Tell me a story.

[isthecouncil]

St. Petersburg, Russian Federation 20th April

Woke up today to housekeeping knocking and couldn’t for the life of me remember what language to answer in. Last week it was French in Rwanda, and assuming I wake up in time to catch the flight; french again in Iraq to cross illegally into Iran. I swear my life is by far more interesting on paper then it is in realization. I’d trade my kingdom for the British Museum archives and the townhouse with Jet again. Wishes and horses, old man, wishes and horses (damn you, Quinton for your colloquialisms, and even more for actually making me miss them.)

There were two new today:

Paulina Belova, 12. Tamara Kosygin, 17.

They’re currently downstairs in the patio training with Franka and they keep asking when they’ll join the group and I swear if I get one more text message from Andrew asking me when he can come visit, I will send two Chaos demons after him. Alaric and Feodor owe me anyways. I think he wants to be James Bond.

He wants to be Bond, and those two girls want to be Buffy Summers. Wouldn’t that be funny?

Received the usual bimonthly voicemail from Willow today; the general niceties that usually follow calls Buffy have coerced her into making. She asks how the search for Slayers goes, and if there are threats she should be aware of. She remembers Franka’s name although I’m sure Buffy hasn’t taken the time to learn. And she tells me about Xander, Dawn, Andrew.

…it’s her credit I never have to ask.

It’s April. Dawn should be gearing up for Summer courses unless of course she’s gotten into her head to help Buffy’s Scottish plan. Doubt Buffy would allow it. You’d be proud of them, Joyce. And I’ll call them soon. Promise.

And how about our kids, Jen? Grade school, yea? Britain or the US, what do you think?

Faith has discovered another game. Either that, or she’s discovered how to use a camera phone and has decided to send ‘pics’ to me as a daily wake up call. Charming girl. Today, they were brown and baby blue polka dots. I wonder if she realizes who exactly she sends them to and I don’t have the heart to text her back and let her know.

I can hear the girls coming down the hallway- better wrap this up before I’m attacked by three pairs of nosy eyes. Franka believes I’m wasting my time with the journals and I’m inclined to agree with her. But it’s an old habit, and at the very least a few lines in an old book hurt nobody.

This entry is at risk of becoming maudlin. Perhaps I’ll call Buffy tomorrow and remedy that.

I know that’s a lie even as I write it.