up groggy, not that that's unusual for her. She flops onto the couch she'd slept on and stretches her legs out, trying to get physically comfortable before she starts on a psychologically uncomfortable activity.

Much as she dislikes the idea of doing this, Dr. McCoy seems to have sound judgement and a wish to improve her health, mentally and physically. He'd advised her to stop bottling up her emotions so they wouldn't fester. Trouble is, she doesn't feel like she could talk too personally with any of the people she's met here yet, except perhaps him, and she's not sure how much she can open up to Lyta. Yes, Lyta's opened up her residence, and they've talked fairly easily, but getting friendly isn't something she's sure she can do. The last time she let herself trust a telepath, well, Lyta herself was the one to prove what a mistake that was.

So instead, she found a little free notebook someone had left out for distribution, with a series of little prompt headers. She's kept personal logs before, but not personal logs, always leaving things out of them. The idea of putting anything in something as unsecured as a paper notebook bothers her, but maybe she can let some of it out without having to talk about it. And maybe once she's written it, then she can talk about it, if she's willing to. Pen in hand, she opens up the notebook.

( Prompt #1 and #2 )

Writing this feels too awkward, and she doesn't like where it's taking her. She shuts the notebook and closes her eyes. Might as well give up on that one, have some breakfast, find a place to hide this. Maybe between the couch cushions will do for now.

"DAMNIT!"

Susan Ivanova pushes herself up from the sandy beach and spits out some grit. The unexpected landing plowed her into the shoreline. It's hard to believe how much sand she can feel in her uniform— not her Earthforce uniform, no, but the trim Army of Light uniform that Delenn gave her. She couldn't show up in Earthforce uniform in a time when she was supposed to be battling against their own forces. That one, with her new Captain's insignia, is folded up with the other supplies she'd packed to hold her over... wherever they are.

Wherever she is, it's definitely not Epsilon 3, a White Star ship, even Babylon 5 or Mars.

There's actually a sky overhead, unless it's some kind of hologram, and it's quite blue. She can see a sun, too bright to look at through this atmosphere. It's eerily similar to Earth, now that she thinks about it. Those little buildings in the distance look like human construction, if very outdated. But that doesn't make any sense. Why would she get dumped on Earth, in some old-fashioned beach town? She was just supposed to go back through 2261 and—

And a seagull makes an undignified landing on her head. She hollers and grabs for it, but it flaps its wings and flies around her. The polish on her insignia is dulled from the sand, yet it's still shiny enough that the seagull darts for it. She reaches for her sidearm and— and another thing missing, where'd her PPG go? The pause is enough. The seagull's beak closes down on the gold and silver bar, her old Commander bar. She slaps the seagull. It's enough. The seagull shrieks and it flies away.

Ivanova flops back into the sand. "God, I know you have a strange sense of humor, but could we hold off on the birds?"

When she's had some calming breathing time, she picks herself back up. She shakes out as much sand as she can and tries to smooth her plait. Her uniform is less wrinkled than she expected; that Minbari fabric must be more wrinkle-resistent than she realized if it can handle this. The single earring in her left earlobe isn't missing, thank God. She'd strangle the seagull if it was. Well, maybe just yell at it a bit; that little bugger was fast.

Other details of the beach stand out now, and she can't make sense of what they're doing here, either. There's some sort of naval ship out in the water, like something out of a history lesson or an old vid. On the shore itself, she sees what appears to be an upright blue box with tiny pane windows. She shakes her head as she walks off the sand and up a street. Wherever this is, she expects some language difficulties at best, probably reactions to the uniform, and plenty of "explaining" to do about why she's there. She needs to get cleaned up and figure out where her luggage got dumped, if it even made it through. So much for the change of clothes and extra ammo.

The buildings along the way have signs, so she glances at them as she passes. The sign for the street name reminds her of a visit to London, as it's along the side of a building. "Canterbury Road." Mmhmm, that doesn't tell her where— Wait. English? She stops and stares at it. Earth-like environment, English signs...

Is she on Earth?

But she wasn't trying to reach Earth. Well, in the time she was trying to jump back to, that was indeed the goal, but she's supposed to be near Mars then, not here. And when is here, anyway? If she missed the location by this far, how much did she miss the time as well? Or maybe...

Dread clenches her muscles. Maybe she only managed to reach Earth in the present, some strange out of the way town, and she hasn't actually gone back at all. She's only transferred to another location. She can change nothing.

But she won't know until she can speak to someone. She reads the signs along the road, noting shops and restaurants and finally, two beautiful words: "Coffee Delmir." Coffee. The last coffee she had was from the plant she had illegally grown for herself, and the last kind before that was hideously expensive and so horribly preserved for the import that she regretted it. If this is real coffee, really grown in Earth soil, well... But damnit, no credit chit. She can at least smell the aroma, though, and maybe they'll even have a free sample. She can at least enjoy that while she's figuring out what the hell's gone wrong. With that, she opens the door and steps inside.