speeding

Dear Fishbowl,

Sending the elevator to some weird abandoned city Island and stranding me there was, frankly, not cool.

That's two hours of my life I'll never get back. And that place was creepy.

Regards,

Your Evil Overlord

((OOC: Dash doesn't know about Want, Throne and Ran yet.))

Okay. So.

• Magical journal? Check.
• Shower has been had? Check.
• Actually not-goopy clothing that still doesn't really fit? Check.
• Waking up in the most insane excuse for a social study without any memories or, you know, clothes, and being told the low-down by some poor girl who looked like she was going to faint? Double check.
• Getting practically manhandled around to god knows where without anyone telling me what the hell this is about and ending up writing this next to an endless rack of lady's high heels? GO TIME.

But seriously, magical journal, what the heck is going on?

Uh, and if these things work the way I'm told they are supposed to-- Hello there my fellow lab rats. I guess welcome me to the maze? And, you know, direct me to the cheese and not the sparks.

The name's Dash, by the way. As in dashingly handsome, or dashing to the rescue. You know, I’m good with either.

god I feel like a dork talking to a journal.