Just realized that last week, on the sixteenth, it's been two years since I got here. Next month I'll be thirty-nine years old. Just has me thinking about time, I guess. How it flies, how sometimes it feels like it's standing still. Will I still be here when I turn forty? Forty's a big milestone, at least to me it is.

I've seen people come and go, accomplished a lot here. I like that I can help out on the police force when they need me. I'm pretty damn proud of this Youth Center. Kind of wish Xander had been able to stay to see it completed since he helped me start building it. Met a lot of good people here in the City. Seen things I never would have believed were possible back home. I guess here isn't so bad. But what I wouldn't give for more time with people from my home. One of those things you take for granted until you don't have it, I guess.

Anyway, two years. Guess we'll see if I stay around for another one.

[ The video starts with a door opening and a bell ringing. Blonde's stopped off at a corner store to get a fountain drink (he likes his straws, thanks), his device in the front pocket of his shirt. As he heads over to the drinks, a few of the customers in the store start murmuring before one finally speaks up, loudly enough to be heard. ]

Does anyone else smell gasoline?

[ Blonde doesn't seem to be bothered, getting some ice in his cup while the patrons and the cashier speak, arguing about whether or not there could be a gas leak while Blonde fills his cup up with Coke and heads to the front to pay. Rainbow coins exchange hands and then Blonde pauses, pulling out a cigarette and a lighter. There's a panicked "don't--" from someone in the store as the lighter is flicked--

--and nothing explodes. ]

Sorry. Looks like I'm cursed today.

((ooc: tl;dr Mr. Blonde smells like gasoline and is having too much fun with it.))

I want everyone to know that there is nothing about this shit that is fucking funny-

[There's a faint buzzing]

And if I were fucking allergic I think I would sue this shithole for endangerment or something-

[The buzz gets louder, and then there's a swat!]

Son of a bitch!

[ooc: Mr. Pink smells like cotton candy - because it's pink! Hurhurhur.]

[Buffy is taking advantage of the beautiful day. She's out in the park sporting a pair of shorts, a tank top and a pair of sunglasses. She's mostly going to do the sun bathing thing for a little while, go get some ice cream later, that sort of thing.]

So today we're all smelly, right? I've got chocolate and chili pepper. That part, I'd like to bottle. I could do without the blood and graveyard dirt though. Seriously, that is not all I do and it's not the only place I go!

[Lies.]

Geez.

Do you know how long I've been here? Four months! This great god has been cooped up in this tiny city for for months and the deities, my fellows, have yet to so much as say a word to me! Who the hell taught you guys manners? A barn animal?

You guys better listen up because the Great Minami Ikki-sama is calling you out!

I'm looking to make a deal.

I have not been to the library today, and yet I seem to carry the smell of books, of old pages and ink, with me wherever I go today.

Strange, perhaps, but it makes me think of long days in the library with a heavy book in my lap and sunshine barely filtering through the windows. The scent reminds me of peacefulness and thoughtfulness and— maybe even contentness. So it is not wholly unwelcome, truly.

Are others experiencing the same? Is it a curse, then?

I'm guessing this is all a curse, but, uh... Does anyone know if there's any way to get rid of this smell? Or will perfume just, uh...make it worse?

[He's going to go about his business in the City as usual, in the meantime. Hopefully whoever crosses his path won't mind the thick briny smell that follows him.]

Tony. Tony. Was this some awful prank? If so, well-played, man, I've already taken two showers and still haven't gotten the smell off.

Seriously, how did you do that?

[ p a u s e ] Or maybe I'm giving you too much credit and it's a curse, in which case, great.

The next person who says I smell like rum and cheap cologne is gonna be drinking food outta a straw for the next month.

[OOC: His actual smell is rum, the cheap cologne is his attempt to mask it.]

[By the looks of it, when the video switches on, Fischer is not only completely unaware of the device in his pocket broadcasting, but also right in the middle of buying coffee. At least until he notices the person behind him leaning in just a little too close for comfort.]

Excuse me, just what are you doing?

[A question soon answered by the person's deep inhale.] Is that leather?

What? Hey, stop—

[And now there are others in the coffee shop joining in.] That's pretty strong. What are you wearing?

How is that— [But Fischer only gets that far before he gives up, makes an exasperated noise, grabs his coffee and gets the hell out. Conveniently, the video ends there as well.]

So, what the City's saying today is we smell, yeah? Is that it? Because I gotta tell you. I worked as a perfume model. I don't smell.

[  There's something strange about Amory Felix today. For one, the uncanny brightness of his stare. Then there's his relaxed posture and just the general ease of contentment that seems to emanate from him, belying the dark circles beneath his eye and the swallow color of his skin.

He stands in front of a workshop table, cluttered with various diagrams and paper, some depicting diagrams, others covered with lines of mathematical formula. In the corner of the table, you can see a book--Cosmology by Sean M. Carroll. And behind him, you can see part of the DeLorean --- yes, yes, he is in Doc Brown's workshop. ]

That curse we had a few days ago--

[ He raises an eyebrow. ]

You know, the one where everyone was being incredibly frank.

[  Despite his usual diatribes, it's hard to tell whether he's being perfectly serious, for his tone is notably jocund. He's having fun. As he talks, he tinkers with some type of mechanical device, unaware that his fingers are shaking.]

When I was nine, my father taught me that to get anything accomplished, you need to be disingenuous.  You have to say what you mean to say without saying it at all.  Because nobody wants to hear the truth, even if they say otherwise, even if ultimately proves beneficial.

Except--  I realized that I liked being earnest.

[ The slightest grin pulls at his lips. ]

Come on, you can't tell me it didn't feel great to say what you truly felt.

[The video switches on to show newcomer Elijah, just as the day before, but this time he doesn't seem to be aware of the camera being on, nor is he alone. He's standing a short distance away from Ariadne, looking down at the ground and muttering as he paces around her.]

This figure oughta do it...

[ Ariadne, meanwhile, is standing up, watching Elijah pace before she lifts an arm to experimentally sniff at her wrist. ] Smelling like strawberry scones and coffee is making me hungry. [ It's about as helpful a comment as she's going to make at the moment. ]

Well, with any luck... [He's crouching down now, just out of the camera's view, still intently focused on whatever's on the ground.] That oughta change. Hold still, now. [And while he's still just out of view, a soft glow is clearly visible as it emanates from the ground.]

[ She's staying still, eyes cast down to the ground to watch. There's a moment where nothing happens save for Ariadne watching before she speaks again. ] Is something supposed to happen?

[Elijah stands again, frowning, and takes a step back.] You still smell like strawberries?

Yeah. [ There's another sniff. ] It's not any stronger, but it's not any weaker, either.

Dammit. [He starts heading towards the device, which is when he notices it's broadcasting.] ... Did you turn this thing on— [And that's when it cuts out.]

I need to make a trade, if it's possible.

I can't tell if I'm cursed, and smell like nothing, or curse free. Suppose this happens when you don't wear perfume.

Strangest thing. I think I detect a little of the soap I use, so maybe I've been spared. Which is good, mind you. I thought I'd smell of something insufferable, like bubblegum. Strawberry flavour.