Don't Be a Brat, Slinky. That's My Profession.

So nobody had told Kennedy that according to some sources the world was scheduled to end on May 21, 2011; if they had, she'd have pointed out that it seemed to be right about the right time of year for that sort of thing, but hey, it was cool that they'd held out until the day after her birthday. Which was slightly irrelevant anyway, since for her 2011 was a long way off.

She had slightly more pressing concerns at the moment anyway. Her trip to Portugal had ended up stretching out to five weeks, and she'd come home with about three times the amount of luggage than she'd had when she left. Most of that was souvenirs for friends and family, but enough that the driver who'd picked her up from the airport, despite having worked for her family for years and being used to her enthusiastic packing tendencies by now, had looked mildly horrified upon finding her surrounded by suitcases at baggage claim. Getting all of this loot up to her apartment meant some seriously generous tipping, but that part had been easy. Getting it all unpacked, sorted out, and ready to send out to people, on the other hand? She was all on her own for that.

Kennedy stared at the piles of stuff strewn out around her living room, dug a hand into her hair, and whistled softly. "Oh, man. Where am I even gonna start with this?"

Bailey, who'd been dropped off this morning and had evidently done just fine in Jañe's care for the past few weeks, looked at her from the arm of the couch and just twitched his nose.

She snorted and reached out to pat the rabbit's head. "You're no help."

[[it's past in her timeline already, but since today is her birthday in game-time, well. post is oooopen for calls and emails and whatnot; sp entirely possible until evening, as usual.]]

Two weeks ago, Kennedy had come home with way more stuff than she'd left with, all of which just got run through the laundry (the clothes, anyway) and packed right back up to ship out to her new place in Manhattan. Three days ago, Kennedy's dad had insisted on throwing a big elaborate 18th birthday party for her. In light of still trying to do the whole family thing, she hadn't argued; actually, she'd kind of enjoyed it even though-- and she'd never tell him this-- it paled in comparison to her last birthday party, astronomically higher budget or not. The next day had been spent putting the finishing personal touches on the new Upper East Side apartment that was finally, officially hers (and by 'finishing personal touches' she meant arranging all her weaponry in the custom hidden cabinets whose construction Constance had personally overseen) and getting settled in there, with Janelle 'helping' in a way Kennedy hadn't been about to discourage.

Tomorrow morning, there'd be a car coming to take her to the airport, and from there she'd be off to Portugal to spend three weeks with Mom.

It'd been a busy couple of weeks since she'd left Fandom, and now that she finally had some downtime before she was heading out again, nervousness was setting in: almost nine years of minimal correspondence were no way to gauge what the next three weeks would be like, and she really hoped it went well. Not even a really good workout had done much to take the edge off, so now she was trying to cope by taking pictures of her sweet new digs and emailing them (once she remembered how to get the pictures from her camera to her computer) to friends.

Bailey was still exploring the apartment (and probably leaving little rabbity souvenirs that the cleaning crew would just have to deal with later); Kennedy was sitting at her kitchen table with the window cracked open and the computer that wouldn't even be new and cutting-edge for eight years yet, never mind obsolete, sitting half-ignored in front of her. The constant noise of the city was familiar and comforting in its own way, a welcome change from the isolated austerity of the house out in Westchester County, but every now and then it hit her: she missed the quiet of Fandom.

The whole real-world thing was a pretty mixed bag.

[[you know that whole time-tracky thing i do? yeah. can be open for calls too. yes, i know it's only been two days. shut up. i actually held off a whole day.]]

So. Her plans for the summer were... not shaping up like she'd thought they would, and Kennedy wouldn't even bother to lie about not being in a downer of a mood right now, either.

Keeping herself busy was going to be trickier than usual during the break week, but at least there was the immediate option of sending out handwavey messages to a few friends, letting them know what was going on. There was also the totally bizarre news article in a browser window on her laptop-- something about an unusual electrical phenomenon in the skies over Sunnydale-- but she was ignoring that in favor of sending out a few emails of her own, instead, and doing a little research.

That was the theory, but she wasn't so verbose that her emails took incredibly long to send, and she sucked at research, so... there was a good amount of staring at the screen in there, too, and turning her music up a few notches louder than usual.

Yeah. This keeping-busy thing was kind of a bust so far, unless you counted petting Bailey, since the rabbit insisted on hopping up in her lap. That was something.

[[door and post open, though sp while i flee home from work, and if you think she would've sent you a message, she did. also, you can just deal with the fact that i just may play this girl as much as damn well possible for the next three days. deal with it, i say.]]

...sooooooo, there really were things about the weekend that Kennedy could have been freaking out about, but she'd gotten some of that out of her system earlier today, and the general feeling of too-much-sugar hangovery ick was enough of a distraction to keep her from dwelling on it much, and anyway there was someone who seemed more traumatized about the whole thing than Kennedy herself really had any reason to be.

Her laptop was open on her nightstand, an article theorizing on whether some wacky tower being built in Sunnydale was some kind of guerrilla art piece or a sociological experiment (a lot of people apparently hadn't even noticed it) completely ignored for the moment, because--

Well, because Kennedy was lying on her stomach on the floor beside the bed, peering into the messy space beneath.

"C'mon, Bailey," she called to the rabbit hunkered way back against the wall for about the millionth time. "It's okay, you can come out now, I swear! Please? There's treats and stuff..."

That poor rabbit; left to his own devices for a few days, then lavished with too much attention by small children. Thus far, Kennedy's first couple of weeks of pet ownership weren't going so great.

...probably a good thing you couldn't ask Bailey's opinion on the matter.

[[*snicker* mostly 'cause it amused me, but door/post open.]]