We Can Only Pray It Drowned.

Jack, we have a problem.

I'll get the clamps and the motorbike and your coat, you get the retcon and stun guns. Standard distract-and-conquer, yes? Gwen can handle the media. We'll say it was a film prop.

Honestly, how do you suppose the table football game ended up in a pond in Hampshire? I was sure we threw that thing back into the Rift. If it escapes it'll wreak havoc, you know it will.

Better bring Max, too. He'll make a good diversion.

(no subject)

I am not dead! I am writing. :D Well, rewriting.

R, bless him, keeps shifting his ETA forward -- he was supposed to get in at noon, which is why I ran over to his place this morning to leave his keys in the Secret Key Place for him, but then he texted that he spent the night in Ohio and would be arriving around five. Which became six...which became "Wheel and Byron's at your place, 6:30!"

Which led to this textmessage convo. "ARPD", by the way, is not his initials -- I chose random letters because in my phone his real name is listed, so I changed it for the screengrab.