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I think I've touched on most of the things you've mentioned, Tomash, but I honestly don't know anymore. >.>; So, my thoughts on your questions and the specific issues.

Questions:

1. Social dynamics. Frankly, as has been stated before, a lot of PPCers are teenagers and young adults. That means you're still just starting to figure out who you are and how best to deal with the world. On top of that, we're all a bunch of geeks and misfits, and some of us have additional challenges to face.

That kinda means the whole "social" thing is not going to run smoothly all the time. Mistakes will happen. The trick, I think, is to remember that it's not the end of the world. Everyone makes mistakes, no one is perfect, and that doesn't make us horrible people. It just makes us people. I think we should all make an effort to remember that, and to forgive ourselves and each other when we fail to live up to our ideals, and not to give up, but to keep on trying. I firmly believe our hearts are in the right place, and we'll do fine if we just try.

2. Who should do what. I guess I sort of answered this already. Further, though, I agree with whoever said we've done a lot of good work in this thread, and that it's showed above. Let's keep it up.

Issues:

1a. Brink. I agree there's not much more to say here. Unless someone else has a similar issue in the near future, I think we should let it go.

1b. DIA ownership. I'm content with what Ekyl has said about this. Personally, I'll be fully satisfied when he actually publishes something, anything, since he keeps on saying he's got all this stuff in the works. I know real life gets in the way—boy, do I know it!—but all the same, I have to admit I roll my eyes every time he says it at this point. I don't see any harm in it, though, as long as he recognizes that intending to do a thing doesn't mean anything if he never does it.

1c. Manipulative/insincere. I'd be happier if Ekyl would acknowledge the advice I've given, but I'll be content if he acts on it.

2. Scapegrace. See below.

3. Herr and Nord. I see that Herr has apologized at least in part, and yeah, it looks like they plan not to interact at all anymore. If that's as good as it's going to get, I'll accept it, and hope that's the last we hear about the two of them.

4. Granz. I never thought Granz was being malicious in the first place, and I am satisfied with his apology.

5. Me and hS. I can't speak for hS, but I'm inclined to embrace my role as a community leader, official or unofficial (but preferably un), and try to be better at it. I have personally made a commitment to be more aware of the example I'm setting by my actions and to be conscientious of the type of leader and teacher I want to be. Not a tyrannical dictator, but a helper, a guide, a source of advice and perhaps even instruction and discipline, when it's called for. Some have said they think of this community as a family, so maybe I'm a den mom. Maybe I'll start doing what Mum's the Word used to do and hand out virtual brownies on special occasions. ^_~ That doesn't absolve anyone else of responsibility, of course. If we're a family, then the older siblings (middlebies) are still expected to set a good example and help the younger ones (newbies), too.

6. Witch-hunt. I think most, if not all, of the people involved have expressed some sort of regret for what happened. I don't think there's any way to guarantee nothing of the sort will ever happen again, but if all of us who were here for this one can recognize the signs of groupthink and echochamberism in the future, we'll do better.

7. Oh hey, there is no seven. Yay!

So, that's what I've got at this point.

~Neshomeh

There is, unfortunately, one outstanding issue that has been brought to my attention. I've attempted to speak with Scape in private about this, but gotten no response after three days from my latest message, six since my first. Since I know she's been on the Board, and I believe she's been in communication with others by e-mail in this time, I'm forced to conclude she's attempting to dodge the issue. Therefore, it's up to the Board to make sure that isn't allowed to continue.

The issue is this: back in March, when people in Discord were worried about Iximaz and trying to pin the blame on July, Scapegrace sent a long series of text messages to July, which included some very insulting and hurtful remarks. July mentioned this and quoted one of the remarks in her goodbye post. There's more where that came from, but it's not mine to share. As far as I am aware, Scapegrace has yet to acknowledge that this happened or to apologize for it.

I am now calling for both to be done here, in public. I understand that Scapegrace was upset and worried about Iximaz at the time, but caring for Iximaz doesn't excuse attacking whoever she happens to be mad at at the time, especially when they have no idea what happened to prompt it. That's not how we want our members to handle their problems in this community, which is exactly what this thread is about.

Furthermore, I'm given to understand that July hasn't been the only target of this, meaning Iximaz's friends taking it upon themselves to have a go at whoever she has a beef with, whether behind their backs or to their faces. hS has been a target to a lesser degree, as seen here (apology for that is here), and SkarmorySilver's name came up, too, though I'll leave it to him to say whether he feels that's the case.

I think there's a fine line between commiserating with a friend over something you don't agree with and being a jerk to people you don't like. Not everyone has to be best friends with everyone else, that's fine, but if not getting along with someone spills over into actual attacks on them, that line has definitely been crossed.

A public apology to July and a promise not to do it again, to anyone, is required. If Scape fails to deliver said apology and promise, I leave it to the community to decide what the consequences should be.

As for me, until that happens, I must regretfully withdraw my previous compliments to Scapegrace, and register my disappointment both in my own judgement and in Scapegrace, who accepted my kind remarks knowing she had done this and had expressed no remorse for it. I've also extended my own apologies to July for straight-up forgetting that Scape had attacked her recently, even if I didn't know the full extent of it.

~Neshomeh

Fanfic from a very small fandom, in fact- an excellent little series called Ruby Redfort, which is a great read if you like really cool codes and spy organisations. This is from a longer character/friendship study, but the basic gist of the situation is that Ruby and Hitch (spy butler dude) are at a rather boring party because of her parents. Ruby's been playing a game for a while involving a travelling lemon (I may have been inspired by Cabin Pressure, haha), and- well. i'll stop rambling and post the fic, shall I?

----

“Hey buster, you look bored,” said Ruby, who had appeared at his elbow. He glanced down at her, and offered a half-shrug.
“It’s not too bad,” he said. “I can deal.” Internally, he was hoping desperately that she’d find some way to shake things up without actually causing any sort of damage. God was this party dull.
“Sure you can,” she scoffed. “Just a house full of people who’d rather talk about their social life than anything interesting.” She grinned, and held up a lemon that she had produced from seemingly nowhere. “What say we stir this party up a bit?”
He eyed it for a moment, trying not to smile. “You’re aware of the presence of the President of Yugoslavia at this party, I’m sure.”
“And the Prime Minister of Nepal,” Ruby nodded, and tossed the lemon up into the air before snatching it easily. “That’s why we’re playing airplane rules tonight.”
He leaned on the nearest table, the smile creeping across his face despite himself. “Dare I ask what ‘airplane rules’ entail?” What a kid.
Ruby’s smile mirrored his. She looked obviously thrilled that he had decided to play along. Apparently she had been just as bored as he was. “Well, the usual rules apply, of course.”
“Of course,” Hitch agreed blandly.
“Apart from that- well, I hide the lemon in plain sight, you have to locate and retrieve it without anybody noticing, and then hide it again for me. If anybody spots either of us with the lemon, the game’s forfeit.”
“How long does this usually go on for?”
Ruby offered up a sheepish shrug. “Hours, sometimes. The longest I’ve ever played was a rally of about 32.”
“You and Clancy, I assume,” Hitch guessed, smiling faintly.
“Ambassador Crew’s Christmas party, year of ’69,” Ruby said fondly. “And what a night that was.” She frowned. “We would have gone on for longer if the cook hadn’t found the thirty-third hiding spot before I did. She decided that lemon would be a neat addition to the salmon dinner and, well, that was the end of that.”
Hitch laughed, and then glanced down at the lemon again, smile falling abruptly off his face. “I can’t believe I’m considering this. If LB finds out-”
“But she won’t,” Ruby interrupted, “because we’re both excellent at this game. And it’s not as if we’re breaking into a secret Spectrum vault, we’re just-” She pointedly tossed the lemon from hand to hand a couple of times. “-throwing a lemon around.”
Hitch rolled his eyes, sighing in defeat. “Fine. You start, then.”
Ruby grinned, triumphant. “You’re the best butler, you know that?”
“House manager,” Hitch corrected half-heartedly as Ruby squeezed between two people and disappeared into the chaos and bustle of the party.
-
“The Lemon is in play,” Ruby hissed at him a short while later as they brushed by each other. Hitch bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing out loud at how very serious she sounded, and instead focused his attention on surveying the party for any signs of an errant, cleverly-hidden lemon.
It took him nearly ten minutes and a momentary false alarm with somebody’s brightly-colored yellow handbag to track down the lemon, which was almost smugly resting on a drinks tray carried by a tuxedo-clad waiter.
“I’ll take this for you,” he suggested to the surprised member of the catering staff, pulling the tray smoothly from the other man’s grasp and moving off into the crowd, sliding the lemon off the tray and into his loose grasp as he did so.
As various members of the group reached over to Hitch for the last of the drinks, he dropped the lemon in the jacket pocket of the man closest to him- tall, with a severe looking moustache- and deposited the now-empty drinks tray on a nearby table. He then retreated back into the anonymity of the crowd, mission successfully completed.
A flash of scarlet in the corner of his vision made him turn, and he raised an eyebrow as Ruby darted over to another tray of drinks to snatch a glass of wine. She held it in one hand, and sauntered over to the group that he had just visited with the air of somebody not looking or caring where they’re going. What followed next was an almost artful collision as she managed to spill every last drop of the red wine on the man with the moustache without actually getting any on herself. Both of them ended up sprawled on the ground.
Ruby sprung up instantly, offering her hand to the man and babbling apologies. “My gosh, sir, I’m so sorry- I didn’t see where I was going! Are you all right? Do you need help?”
“That’s quite alright, miss,” the moustached man began, but Ruby was having none of it.
“I simply must take your coat,” she said, doing just that- tugging it straight off his shoulders before he could even protest. Scooping the lemon out of the pocket, she tucked it behind her back with one hand. She gave the jacket a perfunctory examination, then handed it straight back to him. “Actually, I don’t need it, thanks anyway! Once again, I’m very sorry, and my mother can recommend a very good drycleaner if you need it. Have a wonderful night!”
And she was gone, before anybody could even question what a teenage girl was doing wandering around with a glass of wine in the first place.
Hitch made a noise of slight incredulity at this, and turned, trying to figure out where Ruby was going next.
-
An hour later, and the lemon was still firmly in play. Hitch was not ashamed to admit that he was having a lot more fun than he should really be having at this sort of party. Usually the high point of the evening was when one of the dignitaries had a few too many shots of whiskey and had to be escorted outside by security.
Tonight, however-
He spotted Ruby’s latest hiding spot as he passed by where Ruby’s parents were talking with somebody who looked as if he were a ruler of some small country somewhere, and paused for a moment as he took a moment to appreciate Ruby’s creativity at hiding it in her mother’s handbag, of all places.
This appreciation was quickly followed by slight trepidation as he wondered how he would get it out without being sucked into a two hour-long conversation.
 

*throws rainbow confetti in the air*

...,on May 17, 1990, the WHO stopped considering homosexuality a disease.
Happy International Day against Homophobia, transphobia, and Biphobia, fellow LGBTQ+ people!

‘Oh, bloody hell.’

‘Oh, no, Finch, it wasn’t bloody at all,’ Bingle carefully explained, stopping in the corridor, gesturing. ‘It was snowy, more than anything else. And it wasn’t in hell, either, Finch. Eastern bit of the Sahara, in fact.’

Finch dragged his ocular in Bingle’s direction. ‘Not bloody that! I-ve had a-’ but he was cut off by the wooo wooo wooo of his damage alarm. ‘That.’

‘Oh, dear.’ Bingle quirked his head and leant in, frowning. ‘Are you quite okay, Finch?’

‘I-m seeing everything backwards.’ Finch grumbled. His ocular was twisting and spinning.

‘Everything backwards?’ Bingle asked.

‘Everything backwards!’

Bingle held up two fingers. ‘How many fingers do you see, Finch?’

‘I see a balled up fist.’

Bingle held up three fingers. ‘How about now?’

‘A balled up fist.’

Bingle held up his other hand, raising seven fingers. ‘Now, Finch?’

‘I just see two balled up fists, Bingle!’ Finch howled. ‘And the one on the right is losing wrinkles!’

‘Oh, dear,’ Bingle commented, taking his hands down. He watched and frowned as Finch fluttered awkwardly through the air, spurted hissing wind from his vents, tapped against a wall and rebounded like it had kicked him.

‘Oh bloody dear, Bingle. I need DoSAT!’ Finch was rapidly turning into a mess of woop woop woop, whirs, hums, clicks and clacks and the occasional clunk, as he bounced off another wall.

‘You know how to fix yourself, don’t you, Finch?’ Bingle asked, gently holding Finch with two hands to prevent him from bouncing down away through the corridors like a slow, complaining pinball.

‘I-m seeing things backwards, Bingle,’ Finch hissed. His ocular was flicking everywhere. ‘I-d probably install an extra panel over my central computer access rather than opening it!’

‘It would be more durable, Finch, you know.’

‘Oh, shut up, Bingle.’

Bingle released Finch, pointing at nothing, as an idea came to him. ‘I know, Finch!’ A cheery grin spread over his face. He began moving towards Finch’s central computer access. ‘I can fix you!’ Finch slapped away his hands. ‘I’m very well-versed in-’ Finch slapped away his hands. ‘I once took an entire course in robo-’ Finch slapped away his hands. ‘You know-’ Finch slapped away his hands, once more. Bingle straightened his back and folded his arms. ‘Finch, I somehow feel that you don’t trust me.’

‘I won-t bloody let you, Bingle. Not after last time.’

‘Last time’ resounded through Bingle’s mind like a shout in a cavern. Last time. Last time? Bingle hardly recognised the words. ‘What happened last time, Finch?’

‘You don-t bloody remember last time, Bingle,’ Finch said, dinging off a wall and slowly hovering to the other side of the corridor. ‘Because when you pressed the wrong series of buttons and jettisoned my ocular out its socket, it hit you on the bloody head so hard it erased your memory of the entire day.’

‘Oh, I think I would remember that, Finch.’

‘I. Need. Bloody. DoSAT.’ Finch hissed.

Bingle sighed and shook his head. ‘Oh, of course, Finch.’ And within just a second, his disappointment had already rushed away, disappearing to that same dark, crowded place where most of his other thoughts and memories went. ‘We’ll get there, don’t worry!’ And Bingle took hold of Finch and pushed him ahead. He started whistling. Phwoo-wo-woo, he went.

The general noise of a malfunctioning Finch and his not-technically-malfunctioning friend, Bingle, as they stepped through the corridors went like this: woop woop woop, whirrr, phwoo-wo-wooo, bugger buggering bloody, click clack, woop woop woop, whirrr, phwoo-wo-woo, bugger buggering bloody, click clack and so on. Bingle saw, grinned at, and waved at a great variety of people Finch did not recognise. One or two of the people didn’t recognise Bingle, either, and they creased their brows and tilted their heads, before shrugging and continuing on their ways.

‘Why does this always happen to me, Bingle?’ Finch moaned.

‘Well, Finch,’ Bingle said, pushing Finch around a very large pothole in the floor. ‘It would be terribly odd for, say, agent Alleb, the knight, to have a software malfunction.’

‘But why?’ Finch asked. ‘Why is that odd? Who bloody decided that?’

Bingle shrugged. ‘Charles Darwin, perhaps. He was quite smart, you know.’

‘Why can-t knights go around having software malfunctions, and why can-t I go around wearing bloody plate armour and bowing down to posh ladies with cones on their heads?’

‘Because that’s not how it is, Finch.’

‘Why?’

‘Oh, don’t ask why, Finch,’ Bingle said, piloting Finch around a prone agent, lying on the floor. ‘There is no why, Finch. There is is, but there is no why.’

‘It-s like you hate intellectual consideration and discourse, Bingle,’ Finch muttered.

‘I feel its a waste of energy, Finch,’ Bingle said, turning them around a corner. ‘Questions without answers, Finch, I’ve found are far less useful, in the long term, than, say, having lunch. Reading a book. Not malfunctioning.’

‘There has to be an answer!’ Finch exclaimed. His ocular almost looked rabid, in its wild spins and sudden flicks.

‘Ironic Overpower,’ Bingle said.

‘That just extends the question.’

Bingle shook his head. ‘We are going to stop your malfunctions, Finch. Then we shall have lunch, and I think I’ll read a book.’

‘You-re an immortal wizard-man with secrets from behind the universe,’ Finch said. Something unfriendly inside him made a loud clicking noise. ‘I would have figured, Bingle, you-d know more. Or care more.’

Bingle smiled cheerily. ‘I know plenty, Finch. I do think that’s why I don’t care.’ A pair of heavy-looking blast doors had appeared in front of them. ‘We’re here, Finch.’

‘Thank God. You-re starting to get your hair back, Bingle.’

‘Good heavens.’

Chapter 1

Fire. The world was ablaze and one woman was trapped in the middle of it. Something had pinned her legs and left her at the mercy of the flames. She tried to call for help, but the blaze sucked the air from her lungs and replaced it with smoke. I'm going to die, was the last thing she thought before her skin caught fire and she began to burn.

Kim "KC" Hayes sat up in her bed, batting at the flames that had been so vivid in her mind. It took a moment for her senses to tell her that the flames were just a memory; that they hadn't come back to finish what they had started. The crash had been months ago, and the burns she had sustained were healing well. Why should she continue to dream of the fire so often?

She looked around her room as she tried to catch her breath. The blanket was on the floor and her sheets were soaked with sweat. That wasn't unusual on the nights when flames haunted her dreams. Everything else seemed to be in order. The clock on her dresser told her that it was 5:12 AM; just over an hour before she had to be up for work.

KC didn't feel like going back to sleep. The prospect of further nightmares was not one that she particularly wanted to face, at the moment. She decided to get an early start, instead. Swinging her feet over the edge of the bed, she started toward the bathroom to shower.

After she started the water for her shower, she peeled off her sweaty tank top and shorts. She took a moment to examine herself in the mirror. Her burn scars stood out first, pink and shiny against the backdrop of her white skin. They covered a portion of her chest, shoulder and neck where her blouse had caught fire. It would have been worse, but some bystanders has pulled her from her car and put out the flames.

She ran her fingers through her auburn hair. It had been shoulder length before the accident. The flames from her shirt had singed a fair portion of hair on the right side. She had cut it short to restore some semblance of symmetry to her head, as well as to erase a reminder of the crash.

The mirror began to fog over, obscuring her image. She stepped into the shower and let the hot water wash the sticky residue of sweat from her body. She adjusted to temperature of the water to make it cooler, because her burns were still sensitive to heat. She carefully cleaned the pink skin of the scars.

When she was finished in the shower, she dried herself off and applied ointment to her wounds. She then covered them, as best she could, with gauze, which she held in place with medical tape. The gauze would keep her clothes from rubbing against the burns and irritating them. That done, she returned to her bedroom to get dressed.

Ten minutes later, KC was in the kitchen of her one bedroom apartment. She had a small pot of coffee brewing and a couple of frozen waffles in the toaster. While she waited for her breakfast, she turned on the television that she kept on her counter

“...President will be giving a speech for their graduation ceremony,” said the Anchor from behind her desk. “Now for some local news.”

The waffles popped up and KC went to get them from the toaster, barely listening to the report. She only heard brief snatches from the television while getting her food and coffee.

“..uelson has been missing since...”

She returned to the table and, when she looked up, saw that they had moved on to sports. She wasn’t interested in that, so she turned the television off and ate her breakfast.

~*~

Waiting for the train was KC’s least favorite part of getting to work now. She was used to driving her car into the city, but she no longer had one. It was her fault, though, and she considered the train to be her penance. She stood on the platform in the dawn light, with a dozen other commuters, in her skirt, blouse and tennis shoes. Her work appropriate shoes were in her bag. It was just like any other morning.

KC leaned forward to look up the track for her train. It was just coming around the bend and would reach the station in about a minute. When she turned back, to wait for the train, she felt like someone was watching her. She couldn’t shake the feeling. Looking across the tracks to the other platform she could only see two people. The one closest to her was reading a newspaper, the other was too far down the platform for KC to tell where he were looking. There was no reason him to be watching her, in particular, and there were at least a half dozen people closer to the man. Still...

She didn’t have much time to wonder as her train pulled up, blocking her view of the other side of the tracks. When she had boarded the train and found a seat, she tried to locate the man on the other platform, again. She couldn’t see him until the train started moving. She caught a glimpse of him as her car passed. It almost seemed like his head turned to follow her car, but it was hard to tell with the speed of the train. She hadn’t even been able to make out any detail of his face.

KC endeavored to put it out of her mind. She was almost thirty-five, which was far too old to be jumping at shadows. It was probably just the nightmares working on her nerves, anyway.

Chapter 2

As she sat at her desk, KC’s mind wandered. It was getting to be the middle of the afternoon and she had finished the bulk of her work. She was thinking of calling it an early day going home. The loss of over an hour of sleep was beginning to wear on her. She zoned out for another couple of minutes before finally deciding to pack it in.

She walked to her boss’s office down the hall and stuck her head in. “Hey, Bill,” she said to the balding man behind the desk. “Mind if I take off a little early today?”

She didn’t hear his reply. Something caught her attention out of the corner of her eye.

“Are you listening to me?” asked Bill, snapping her out of her trance.

“I’m sorry, what?” There had been someone outside the window. She was sure of it.

“I said you can go home, and it looks like you really need to. Are you feeling all right?”

“Fine,” she said, trying to play it off. “I’m fine. Just a little tired. Thought I saw someone out the window. But we’re on the twelfth floor, so that’s unlikely, right? Just need to get some sleep.”

Bill stood up and came around his desk. He looked concerned. “Listen, Kim,” he said, “I’m worried about you. Don’t get me wrong, we were in the weeds while you were out after the accident, but if you need some more time off, just tell me.”

“Thanks, Bill. But honestly, I’m fine.” Her assurance didn’t seem to ease his concern.

“Well,” he finally said, “go home and get some rest, at least.” There wasn’t much more he could say.

KC went back to her office to collect her things. She looked out her own window and thought about what she had seen. There had been someone outside that window. She knew it. Even out of the corner of her eye, they’d been oddly clear and focused. She sighed. It occurred to her that she might be getting worked up over a window washer. She needed some sleep before she became completely paranoid.

She grabbed her bag, locked her office, and headed for the elevators. A short ride later and she was waving to the security guard at the front desk as she strode out of the lobby and out into the bright, afternoon sun. She turned toward the train but was delayed at the corner when the traffic signal turned.

While she waited for the light to change, she decided to put her mind at ease. Bill’s office was on this side of the building. KC looked up, expecting to see a platform or, at the very least, the ropes that were always there right before and after the platform was in place. She saw neither. There was nothing on the building to suggest that window washers were working. It had happened less than fifteen minutes ago, there should be something.

KC realized that the light had changed when she was jostled by the crowd moving into the cross walk. She continued her walk to the train, periodically looking over her shoulder at her building. She had to have missed something. People didn’t just appear at twelfth floor windows.

She hurried on to the train station. She was obviously imagining things and the only way to fix that was to get some sleep. She considered stopping by a pharmacy for some sleeping pills, to ensure a full night’s rest.

When she made it to the train platform the electronic board said her train was due in a few minutes. She sat down on a bench to wait and looked around at the people on the other platfrom. Her eyes were drawn to movement as a man walked onto the platform from the stairs. He seemed familiar to KC, though she couldn’t see his face. He had his back to her, and all she could see, in any detail, were his jeans and tee-shirt.

She continued to watch as the man crossed the platform, walking further away from her. It was odd, people stopped talking as he approached and moved out of his way, but no one ever seemed to look at him. He just went where he wanted and the crowd shifted uncomfortably around him. When he reached the very end of the platform he turned and looked toward KC, and the feeling of being watched washed over her again.

It was the same man from that morning. It had to be. He shouldn’t have been far enough away for her to not be able to make out any detail of his face but, strain all she liked, KC made no progress in trying to find any identifiable detail. However, she had the unsettling feeling that he was smiling at her.

KC surged to her feet just as a train flashed between them on his side of the tracks. When it had pulled well past the place he had been standing the man was nowhere to be seen.

He’s either on that train or on his way over here, she thought to herself. Her own train was pulling into the station. When the doors opened, she hurried inside and kept watch on the stairway up to the platform. She wasn’t going to let him sneak up on her.

She breathed a sigh of relief when the doors closed and she hadn’t seen any sign that the creepy man was trying to get to this train. She realized that she was slouched low in her seat and sat up. She needed a plan.

I can’t go to the police, can I? she thought. Well, I could, if I'm fine with being locked in a loony bin for claiming to see people outside of twelfth floor windows. Do I have to tell them that? Maybe not. I should go to the police.

As she was making her decision, the train was pulling into the next stop. She got off the train and headed for the nearest police station.

"I know that face!"

Joyce's reverie was interrupted by her daughter's voice. She turned her head, unable to keep the smile off it. "Hello, Mom. How was your day, Mom? I'm just off to clean my room, Mom-"

"Don't think you can get out of it that easily," Buffy said with a wink and a knowing tone to her voice. "I know that face. That right there is a grade-A, accept-no-substitutes, 100% new guy face. So c'mon, spill!"

"New guy face, huh?" Joyce tried to humour her daughter for a moment, and then gave up, peals of laughter echoing through the room.

"Mom, what's so funny-"

"Nothing, sweetie, nothing. You're right, though, there's someone new in my life."

Buffy squeaked with glee and hugged her mother. "Yay! So, who is he? Tell me all about him."

"Well, they're about my height, dark hair, strong eyes - they really are lovely eyes - my age or thereabouts. Divorced because the ex's idea of a dream home was a shotgun shack in a desert in Australia, oh, and their voice, that accent-"

Buffy pounced. "Accent? Mom, did you get with the hot pool boy?"

Joyce kept giggling; Buffy didn't mind. She couldn't. The last time her Mom had been this happy, well... she couldn't really remember. "Honey, if we wanted a pool boy, we'd have to get a pool first."

"Hey, I can dream. So, keep going, what's the accent?"

"British. Veeeeeery British."

Buffy went pale. "Giles? Mom, he's, like, made of tweed!"

"It's not Rupert, although he's a lovely man who I'm sure will make some lucky woman a lovely filing cabinet someday. Come on, they're in the kitchen right now."

Intrigued to the point of barely suppressed oooohs, Buffy walked into the kitchen after her Mom, in which sat-

"Oh, hello. You must be Buffy! Joyce has told me so much about you..."

Buffy looked at the mid-sized, dark-haired British woman. They were really nice eyes, now that she looked, but there was something else there -

"Your old mom's got a few surprises in her yet, you know."

"I... yeah. You, uh, you sure do, Mom! Uh... hey."

"Hello! Yes. Sorry. Um." Ah, thought Buffy, the Giles is strong with this one. Wait, why does this feel so, um, normal? "Sorry. It's just... she'd be about your age now."

Oh. That was it.

"Sorry, where are my manners!" The woman stood up, proffering a hand to shake. "Monica. Monica Wilkins."

---

AN:-
'"Their names are Wendell and Monica Wilkins, and it's been their lifelong ambition to move to Australia," said Hermione. "And... they don't have any children."'
(Paraphrased from memory)

As has been mentioned elsewhere in this thread, making light-hearted summations of negative events feels callous and misguided at best. I feel like it's too easy to forget that people were harmed by those incidents. People who are very obviously still here. While the painful parts of our history should obviously not be forgotten, to make it a source of levity is not the right way to go about it.

PPCers are not just names on a screen. We are human beings. We have emotions and needs. We are not characters or inventions of the mind. We bleed and weep, unseen. I think it's too easy to forget that sometimes.

It's been a week, and proposal one seems to be the most popular. So here we go. The first ever Blind Beta Workshop!

Anyone who wants to participate needs to write a one to three page short story or scene. This can be PPC stuff, original fiction, fan fiction, or whatever else your little heart desires. Keep in mind that if you do write something related to the PPC, it might reveal who you are. If you're okay with that, then go for it. Also, please do not use another person's PPC agents unless they have given you permission.

Once that's done, post your story to the board anonymously (thank you to Cat-on-the-Keyboard for suggesting this and making my life a little easier). To post something anonymously, simply don't fill in your author space. Or create a fake name, in the vein of the Badfic Games. It's up to you.

As other people post their own work, read through their pieces and beta them. Provide feedback on anything and everything ranging from SPaG to consistency to how it made you feel. Post those thoughts under the piece anonymously. If you're looking for an example of (what I think is) good betaing, I made a post about it here. If you want to give feedback on someone else's beta work, then do so! Same practice applies here as normal betaing.

If at any point you want to reveal yourself, you are welcome to do so (though that does sort of defeat the point). After a few weeks, I will call upon all participants to reveal themselves.

A few more points:
— Follow the Constitution. Be respectful and courteous with your comments. This should be a no-brainer.
— You don't have to post a piece if you just want to beta, but if you post a piece then you SHOULD beta.
— Do not try to publicly guess who everyone is. That's not the point of this game. Even if it's really easy to guess, just don't do it.

And with that, let's begin. Have fun, and good writing!

I'm currently sick and too tired to do a proper review, but I'm going to link this on the wiki – and maybe also review – as soon as I feel better.

HG

I'd like to make you aware of the follow-up to your apology down-Board, if you haven't already seen it. This post is the acceptance of your apology, and the conditions for that acceptance. The community decided to make it a bit more clear and we added this amendment.

I'd encourage you to acknowledge that you understand all of this and, of course, feel free to ask any questions you have.

Now, I apologize for derailing your Mission thread, but this is important and I wanted to make sure you see it.

-Phobos

Wow. I would have sworn I sent well-wishes on the day itself, but apparently not. Very sorry about that. Anyway, happy birthday! Hope the cake was tasty.

The suggestion smacks way too much of "let's turn every negative thing that happens into a permanent scarlet letter".

I really want to face your team, mainly because I actually really like it and want to see how well it would do against mine.

I also don't think we need to be dredging this stuff up and rehashing it. It was five years ago, and I sure don't want anyone to suffer any more on account of what happened back then. I'm sorry for bringing up those unpleasant memories further.

I also don't think anyone wanted to rehash that. Doc brought it up in an offhand way, and I posted links because I had gotten the sense that several people were worried that an argument was about to start and were confused as to what everyone was referring to. If I've missed some post where we were about to start rehashing that mess again, please let me know.

I'm going to second the request that we drop the subject here, since it's not relevant to anything we're still discussing on likely to discuss (it was briefly slightly relevant during a discussion two weeks back, but that's over now).

However, I do think that it's important that we remember our history, including some of the skeletons. How will we avoid repeating our mistakes once almost everyone here today has left (if trends continue, the list of names on the Board will be way different in five-ish years) if we don't remember our history, or worse, insist that everyone forget about what happened and never speak of it again?

If, a good long time from now, the early stages of an angry mob start forming in whatever-we'll-be-using-for-chat (I should hope this never happens, but who knows), I hope that someone will point at what happened last March to remind everyone about what happened last time we tried that sort of thing. Sure, if I'm still around, it'll mean being reminded of my stupidity and the 12-odd hours where my permaban over a mistake was looking rather likely, but that doesn't give me the right to tell people not to spread and preserve the lessons we've learned from what happened there.

And yes, whoever starts working on this, sensitivity is very important.

- Tomash

"Convoys, maneuver out of here and go dark, prioritize repairs on your shields and hypers. Thornbird! I want us to prioritize taking out Tango 2. Hold position and fire missiles on Tango 2 and open laser fire on Any Tango that so much as passes us."

If it needs saying, I share Phobos' concern. Probably more than he does. {; P

~Neshomeh

I'm not particularly thrilled that this subject has been raised, either. As I said to doc, I don't enjoy being reminded of that time my friends decided to assume the worst of me and nearly ran me off because of a poor choice of words.

However:

I'm not sure that gives me the right to even request that no one ever mention it, or to suggest that new people don't have some right to know the history of this place, skeletons and all. So I won't.

I will request that it not be discussed any further in this thread, though. It was three years ago, and I think that's well past any reasonable statute of limitations on dredging things up with the intent to rehash them. It's not relevant unless people think hS and I, or anyone else, need to suffer for it any more than we already have, in which case I will happily take my leave of the Board, because I have no room in my life for that level of f***ery.

Now that I've got that out of the way...

On the subject of making things easier to find, if we really must, then once again I think the wiki holds the answer you seek. Ages ago, I started a page called History of the PPC, Part One with the intent of summing up major events like this in concise chronological order, with links to pages (on- or offsite) with greater detail. Nobody ever did anything with it, and I lost interest, but it's still there. In the PPC History and Events categories. Waiting to be useful.

Just, y'know, remember that people got hurt in all of these things. Recording what happened for posterity is not in itself a bad idea, IMO, but whoever does it, please be sensitive about it, all right?

~Neshomeh

...to say that hS is recusing himself from this thread, and will be taking a break from the board until Friday, in line with Phobos's very good advice. I'll try to keep him entertained until then, but, well, we'll see.

And... Ducking out again.

-Kaitlyn

I know you are upset, and I understand why, but you've been getting more aggressive as this has gone on, and I'm worried about you. Take a break from the Board and try not to think about this thread for a while. You clearly need a chance to rest. I feel like you've been "on" non-stop since this started.

So, please take some time off, for your own well-being.

-Phobos