Who needs Myspace when you've punched Hitler?

I just wanted to post and let everyone know that no, you didn't miss it somehow, Home Ec didn't get posted today because of LJ being down. On the one hand, I'm sorry I didn't get it up earlier, but on the other, I had no idea LJ was going to die, so...yeah. It just sucks. Better luck next week!

Now let's all cling to LJ and beg it to never leave us again.

Steve was holding a special set of office hours this Monday, the better to lecture the hell out of at least one teenage costumed hero. Possibly two, if that blonde girl showed up, but he didn't know who she was and was pretty sure she hadn't known who was behind the Captain America uniform, so he wasn't really betting on that one.

But if Tony Stark didn't show he'd go and find him.

((NFB due to sekrit identities, please!))

Steve was in his office on Friday, working on lists of supplies he'd need for upcoming classes and wondering whether the administration would pay for them. And wondering whether he needed to change some of his approach in order to get through to the kids from more privileged upbringings...

On the bright side, the teenaged, brainbreaking Tony Stark hadn't exploded anything yet.

((Open office = open!))

Steve woke up Monday morning still a woman. Okay. He could handle that. He had pants and shoes that fit, and a sports bra, all obtained at truly outrageous resort town markups, but you took what you could get. So it was inconvenient, but not the end of the world.

Then his phone rang. He was needed in New York, immediately, for some kind of...Steve didn't catch all the details, but Natasha was very firm on the now, and it wasn't like this was the first time someone had wound up in the wrong body, right?

If only he could be so sure everyone else would see it that way.

((Open if anyone wants to knock on his door before he leaves, I guess.))

Steve was in his office on Thursday, ahead of Parents' Weekend, planning his lesson for the next day and working on some other things besides. He was available and happy to talk to anyone who wanted to stop by.

"Hello, you've reached Steve Rogers. I'm not here; you know what to do."

BEEP

I am so sorry, you guys. I spent most of today operating under the delusion it was Thursday. I will do better next week, I swear.

Since last week's class had had to be canceled, Steve spent his office hours this Thursday preparing an informational packet on the battle that would have been covered, since he wasn't naive enough to expect the entire class to research it on their own time.

Distractions would be welcomed.

((Open office is open!))

The first thing Christopher Chance had done when he woke up in an unfamiliar location was make an inventory of his surroundings for clues to what the hell was going on. Here was what he had so far:

* Art supplies, drafting table, easel, paintings in various stages of completion.
* Tons of books, mainly military history, twentieth century history, and, yes, art, with some fiction, mostly fantasy. Plus a truly impressive record collection.
* Weight bench with the bar set to 450 pounds, which was...borderline impossible.
* New York driver's license with his picture on it, but the wrong height and a birth date that had to be a horrible typo. It didn't make any sense. The thing was such high quality he couldn't even tell it was fake, and then the maker screwed up and said he was about ninety.
* Closet full of clothes not too different from his usual wardrobe (except for some kind of overly patriotic Halloween costume), except everything was cut for a man four or five inches taller than him.
* General lack of cutting-edge technology (record player instead of stereo, for example), except for a very nice laptop and drawing tablet and a cell phone tech companies would wet themselves over, branded 'StarkTech' and 'SHIELD', neither of which he'd ever heard of.

He had to have some sort of short-term amnesia, which could be explained in any number of ways, none of them promising, but it seemed pretty clear that he was under some sort of (either bizarre or completely shoddy and not at all up to Winston and Guerrero's usual standard) cover. Winston wasn't answering his damn phone, so he was on his own for right now. He couldn't let on that anything was wrong. He needed to figure out where he was, who he was here to protect, and get his hands on a weapon. Not necessarily in that order.

((Steve is Christopher Chance from FOX's Human Target. Open if anyone wants to drop by!))

Steve was working on this week's class in his office on Thursday, humming jazz tunes to himself as he did some last-minute research. When he was done with that, he took out his sketchpad and started working on something new.

No, you couldn't see it. But open office is open.