Everything all packed, yes, plenty of books, water...yes.

I'm taking a trip. It was inevitable. After everything that's happened I feel as though I should take my life as an atheist into question. So, i'm taking a trip; well, not so much a trip as, let's call it a spiritual journey of some kind.

Randy just laughed, shut up Randy.

I also want to try and get over my alcoholism. That will be a long and difficult road; i've been an alcoholic since I died, but I feel as though it's nessecary.

Most important though; I want to try and fill a vague emptiness in my soul. I know right? How could my afterlife possibly be empty? I wish I knew too, I intend to find out. So, case in point, I won't be around for a while.

Everything's packed, I should get going. Don't worry, i'll be back. 

(I love you, Nic.)

I have not updated this thing in such a long time. I was busy, and I apologize.

On the good side of it, I fired my publisher and got another one. This one is willing to let me have a, you know, life, unlike the other one, who would work me until my fingers broke. Other stuff I got done were the publishing of two novels, a romance and a science fiction/fantasy, both of which I am quite pleased with (the romance was better, but Randy disagrees). Copies haven't really reached this section of the ghost zone, there was a bit of a delivery error on my publisher's part (the old one, that's why I fired him).

When they do get to this region, check them out. They are entitled "The Glass Ballerina" (romance) and "The Broken Looking Glass" (sci fi/fantasy).

It feels good to be back. 

Well, it did, and then my publisher got on my case as soon as I answered my first new phone call. It's why I haven't been updating.

((OOC: Contains real-time RP inside.))

Clockwork was gone. Poofed himself into another dimension when something bad was about to happen. Not good.

He wrung his hands, and waiting for Nicolai.

I sense that something is happening. Something big. Something that I can't help that I will probably get sucked into.

Darn. 

So...apparently the whole 'sucked into a game' thing seems to have ended. That's perfectly ok with me, the armor was a pain to carry around on my back and I could use a good scotch and a nap.

However, I am concerned that Nic wasn't there. It was a computer game for goodness sake!

Well, Nicolai, you're insufferable. Never the less, I can only respect (thought regret) your feelings toward the holiday, but I am giving you a present whether you like it or not. And you will like it.

Speaking of which; Dan? Is the 2 AM delivery of those flowers still in order?

((Will contain sex, you are forewarned.))

Normally I don't like to gloat, but you lost the bet Nicolai by failing to conqure the human plain.

In return, you will become my consort/bitch for one whole week.

This is going to be fun.

Nicolai, you idiot.

I was writing a novel too! You're darn lucky I manged to hit 'save' before power went out.

((Will contain fluffy-fluffy fluff porn, you are warnzoz-ed.))

Well, I am no longer a crow. It was fun and all, but it's nice to be able to see eye-to-eye with my boyfriend again (and when I say 'eye-to-eye', I mean quite literally).

I also have a promise to fufill with Nic, I should get on that.

So, as it would appear, everyone among the two worlds seems to have taken on animal like characteristics. Anthros, if you call them so, and I have been turned into a crow. 

I rather like this form, the black feathers are silky and perfectly layered, and I have wings. Problem is if I don't exercize them every few hours they start to ache. Probably due to the lack of equalibrium in my body now, but perching upon my library dome is quite fun. I resemble something of a bold shadow.

Inspired by this recent turn of events, I decided to re-aquaint myself with the work of Franz Kafka [who one can only assume has turned into a dung beatle right about now]. Let's just say I think the man had a phobia of periods, as he can go entire paragraphs without using one.

I can only assume what Nicolai has turned into.

((OOC: Not god modded, GW turning into an anthro- you get the gist.))

Ghost Writer felt himself roll over in his bed, a smile gracing his face. He could not remember a day he had slept in until noon, but the feeling was welcome. He had fallen asleep late, or early, at night or in the morning, whichever one would care to chose. The first thing he felt to do after waking up would be to run his hands over his smooth, pale skin...

His eyes cracked open and he felt them dialate- his skin wasn't smooth anymore. He shut his eyes and ran them over his arms again and felt the soft tickle of a feather duster on his body. Feather duster. He lept up, and felt new muscles in his back knock him off balence for a moment before shouting and flexing them unnoticably. His balence was restored, and his hand flew to his head to clear his thoughts. He hit a rather sharp beak and brought it back, spitting feathers from his mouth. 

Feathers? Beak? ...Wings?

He ran to his bathroom window and placed his glasses on his face. Big green eyes widened back at him, and he blinked and stared with an expression only an artist, or a man of spiritual vitality, could conjure.

He was beautiful.

I'm not dead, but I have been exhausted, however I did find myself perking up after I got an invitation to the Fright Night's Halloween party in the mail. My my, it's the end of October already? Time flies quite quickly around here...

I look forward to going, my costume will either be of Marie Antoinette or Sir Walter Scott.  

((Part real-life, part post.))

Randy fumbled with the keys to Ghost Writer's lair long after Faux had left, he finally jimmied the door open and cocked his eyes at the figure of his brother on the floor. It didn't worry him; Gregory had had rather irregular sleeping patterns at the moment and probably fell over drinking. He walked in and jabbed him with his foot.

"Come on, bro, up and adam," he said, kicking him again. Ghost Writer didn't respond and he gave him another light jab with his foot. "Greg?" he bent down and rolled him over, shaking him lightly. "Baby?" he slapped his brother lightly on the cheek. "Come on, Ghost Writer your freaking me out-" he ran to the kitchen and filled a glass with water, dumping over Ghost Writer's head. "COME ON GREG, YOU'RE SCARING ME!" he said frantically when he would not wake, and then remembered. This had happened once before. Once when some inexplicable being of horror came and hurt everyone. Pain and fear ripped through Randy, and he grabbed the Ghost Writer, carrying him to his bedroom and placing him on the bed. 

Choking with sobs, he hunched over and began to pray.  

---

My brother is out like a light. Like, unconscious, I can't get through to him; but I know what did. Technus, get over here so I can tell you what's gone down.

So, I just read Dan's journal. Apparently the reason Freakshow dissapeared is because Faux returned, and he had to be forced back down. He's back- and Dan is exulted. I must say I am rather happy too.

So why am I still cold...?

Something is wrong. I can feel it. 

The drowsiness went away and was replaced by an overwhelming feeling of cold. I haven't felt this cold since I died.

I think something rotton is about to happen. I don't know, I just keep having these dreamless, soundless sleeps that make me feel like i'm floating in space. I also seem to be having these bouts of chills and undesirable headaches. I haven't felt this bad since...

No. Shut up Gregory. Shut up.

Stop hassling me! The reason I didn't take you with Freakshow and I to mess with Johnny was because I knew you would go all the way and try to get him in the sack.

So yeah...Freakshow and I went out together as chicks and...we mind-fucked Johnny a bit. It was fun. I then took Freakshow to the Paradox Café to get a little stoned [the reason it's called the Paradox Café is because after about twenty minutes of smelling the fumes most paradoxes about life begin to make sense and you start randomly spewing philosophies. I'll take you there one day Nic.]. I don't remember anything after my first joint- except seeing some weird pendulum but I think that might have just been the lead singer of The Arcade Fire drunkenly crooning Rebellion on the stage at the other side of the room. 

I honestly remember absolutely nothing of the conversations we had...except talk of the meaning of life and of orgies.