Marcus Flint

She's gone.

Alice died this morning.

Ana's just started coughing a couple of hours ago. Ethan's been in bed with fever and cough since last night. I keep hearing Mabel crying but I can't find her, or she skitters away when I try to catch her. Puggly says she's eating.

I've moved the pot of minted water to Ethan's room, and started a new one in my room for Ana. I thought at first to move my things, but I've decided I'm staying with her. Can't leave her.

Alice is ill. It started in the night, and has gone worse through the day. In the beginning we thought it was simply flu, early in the season with fever and aches, but tonight she is coughing up blood and finding it difficult to breathe.

( Longbottom )

( Finnigan )

( private )

I think Mabel's named the kittens. This can't be a good sign.

I need a day off. More importantly, I need sleep. Getting so I can barely sit a fucking broom without thinking I'm likely to fall over.

( private to Finnigan )

( private to Ro )

( private )

I get the feeling that spending the night with two women in my bed would've been more pleasant if one of them hadn't been shaking me awake every two hours and threatening me with a knife for having been an arse and gotten myself concussed.

Just when I thought I might get some sleep, Mabel woke us all up by climbing on up to join us and bringing two kittens. Kittens have claws. Very sharp tiny claws. Don't seem to mind being dragged all over the place though, so they're social beasts. Haven't yet managed to convince her that they belong in the barn, not the house.

Also learned this week that the stupidity of sheep is useful, and we've got a small flock on the property now, about a half dozen all told. Ethan's set about to lure more in. The goal is to have around thirty before snow begins; we'll get more in the spring, and have to deal with lambing then as well. Apocalypse is turning me into a bloody sheep farmer.

( private to Ash )

( private to Finnigan )

( private to Carmichael )

( private to Kirke )

The sheep are taunting me. I look out the window towards the Dales from home and I can see them, dotting the hillside. Ana managed to bring one home last night, and Puggly was overjoyed to prepare mutton for dinner. Mabel was, as expected, horrified, but ate anyway, despite Ethan's insistence on bleating at her incessantly before the meal.

( private to Longbottom )

( very very private to Carmichael )

Anyone want a kitten? Mabel informs me that the grey cat had a litter of five last week, so in a month or so they'll be old enough to go with anyone who needs one. I've more than enough bloody cats in the barn and do not need five more.

What the bloody hell is everyone on about? Something's gotten into the water in York; seems like folks can't manage to keep their pens still about their habits in bed. Zucchinis. Strap-ons. Announcements of getting shagged.

Fuck. Do you really think people care? Go out, get laid, but don't expect a bloody parade over it.

( private to Vane )

( private to C. Warrington )

((posted very late at night))

Bloody hell, my petrol supply's less than I thought. I'm heading back to Skipton to siphon more off soon. Anyone need some and want to ride along?

Also, looking for ideas transporting sheep. Mutton's stringy as hell, but it's meat. Just not portable on a motorbike.

( charmed bloody well private )

Finch-Fletchley! You were supposed to fix the bloody wards, not lock them down so fucking tight I can't get out of my own estate.

Finnigan, I'm not making it in unless someone manages to undo the lock they made. This is what I get for coming home to pick up that spare broom I promised after Moon's impaled itself in the tree yesterday.

[Marc might've meant to protect those statements. Maybe. But he he's too busy being cranky to remember. So this is open for anyone to see.]

Nothing ever goes as planned. Luce, can you manage houseguests in that place of yours?

( private to Finch-Fletchley )

( private to Vane )

If anyone has a brill way to transport sheep and a fancy for chasing them on the hills to catch them, I know where you can find them. Motorbike wasn't really going to do it.

( private to Pansy Parkinson )

( private to Seamus )

( private to Romilda )

( charmed private )

Anyone familiar with mountains? Seems I'm looking to do a bit of climbing in the near future. Try not to let this place fall to shit again while I'm gone.

( private )

Yep, I was right, beating the crap out of someone is therapeutic. Any more volunteers?

Flying's almost as good, not quite. Bloody well miss Quidditch, but then, who's got time to even think about something to relax? Twelve hours on, enough time to get back to Knaresborough, get a bit of sleep, then back here and on shift again.