December, busy, and tired

It's most very definitely that time of the year: the time when I'm when I'm overwhelmed by All The Things and would very much like to be hiding under a blanket with a good book. Or, y'know, just sleeping. 

Secondborn has broken the screen on his laptop, and I have now -- reluctantly -- ordered him a new one. We're still struggling to get him through school, and the part where his English teacher has managed to stretch a pretty basic essay into a semester-long ordeal is not helping. Beautiful Wife has a pretty good job doing interesting things with a good team, but her boss (the CEO) is deeply in need of therapy and borderline abusive, and so the whole team is now conspiring to A) fuck with him, and B) find jobs elsewhere. There are also Big Grownup Things that I need to do relating to my father's death, and at the moment I haven't had -- and still don't -- the spoons to deal with those. 

On the plus side, I think we have the Christmas presents largely sorted out, and my own job is still vastly better than the one I left behind a bit over a year ago. And as cranky as Secondborn was this morning over having to review for an upcoming test, she had a good day yesterday and was actually very cheery. 

 ::sigh::

We're coming up on the big end-of-year upgrade, and honestly? I'd like to just sleep until then. 

A look'at the corpse

"Well," said Sheriff Black after a long moment. "That's a bad'n."

Doc nodded. "Knife fight would've been cleaner, and there's no shot from a shotgun. Flesh is torn, like something bit or clawed."

The sheriff swallowed. "Any bits missin'?"

Doc shook his head. "Not sure yet. Wanted you t'see it the way I found it, before I moved it t'where I could look."

"That's good of you, Doc." Sheriff Black stepped forward, then stopped. "Y'see that ankle."

Doc turned his head, blanched, and the said. "Yeah. I see it."

The Achilles tendon had been cut -- or bitten through, more like. Not that kind of thing that happened when folks fought with other folks, and they both knew it. "Damn it," said Doc. "Now I'll need Pyre to look it over before I take it back t'the clinic."

The sheriff nodded. "Yeah. And I'll have t'look for strangers in town, or anyone else as might've gone missing." 

"We wait here," Doc said, resigned. "'Least 'til the Gravedigger arrives. Make sure nothing changes, nothing comes back. You've a mold for bullets?"

Sheriff Black grunted. "Don't need it, though. Not for this. Gravedigger brought me a box of silver shot when I first came to town. Said he hoped I never needed 'em. I'll load up as soon as I go back." 

A killin' In Town

"Sheriff! Sheriff!"

Sheriff Black straightened at his his desk and sighed, wishing he'd had time to finish his mug before whatever-this-was broke loose. Coffee wasn't easy to come by out here, and it was a damned shame that this cup of it seemed like to go to waste. 

There was an enormous thud on the porch outside, and then a brief pause before the door opened. The man looking in was Dan Brighton, the town's cobbler, and from the sound of things he'd tripped on the porch and crashed into the door before he managed to open it. He was red-faced and breathin' hard, but he managed t'say, "Doc says y'gotta come! A feller's been killed."

Sheriff black sighed again and stood up. "Where? How?"

"Outside the saloon," Brighton told him, bending over to catch his breath. "I was passing by, and Doc said to fetch you right quick. I didn't see much, but... the feller, he was torn open."

Yep, this one's going to be an unholy mess. He stepped around his desk, put a hand on the cobbler's shoulder. "All right, Dan. Good work." He sighed again. "Now... I'm going to need you to do one more thing. I know you've got a shop to run and all, but I need you to walk -- walk, mind you, slow and careful -- up the hill and fetch back the Gravedigger. Can you do that?"

Brighton's face went through several expressions in the space of a single breath: objection, understanding, acceptance. He knew as well as they all did that whether this was a simple murder or something more, they were going to need the Gravedigger to help with it. He nodded slowly.

"Good man," said the Sheriff. "Catch your breath first."

"I'll see to it, Sheriff," Brighton said, breathing more easily now. "Just give me a minute. Got a little... over-excited, I think."

Sheriff Black shrugged. "Well, we don't see dead bodies in town just every week -- and thank the Great Spirit for that." 

StV: Meet-Cute

"Are ya new here?" asked a girl's voice, and Blackhand spun around so fast he nearly embarrassed himself. 

He'd come to the Self-Defense class after the more ordinary academic classes, under the theory that it wouldn't hurt to keep in practice, or to see how Saint-Vincent's School for Exceptional Youth was training their students to fight. 

The girl was maybe a year younger than he was -- hard to be sure -- with long blonde hair and pale blue eyes; her accent was pure Midwestern. Kansas, maybe? "Didn't mean to startle ya," she said easily. "It's just I don't think I've seen ya here before."

Blackhand rolled his shoulders, forcing them to relax. "Sorry," he said. "It's my first time at training." 

"Oh?" she asked. "I only started last month. Maybe we could practice together?"

He shrugged. "You any good?"

"I mean, kind of..." She blushed. "Took first place at the Tae Kwon Do championship in middle school. But the way they fight here is... different."

"No, that should work," Blackhand said. "I take it we don't use powers for this?"

She drew back. "Wow. You really are new here."

He made a vague yes-and-no gesture. "More of a temporary guest," he said. 

"Oh! You're one the Hounds, then."

Blackhand didn't deny it. "Call me Blackhand," he said. "Or... Shit. Call me Mike. Pardon my French."

She laughed softly. "Robin," she said. "I'm not strong enough to have a code name, or a call sign, or anything like that. It's nice to meet you, Mike." 

Music: A Christmas Carol

Tom Lehrer:

December, is it?

I really have no idea how this might have happened, but we're now in December and wow there is a lot that has to be done before the end of the year. I need to follow up on the support tickets I have open, then speak to my boss and lay out a timeline for the required upgrade. I also need to have a couple of people re-do their testing in the TRAIN environment, because if things work there that didn't work in test, well... that bodes well for the production upgrade and also suggests that I need to take a much closer look at what has and hasn't been implemented in TEST. We already discovered at least one item where the GIS connection had been upgraded in the other two environments, but not there. 

Then there's the planning for Christmas, and for my Dad's interment, both of which need to get nailed down this week. There's also making sure that Secondborn passes the fall semester, which pretty much also needs to get nailed down this week. 

It's enough to make want to go back to roaming the moors, howling at the moon and feasting on the unwary. 

StV: Don't Pick That Fight

"You told us to let him go," Blackhand said. "Why'd you do that?"

Lynx sighed. "Because I didn't want to see you get killed."

Blackhand hesitated, shuddering. "Yeah, but he didn't manage to kill us."

"...Because he was busy killing like fifty other people all at once."

Blackhand's jaw worked. "Okay, fair point. Anyway, I'm not going to try to kill him."

"Oh?"

"Hearne's orders. I do follow orders."

Lynx sighed. "Somehow I'm still entirely reassured."

"Somehow, I'm still not going to explain."

"Okay, fine. You want me to let him know you want to talk to him? So nobody mistakes it for an ambush?"

"...You know what? Yes. Please. Do that."