killashandra-falta

She had sat on the stool for fifteen hours, the bartender supplying her with one Broken Glass every twenty minutes or so. Broken Glass is one of the more risky drinks known in the Poorisson Nebula. The chance at finding a bar tender that not only knew how to make one, and make one well, and have all the ingredients available was going to make the hangover she was creating completely worth it. A Broken Glass is a seven part concoction made of Red Caber, Diamond's Ice, Parley's Green and Parley's Blue, Imported Ice from the Deskin Ice Fields, the blood of a pickled Druice and a drop of Trevins True. She had purchased all the ingredients from th

 Christmas is always such a time for surprises. Some love the snow, or the shopping, or the giving and receiving of gifts. For me, its the surprise and the adrenaline rush. I know what you are thinking. "What adrenaline rush?" Ahh... But you see, I live the life of a traveller. An adventurer. And that is why I packed up and moved "across the pond" to England. England and it's stoic weather. Fog, rain, clouds, rain, fog, a bit of sun, a cuppa tea and the aliens. Don't you go rolling your eyes at this. I know what I am talking about. You have the first time it happened, and it's a hoax. Then it's hackers. Then its  "some film that nobody knew

I don't know how, but some how, again, I screwed up majorly. Saving Rose from the vortex, that I would do again in less then half a heartbeat. That was never a mistake. The regeneration that followed... I really should have explained to her what would happen, what could have happened... But I thought we had had so much time. That is what happens when you turn a blind eye to timelines. As if crash landing the TARDIS and suffering regeneration sickness wasn't bad enough... the Sycorax choose then to invade. Nearly get Rose and Mickey killed. Yeah, saved the day though, so that was a bonus. Lost a hand... And it was my fighting hand... Ok,

I sit here quietly, watching a movie. Not anything truly good, just something light to keep my thoughts free, and I find my mind wandering. I have a pen in hand, and make a attempt to write a little of a story I am working on, and I find my mind wandering. I dont know where it wants to go, but my spirits are high, and there is a smile on my face. And yet my mind wants to wander. Daydreaming it was called, I think, when I was a child. When I could look off, and my eyes lose focus, and my thoughts wander. Where does one go when they daydream? I can remember dreams I have when I sleep at night, but the dreams that come in the day, I have no me