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But I Don't Want To Live On The Moon (Closed Log)

It really figured, Darkwing thought, still fuming as he dragged his paintbrush across the surface of the moon. He had known from minute one that working with Gryzlikoff would be a disaster, and now here he was, stranded millions of miles from home. The stubborn bear wouldn't even let him use FOWL's equipment to radio home, so naturally, Gosalyn and Launchpad were going to be worried sick about him, and he had no way to let them know he was okay.

"Stupid brawn-for-brains," he muttered, pacing backwards, keeping his eye on the sliver of Earth visible just over the horizon. "Thinking so much about regulations that he doesn't consider that some of us actually have a LIFE back on --"

His tailfeathers came up suddenly against something very solid and large, and he yelped, dropping the paintbrush, whirling around and putting up his dukes. He was expecting another FOWL ship, maybe a second contingent of Eggmen that Steelbeak had left behind, and smirked. With the mood he was in, he could stand to sock somebody right about then.

"Arrrrrrrright, COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP!"

The Start of a Partnership (for offcenter)

Being a research fellow at St. Canard University had its perks, but no matter how advanced some of the technology was in their biology labs, sometimes the simpler things were best. Which was how Reginald Bushroot had come to save up his student loan stipends over the course of his doctorate, and put a down payment on a neglected greenhouse on the outskirts of St. Canard.

It crowned a hill overlooking the long swath of farmland which rolled down into Audobon Bay, and he had visions of running a pipeline from the bay to source water and filter it to water the plants. But first, there was a ridiculous amount of work to be done. Enough of the greenhouse was in working order that he was able to bring in plants he'd started at the University: the sort of plants most greenhouses didn't sell. Rows of mullein, black cohosh, and witch hazel, lined the first of the tables, and two rowan saplings marked the head of the path from the scuffed dirt parking lot. Several other herbs had some fine starters going, but business was slow to start, despite the varied crop.

"Oh, you're a mess, I know." He mumbled, sweeping a tangle of dead leaves and roots out the front door toward a waiting wheelbarrow. "Just you wait. Soon I'll get this all cleaned up and we'll have more customers than that one strange lady with the streaks in her beehive."

Open World Post: Aviario, CT

At first glance, Aviario could be any normal small New England city - it's got its fair share of well-preserved historical buildings, a lovely park, a reasonably happy community, and a decent amount of "townies" who've been around forever and know everyone and everything there is to know about living there.

At second glance, there are strange things that were probably a trick of the mind - a flash of light, an animal looking at you as though it were watching you, someone who just lit their cigarette without a lighter.

At third glance, you start looking closer, and find out at least one thing: magic is real. Depending on how closely you look ... you might find out more than you wanted to know about who uses it, and why, and how.

Just pass through, crash with someone you happen to have met before for a weekend, poke your nose where it doesn't belong ... it's all up to you, the city is an open book. Just ... don't go near that old house on the hill. The owner's really tired of having to turn away everyone who goes up there just to ask about the "ancient curse".