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This is a fictional character journal used for play in fandomhigh/fandomtownies. It is purely for entertainment purposes, no profit is gained from this use and there is no intent to injure or defraud either the person who created the fictional person, or any reader of this content. There is no claim to be the character, creator, or any affliation with any person or entity with an interest in the fictional person. Furthermore, there is no claim to any graphical representation of the character, no claims to be that person and there is no intent to obtain a benefit or to injure or defraud that person by use of their image.


Underwear! There were piles of underwear scattered about Murdock's cramped apartment. Underwear of all shapes, sizes and types. Boxers, tighty-whiteys, frilly lace pink ones. Those last he may have been kind of avoiding. But hey, underwear quality control inspector may not be one of the most glorious jobs in the world, but it did pay the bills.

Houston lay at his feet on the bed, looking forlornly at the door.

"I know, I know," Murdock told him. "But you know I'm behind on my stock 'cause of Stockwell's mission. I gotta get this done or Number 1's gonna have my head."

Houston turned his head and gave him a pathetic look.

"Awww, don't be like that, boy. I'll make it up to ya, promise," he reached down and patted the dog's head. "'Sides, there's pizza on the way, and what's better than pizza and an Outer Zones marathon?"

"'Cept maybe a phone call or something would be nice," he glanced briefly at the laptop he'd kept from Fandom, then went back to inspecting his underwear.

(open for calls, email, etc)

33 Apocalypse Ave - Tuesday

This would make it final, wouldn't it? Afterwards his leaving would set in stone. No going back, no last minute changes.

It would be good to get back to the guys, maybe even squeeze in a little trip, but leaving was hard. He was going to miss this place.

But of course, there was a bit of business to attend to first.

Murdock sat at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee, cookies and a manila file. Yes, definitly the hard part.

And she didn't even know it was coming.

(just for one who knows who she is, but open after)

33 Apocalypse Ave - Friday

The advantage of having girl parts for a second time around meant that it didn't result in freaking out. Mostly.

"Great," he muttered standing in front of the mirror. "This body ain't cut for these clothes." His usual khaki pants were too tight in the hips, too loose in the waist and the tee shirt stretched in all the wrong places.

He vowed not to go out today, opting for couch potato and marathon re-runs of meta for Howdy Doody. With of course, plenty of popcorn and other munchies to keep him going all day.

(open for roomies or visitors, plenty of muchies for all!)
Murdock was in the kitchen making breakfast for himself and his two unexpected guests. Waking up with two extra bodies wasn't necessarily an odd thing for him, just that he hadn't gone to bed with them last night.

Things had become apparent when he couldn't find either his jacket or his hat.

"Can I have some pancakes?" Jacket smiled sweetly at him.

"Sure thing darlin'," Murdock grinned back.

"Can I have sex with Jacket?" Hat whispered to Murdock.

There was a glare. "Absolutely not."

(open for visitors or housemates. bring your loved ones, hee! and obviously wherever Murdock goes he won't be wearing his usual duds despite the icons)

OOC: BandVAN! :D

So what do a Fire MageCollapse )

an Alien AmbassadorCollapse )

and a Crazy PilotCollapse )

have in common? One Mun!Collapse )

...and oooh, I'll have more Australia pics eventually too! :D



The reason it was called punch was because it'd punch you in ways you never dreamed of.

"Ugggg," a groan came from the mound of bed covers as Houston tried to rouse his owner. With not much success.

Murdock remembered most of the dance; taking Abby Irene, visiting with Tully, dancing with Daisy and chatting with Dani. Dani who helpfully pointed out that, hello, punch at a dance would be spiked.

He should have known, really.

Houston whined and shoved his nose under the blanket until he found skin.

"Whu? Dunnawanna." The blanket lifted long enough for sunlight to spear through his eye straight into his brain. "Oh god."

It was going to be a loooooong time in getting up.

(open for any visitors or roomies. will turn into a linkdroppy at some point)

33 Apocalypse Ave, Sunday evening

Murdock was glad his room had its own door, it meant that he could avoid running into his housemates. His bag was flopped onto his bed and Murdock himself flopped into the chair much like the bag had.

The mission had turned out fine in the end, but of course, it had its share of problems along the way. Like getting caught by the Germans hadn't been part of the plan. Fortunately they'd provided the helicopter so the team could make a clean getaway.

Even so, the idea of running what amounted to little more than suicide missions was not what the team had in mind.

After a quick phone call, Murdock just waited, legs dangling off the chair's arm. He needed somebody to talk to.

(expecting one, but open for the roomies too!) ETA: convo with Abby Irene NFB, please
thunk thunk thunk ...

One of those little mini basketballs kept banging on the far wall as Murdock idly tossed the thing back and forth.

He was really putting off a phone call.

Every year for the past fifteen years, he'd always call the guys. Or them him. But this year...

Some guy named Stockwell was in the way.


Ironically, the guys were a lot closer than they had been, distance-wise anyway, but since Stockwell had taken over, the A-Team wasn't what it used to be.

He should still call them anyway. Unless Stockwell had them out on a mission without him.


(semi-establishy, but open! visitors or roomies alike. roomies also free to notice the thunking noise)

33 Apocalypse Ave, Sunday May 10

Murdock was sitting out on the front porch, writing a letter with Houston napping at his feet.

Dear Mom,

It didn't matter that his mother had been gone since he was just five years old, it was the principle of the thing. Every year on Mother's Day he wrote her a letter. Or tried to call her. ...which never really worked too well. Telephones didn't exactly connect to the afterlife. at least not in Murdock's canon lol

He knew that there was a bunch of new people to island and was hoping a few of them had spotted his handwavy signs annoucing rooms for rent. Heck, he wouldn't have minded meeting anybody new, really.

(open for visitors, new roomies or potential new roomies. there are still rooms available if anyone's interested)

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June 2018


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