Ok...

More adjustments have been made to my blog. I now have a clock, which is useless to me but helpful to you, and also the Chat Box has been changed. I have made it so that you have to click on the link that shows up, and a pop-up chat box thing appears, allowing you to resize and so on.

And that's just about all i wanted to sa-

OOH! What's this? A story that just so happened to appear? Why, that's awesome!

This is that story that i think i mentioned earlier...something about drinking, Israel, Elysium Asylum and Christmas...hmm..

It doesn't have a title, but it's such a small piece that it doesnt really need one. No, there will not be a follow up piece, so if you weren't mentioned or seen in this story i am deeply sorry, i shall make it up to you somehow.

Israel Elysium sat at the big desk in his father's old room, contemplating life and staring glumly at the heavy rain outside.
Christmas Eve. And he had piled before him a mountain of paperwork to sign, courtesy of the Irish Sanctuary.
Israel hated paperwork. It was a job more suited to someone like his father had been.
He sighed and consulted the sheet of paper that was first on the pile. It was a sign-up sheet for work at the Sanctuary. He slowly picked up a pen and hoped that it was out of ink. It wasn't.
The whole thing was his fault, and he knew it. It had all started when he was at a local pub, sharing a drink with a high-up Sanctuary Agent. The conversation had drifted to the subject of Sanctuary recruitment, and by that time, Israel had already drunk three beers. His memory got a little fuzzy around that point, but two days later, a letter arrived at Elysium Asylum, containing several forms and a small note saying that the agent had gone to a lot of trouble to get Israel a spot in the Sanctuary's protection work force.
The forms were due tomorrow; Christmas day. Israel sighed once more, hearing suppressed music from the common room below. If it were any other agent, he would have instantly turned down the offer. But he needed to maintain a good friendship with this one. The man could become a useful ally in the future, and Israel didn't want to scare him off or anything. And plus, the Agent owned his own private brewery, and damn, Israel thought, did that man make one helluva Long Island Ice Tea.
So Israel was stuck. From somewhere downstairs, he heard another chorus of cheers and laughter in celebration of Christmas Eve.
He sat still for a split second, muttered "Stuff it" and pushed away from the large table, the chair scraping as it was dragged across the floorboards. He walked over to his bedside, donned his knee-length jacket, and turned to the door of his room, about to leave. He didn't know where he was going. Probably just somewhere he was going to sit in a corner and be pissed at the rest of the world.
Something sparkled out of the corner of his eye. Israel turned his head to look at the intricate glass bottle sitting on his desk. It was a bottle of strong whiskey that had been an early Christmas present from one of the residents here at E.A.
So, he could sulk and glare at the world for being unfair. Or...

The hallway outside of his room was dark. His footsteps were light on the carpeted floor, and for a moment as he passed Jaffa's and Kallista's rooms, he wondered if he should invite them down there too. He kept walking. They probably already were.
A small pair of eyes watched from the banister of the grand staircase downwards. Israel reached them and smiled, patting the cat that perched peculiarly there. "Is that you, Mar Chu?" The cat purred in answer, rubbing her chin on Israel's hand. "Well, isn't it strange what the cat drags in in Christmas Eve? No pun intended, of course."
Israel started to descend the stairs, and Mar leaped on to the shoulder of his jacket, clinging desperately as he continued to move. When he reached the Entrance Hall, Mar got a better grip on his jacket, the claws digging into it.
"Hey!" Israel called over his shoulder at Mar. "Watch it! I only have one of these jackets."
He passed the piece of old parchment that hung on the wall beside the front door, and as he did, his name disappeared from it, as did the words parallel of his name, 'Israel's Room'.
Instead, they reappeared seconds later, with the writing 'Entrance Hall' scrawled in neatly next to it. Underneath Israel's name and in the same category was March's name.
His eyes glanced quickly at the section for the people sitting in the common room. It extended to over half of the list. He saw names he barely recognized, and others that he hadn't heard of in years. His feet stopped moving and Mar was almost thrown off his shoulder. He went back to the list and smiled to himself as he saw that some of the names were slight smudged, as if someone had splashed with a small amount of water. Israel almost laughed at the amount of people smudges in their name. He had created that small piece of magic himself, designed to signal who was drunk and who wasn't. The more smudged the name, the more drunk that person was.
He spotted a name in the section labelled 'Driveway', and he moved to the front door. He checked the future, counted the seconds, and with a flourish, opened the front door. A wet and bewildered Dragona Pine stood in he doorway, cold to the bone. "How did you...?" Dragona began, but Israel just tapped his own temple and smiled.
Dragona saw something under Israel's jacket and almost collapsed right there. "Please tell me that's what I think it is...please tell me...is that...Whiskey?"
"Like Hell," Israel replied, lifting the bottle up so that Dragona could see it better. He made a quick grab for the bottle and Israel snatched it away, leaving Dragona stumbling towards the staircase. "I'm opening it in the common room if you want any," Israel called to Dragona, and then walked on through the hallways. It wasn't far to walk before he had reached the Common Room. This close, the music was so loud that the floorboards had started to shake. He straightened his jacket, smoothed down his hair, and opened the two large French doors to see a party happening. The fire was roaring. Drinks were being served. The music was being mixed by someone that he didn't quite know. They even had a large Christmas tree in the corner.
The moment he entered, the music stopped. Cheering died down. And all eyes were fixed upon him. Kallista stood from her seat. "Um...w-we're sorry, Israel. We know you have a lot of work. We could, um, turn the music down if you want," she said sheepishly.
Silence filled the room still. The people who had been dancing now shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. And Israel just stood there, staring at them all.
Another ten seconds passed. Then, wordlessly, Israel held the Whiskey bottle aloft in the air, a smile playing upon his features.
Everyone cheered. They hooted 'n' wooted. They were really just glad overall because he hadn't come down there to put a stop to the party, and instead he had come and joined them.
There was a welcoming of hands and smiles as he went through the crowd, greeting those he knew and nodding to the ones he didn't. He finally reached the bar, where a sorcerer bar-man was serving drinks. "Anything for you, sir?" he asked Israel after just serving two others.
"Just some glasses please," he replied. The bar-man gave him four on a small plate, and Israel weaves his way to the corner of the room, pulling up a leather-padded chair. He set the glasses down on a little table, and started pouring.

Fifteen minutes later...

Dragona took the stairs down to the first floor two at a time in, all water gone from his clothes. He was just about to head on down to the common room when he glanced at the parchment attached to the wall. He kept going, stopped, and backtracked slowly.
His eyes spotted once again what they had moments again. It was under the section labelled 'Common Room'.
"What the HELL," Dragona said, staring at the mass of blotted ink on the parchment where someone's name was meant to be. "is THAT?"

"Stuff it," Israel said, drowning his fifteenth glass from the bottle of strong Whisky. "I don't need that job! And I don't need to be friends with that agent, anyways."
And so his mind was set.
However, all that the people around him could define of his words was little more than "Nmph nm nmph-nmh." And then he proceeded to fall asleep.