( [Thoughts; Off Network] )

Please tell me my apartment and the store are still standing because it seems that whenever my back is turned, idiots let the place go to hell.

My babies better be alive too or somebody's getting their neck snapped.

[ooc: Cindy's back and updated to the decimation of Fabletown arc, but pre-crapcrossover.]

I hope none of you are named Seymour or else you're fucked.

( [Private; Unhackable] )

I need two employees (three would be better, but I'm not holding my damn breath) for The Glass Slipper, stat. As in today or tomorrow at the latest. If you're planning on skipping out on work just because or just leaving without prior notice period, don't bother applying. Ask about employee discounts later. I'm liable to strangle the shit out of people if you do it now. Just know that I don't skimp on rewarding good employees.

Now while I wait for my next victims applicants, I'm going to go play the required role of the Cat Lady since between Blue and Tybalt, they keep supplying me with babies. Pretty babies. Pretty pretty babies.

See, I'm not a mega bitch all the time.

Stop fucking with me. I don't even want to hear it. I'm not your daughter. You sure didn't treat me that way.

[There's a pause, the extended kind you get when somebody else is taking part in the conversation but you can't hear them.]

Oh, fuck off. She blew you good once or twice and you let her abuse your own child because you're a pussy and then you treated her demon spawn better. Mother should have kicked your ass before she hit the grave.

[A gunshot is heard. And again. And four more times.]

I'll keep reloading until you get the fuck out of my house, father or not.

[ooc: No, Cinderella isn't bitter that her dad kowtowed to her stepmother. Why would you ever think that?]

I thought I was done with this. I already got the other slipper, the prince, and the happy ending that I demand a refund on. I was doing fine living a normal life, but no, I just had to be tortured again because I happen to be royalty.

That said, can somebody get this goddamned dragon out of my face? Knock his ass out, preferably. Hell, make dragon pâté out of him. I don't give a shit what happens to him. I would do it myself if I wasn't tied up by some kinky old biddy who just happened to look like my stepmother. Whoever saves me gets a cookie.

[ooc: Have a princess who acts not so princesslike in distress XD]

The blue socks are not flags. The red socks are not flags either. Furthermore, the next person to run into my shop like a retarded dipshit gets to meet my security guard, Louie. He really likes meeting new people's heads.

That is all.

Next time anybody wants to play Tweedledee and Tweedledumette and get shot, just let me know. I'll clear my entire schedule so I have enough time to kick your ass for being stupid. Somebody owes me a new fucking door.

Who let Cousin It out to play?

Lovely. I spend money on an auction where the prize isn't even in the City. Blair, don't expect me to actually pay. It's bad enough I'm beating heads together for the clothing, but I'm not going as far as to donate my hard earned dinero without at least a tax write off.

Grell and Layla, I'm taking a few days off. I trust you two won't burn down the place.

Caspian, what's the status on the schnoz? Because fuck me if I'm going to get eaten by an angry lion.

[Fabletown Filter; Unhackable]

Anything on the news front?

Blue, crash course on shooting in the forest. I don't give a shit if it's raining. That's why God made umbrellas.

You heard the girl. Drop her name and I can be convinced to throw in a delectable discount and we all love discounts, don't we?

Checks are nice, cash is even better and I do enjoy taking custom orders. Sixteenth century or twenty-first century, The Glass Slipper is there for you and your fantastic selves.


[Private to Blair; Unhackable]
Christmas has come earlier than expected.

[Private to Tybalt; Unhackable]
Sweetie, I'm wearing these again tonight and I'm not cursed. Do connect the dots.

Green beer pouring out of the tap. My, aren't we festive? Pumpkin's going to enjoy his water dish today.

Actually, I'm done with this. It was cute for all of five minutes. I would like to shower sometime during the day and no, brushing your teeth with Guinness does not work, you assholes.

[Have the sound of Cindy applauding.]

Best exit ever. I think we should celebrate it.

Who wants to go drinking?

[ooc: A certain ex-husband is gone and she's overjoyed. :D]

I don't want flowers. I don't want candy. I definitely don't want a stuffed animal. I want you, Tybalt. It's about time I stopped playing hard to get and tell you how I really feel about you.

I love you. I want to be with you. I want you to be the one to see a very special pair of shoes tonight. They're all I'll be wearing, my love.

You'll never have a better Valentine's Day gift.

[ooc: Cursed and will regret this tomorrow and for weeks to come.]

The only good thing about this bullshit Hallmark holiday is that free candy is good candy. The three second rule is clearly in effect today.

By the way, Cyclops. It's better if you just accepted you'll always be runner-up, playing second fiddle, second best and other such "you're still a loser" sayings. Some tired schmuck might still want to be friends with you.

[Private to Blue; Unhackable]

Ashamed, huh?

[ooc: Link is not IC. Ate Blue's and Elle's secrets. OMNOMNOM.]

What trashy dime store novels have you clowns been reading?

You're doing it completely and utterly wrong.

[ooc: Dinnertime! BRB in 20 Back!]

[Fables filter; locked from Blue and Pinocchio; Unhackable]

Reporting in. Still no eye-gouging bastard on my end of things. So far I've gone to have a nice, relaxing not visit with Elle Driver. Turns out she sucks at hospitality. I hate what she's done to her apartment. No sense of style, what with shotguns in the living room. Underestimated her big time.

The rest of the list is up to you brave little Indians. I'm too busy buying stock in band-aids.

Hello people. I'm looking for one Elle Driver. If you know her, point her out to me. If you don't, ignore this. If you are her, the following message is for you:

Elle, you don't know me and I don't know you. However, don't let that stop us from chatting, woman to woman. Shall we?

My mother's dead. Dead and gone and pushing up daises. I don't really remember her.

My father on the other hand, last time I checked, was alive. The bastard was useless. He ended up remarrying this old hag who came with baggage in the form of two equally as useless daughters who did nothing around the house. Guess who got stuck with the cooking, the cleaning, the sewing and the front row seat in the ashes of the fireplace that gave her the lovely name she carries now? And guess whose father was too scared to say anything about his new wife and stepdaughters abusing his flesh and blood daughter?

Talk about henpecked.

Anyway, long story short, I have no idea what that battle-axe is up to, or her daughters or Father. To be honest? After I went to the ball she told me I couldn't go to and ended up getting married, I stopped giving a shit, though I forgave them. Why, I don't know. Blame it on a temporary moment of stupidity. Should have blasted them all in the head.

But I had the last laugh, the asshole Prince and the glass slippers. Two out of three ain't so bad.

If you're going to order us to ruin what's left of some of our livers, you might as well make the poison free.

At least offer a bulk discount on the good stuff. That'll definitely make the inevitable hangover more bearable.