"I can't believe they let you teach."

If it looked like Anakin hadn't been getting a lot of sleep lately, well...he hadn't been getting a lot of sleep lately.

Nightmares were a pain. After spending far too much time close to home, he finally headed back to the island, hoping a new location might help him shake the bad feeling he had.

Five minutes into sitting in his office and he'd already decided it wasn't really working. He began tinkering with the holoprojector for something to do with his hands.

The door was open.

[OOC: For students, parents, or alumni to stop by!]

Anakin was wiped out. The feeling of foreboding he'd had for the last few days hadn't gone away and was not being helped at all by adding a hangover and a hefty dose of portal-lag into the mix.

Nothing was going to keep him from the wedding, though. He let himself into the room and wondered if he'd be able to catch a nap before the rehearsal.

[OOC: In a shocking change for them, this is going NSFW.]

Anakin got back from the workshop to an answering machine full of wrong messages.

He returned the first one, stared at the machine for a bit before returning the second one, then a third, and a fourth, and a fifth and it finally clicked for him.

The phones must've screwed up again. So he called John and warned him.

No, it hadn't crossed his mind that was kind of stupid.

He watched his phone warily, waiting for the next call to come in.

Anakin was standing on a chair in the middle of the room trying to attach what looked like a very complicated disco ball to the ceiling.

He was very interruptable.

[OOC: Contents of conversation with Alanna NFB, please!]

How Many Hearts - Travis

A very small boy with a bucket over his head--thanks for that, Friday's toy chest--toddled down the hallway and made his way down the stairs.

Bounce-bounce-bounce.

Rear ends are great for that.

He made his way into the kitchen and leaned up onto his tiptoes to reach the cereal--something bright with incomprehensible writing on the side--and tipped about half of it onto the floor.

Exasperated, he lifted the bucket off of his eyes to see. Bright blue eyes gazed around the room and settled on the telephone.

Ooooh. He could call all of his friends!

Or punch random numbers and leave messages...which is what a four-year-old is much more inclined to do...

[OOC: Open for housemates and friends who know who this is. Radio squirrels--buckethead kid doesn't have a name...]