I always said if I dropped Jaime Reyes, I'd be dropping the game.
( well... )
In the meantime, IC affairs:
Jaime Reyes, after nearly four solid years, will be gone. He doesn't have any grand wills or things (because honestly, he figured he was stuck here for life), but his apartment is stocked full of the time he's been here in pictures and old, printed-out articles. There are some green, fuzzy dice wrapped up for Ruka, though he figured he ought to hold on that until there's an actual car for them.
There's a ring hidden in the sock drawer, Abby. Infer what you will with that; there's no words or hints attached to it.
Tony Stark, the flood of godawful .midi files and dated e-cards ceases, as there is no Scarab to daily transmit the damn things. Relief?
Steve Pocacchio doesn't have anything, really, but he did promise to pick up some pet food on the way home, so the housemates'll have to deal with that. The starts of a formal letter to Felicia Hardy is crumpled up and fallen behind the wastebasket in his room, forgotten. Silly things.
I think that's about it. Let me know if more needs to be done or expanded on, or if final posts or input and the like are necessary.
Thank you again, everybody. I guess it's only a matter of time whether or not I can find the means/motivation to come back, but for now, this is a kind of farewell. You can still pm me anytime for...any reason, really. Or bug me over on Tumblr (okelleok) or Twitter (yeselleyes). And those who I might fall out of touch with: Take care of yourselves and thank you again (again)! I love and appreciate you all, and wish you all the best.
( well... )
In the meantime, IC affairs:
Jaime Reyes, after nearly four solid years, will be gone. He doesn't have any grand wills or things (because honestly, he figured he was stuck here for life), but his apartment is stocked full of the time he's been here in pictures and old, printed-out articles. There are some green, fuzzy dice wrapped up for Ruka, though he figured he ought to hold on that until there's an actual car for them.
There's a ring hidden in the sock drawer, Abby. Infer what you will with that; there's no words or hints attached to it.
Tony Stark, the flood of godawful .midi files and dated e-cards ceases, as there is no Scarab to daily transmit the damn things. Relief?
Steve Pocacchio doesn't have anything, really, but he did promise to pick up some pet food on the way home, so the housemates'll have to deal with that. The starts of a formal letter to Felicia Hardy is crumpled up and fallen behind the wastebasket in his room, forgotten. Silly things.
I think that's about it. Let me know if more needs to be done or expanded on, or if final posts or input and the like are necessary.
Thank you again, everybody. I guess it's only a matter of time whether or not I can find the means/motivation to come back, but for now, this is a kind of farewell. You can still pm me anytime for...any reason, really. Or bug me over on Tumblr (okelleok) or Twitter (yeselleyes). And those who I might fall out of touch with: Take care of yourselves and thank you again (again)! I love and appreciate you all, and wish you all the best.