but if you try sometimes...

mood: better
music: still nothing
CPCetc: belly! woot!

ManUtd whipped Wigan four to nothing. I told my college essays to go fuck themselves. Marion and I discussed drunken debauchery. I helped someone write a paper on Hamlet. Thus, the Kiri-Panda is no longer a muffin of angsty goodness and no threats of suicide are need reported. In celebration, I have a present for you. Enjoy!!

'Guiness, are you positive this is where we're supposed to be?'
'More than a little, sweetheart.'
'But there's nothin' 'ere!'
'Fordo--' She stood at one of the columns, hand reaching out and brushing its dusty surface.
'What?'
'It's a nest of drawers.'
'What?'
'For files!' With a rusty creak, the drawer slid open, a great whoosh of mouldy-paper-scent gracing their nostrils. 'Look at them! There must be hundreds here!' She was right, of course. The room was a maze of the squat stacks--much akin to the ancient monuments his father was so fond of.
'You can't tell me the man is this organised.'
'He is, mate.' Guiness's voice had gotten softer suddenly. 'I'd know.'
'But...why? What could he possibly need all of these for?'
'Why would you think, Madame?'
Moscoe smiled crookedly, descending the rickety metal stairs with uncommon grace. His hair was slicked back in its usual severe state; his eyes pierced them with hatred and unpleasant knowledge. 'Get behind me, Oko...'
'Oh, that's not necessary, Mr Summers. I'm not going to hurt you.'
'What do you want?'
'Still so defensive. Hasn’t dear Basil taught you anything?'
'Basil--'
'Enough of your games, Moscoe.' Fordo's arm slid just enough to drop the stolen knife into his grasp. Moscoe's grin widened.
'I always thought you fond of games, Mr Summers. Or did those football matches you had with your father mean nothing to you?'
Ignore him, Fordo-san; just ignore him.
'You leave him out of this.' His grip tightened.
'Don’t you understand, Summers? I'm the very least of your worries.' Fordo's grip tightened as Moscoe came closer, feeling a slight shiver running up his back. 'You see, Mr Summers, every few millennia, something incredible happens. Fish learn to walk, breathe the air; apes come down from the trees and stand upright. It is chance alone that allows these...freaks of nature to survive.' He scoffed slightly, his smile growing. 'Large mutations are hardly ever successful. They cause breakdowns in cell structures and gross disadvantages to their hosts. As history will tell us, progress is full of dangers. You and your friends could be threatened by more than scary men in lab coats knocking at your door.'
'...What are you saying?'
He was close enough now that Fordo could see the veins in his eyes and smell the staleness of old wine on his breath. He kept his stance. 'I'm not the real enemy, Mr Summers. You are.'

See? I do love you after all! Thoughts?

Hey! If anyone's bored and would like to redesign the Fordo sight, let me know. It looks very similar to crap right now.