I really think the words what, the and hell are all in order right now.

So,, without further interruptions.

What the hell?

Don't get me wrong, I was a little bit what the hell about a lot of things is my life lately but this? This takes the cake, ice cream, party balloons and all the presents to boot.

I'm...going to go find alcohol. That seems to be the appropriate answer here.

[Locked to the SOS Brigade]

As far as official Brigade business goes, I can report that I think I've finally tracked down some hackers to interview, but that's a less important piece of news, especially since I haven't arranged it yet.

It looks like my investigation into the suspicious nature of Derek Hale isn't going to turn out any promising results, due to the fact that I've just received notification of his release. Any irresponsible and baseless speculation about whether he was a criminal or a werewolf will therefore have to be tabled due to lack of evidence.

On a more urgent personal note, with his release, it looks as though I've been given forty-eight hours to move from this apartment to one in the South building. If anyone's free to help me pack and carry my things, I can honestly say I'd be grateful for the help. Normally I'd have qualms about pointing it out, but without that help, I don't think I'll have the time to attend Brigade activities for the next two days. And of course, I'd be more than willing to take any helpers out to eat afterward. My treat.

[/Lock.]

When I've just lost a roommate, isn't it inconsiderate to make me the one that has to move? In any case, Jake English in South 204, I'll be seeing you soon.

Who: Darcy, open
What: Drinking and not quite dealing with the inevitable existential crisis.
Where: the bar


She sits at the corner of the only open bar, nursing an Irish coffee and wondering what the hell is her life.

She's bee coming back to that the past day, wondering and wondering what on earth is going on and not coming up with a viable solution. It's been fun, silly and ridiculous but now she's ready to go home and it doesn’t look like there's any way to do that.

It makes her queasy.

She takes another drink, closing her eyes and hoping for something, anything, to make sense, to calm her down or, at the very least, bring someone she's closer to here with her.

Sure, that agent guy was here but they barely new each other and that wasn't exactly a good relationship they had to begin with.

She takes a breath, looks around, and snatches up an abandoned newspaper. A part of her wants to start flipping to the want ads but she holds off on it for now. She can't brig herself to admit that she's stuck here long enough to need a job, not yet.

If anyone would like to poke the sulky college student, feel free. She's friendly, just also trying to beat down a depression spiral.