(oom: How many tomorrows will it take, do you think? Fewer than we have?)

After the glitter plague has passed, and after Emcee is no longer feeling its effects, he prepares for a little vacation of sorts.

So today, he comes downstairs, dressed in his black leather coat, and carrying an overnight bag. He only stops at the Bar to borrow a smartphone and to leave a note for Jay which reads:


Darling,

I have gone to your Berlin to stay for a few days. I know we've talked about going back, so I've decided that it was time. I'll be all right -- I hope to see Alice and Jared again; I'm sure they'll keep me company just fine.

If anyone happens to ask about me, feel free to tell them where I've gone.

See you soon,
MC


Emcee then pauses at the door just long enough to use a special key for the first time, trusting it to lead to the penthouse, and not a hail of bullets.

He turns the knob. Opens the door.

...It works.

With a breath of relief, Emcee hangs the key around his neck by its chain and slips through, closing the door behind him.


[OOC: Just an exit post! No tags please, only reactions if you feel so inclined.]

Swamp Thing enters the Bar from outside, from his conduit through the Green. And he enters rather pissed. No smoothed down walking tree man today. No, he's ten feet all, body dripping with the waters of the Amazon, a distinct smell of mold, a distinct air of power about him. Slowly, he reduces his size, alters his look to something more benign (and something less aromatic). But his face remains a scowl.

Bother him at your own risk.

[ooc: spoilers for Dark Nights: Metal 2 possible]

Sinric comes in from his door, looking tired and annoyed, and not in the moods. He heads for the couches by the fire, curling up around the pillows. He's not crying, it's just a trick of the light.

Bonnie has been laid up for a few days in her room, not infecting anyone with the glittersnot.

Now that she's finally stopped sneezing the rotten stuff, she's downstairs with a broom and a vacuum cleaner trying to hoover up as much of it as possible.

Barry is dying.

Or rather, he feels like he's dying.

Actually, he feels like he'd rather be dead than whatever this is.

After a week of coming and going in Milliways and encountering friends who were sick and all the people who were down with it while he felt fine, Barry had figured he was safe.

But, as it turns out, his metahuman metabolism only managed to combat the bug long enough to lull Barry into a false sense of security, then quit the fight abruptly. Now, Barry is that guy, the one who never gets sick, but when he does get sick he gets it the worst of all.

On a couch near the fireplace, in a nest made up of ALL the blankets and wrapped up to his head, Barry suffers. He had every intention of quarantining himself in a room upstairs, but the trek was too much. So now he's huddled on the couch with his knees tucked up to his chest and just the top of his head sticking out of the blankets, with rats bringing him soup and more tissues to replace those covered in glittering day-glo orange snot overfilling a nearby small trash can.

His tablet is propped on a nearby coffee table, and Barry is watching old episodes of Bill Nye the Science Guy.

Don't judge him, just pity him and his miserable state.


[ooc: open forever although tags will get slow going into the weekend.]

Cassian's been taking the medicine that Barry got for him, the day one and trying to work. Curled up on the couch with a datapad along with tea and soup has worked fairly well. Though he's been cold, he's stopped wearing his jacket, it catches the glitter too quickly. Instead he's under a blanket that's striped with the colors of a sunset.

His datapad is on his chest as he's been doing research into the history of the Empire, the number of failed assassinations for Palapatine makes for hard reading. At some point later in the day, he falls asleep, he would never think of doing this if he were healthy but this cold is draining.

Tiny tag: Cassian Andor, glittersnot
OOC: Catch him asleep or awake

Ganymede has been not-so-notably absent from the glitter-mania of the Bar of late; he dislikes glitter on him, it being absolute hell to get off in the wash, from clothes and skin.

But today he's sitting in the bar at a table with a mirror--not to look at himself per se, but to learn a particular braid. It's five strands, which he can do with string in front of him just fine, but easier said than done upside-down and backwards on his own head. As soon as he's done with one, he unplaits it and begins another. Who knew having almost waist-length hair was such a hassle?

He's attempting to stay clear of anything sparkly, though how well he does may vary.

 Selina woke up in the room she stayed in--thank you Jay for the permanent reservation--after talking with Cassian and feels awful. Tired, achy, irritated sinuses, scratchy throat...the works.

Now she's downstairs by the fire fish with a giant mug of hot chocolate. Wrapped in a blankey, she just kind of stares off until a sneeze hits her, sending a cloud of purple glitter into a tissue she raises to try and catch it.

"Damnit!" She has half a mind to go home and see if she can get Bruce sick with this, just because.

There is an glittery, glimmering, positively iridescent white cloud perched on the edge of the bar, its tail lashing restlessly this way and that. Having given up trying to keep the splashes of metallic-hued glitter from his fur, Yrael has turned his efforts towards working up a massive sulk.

The effect may be ruined by the occasional kitty sneeze - embarrassingly cute at the best of times - of silver and copper-hued glitter.

Yrael hates everyone in this bar.

Chirrut spends hours tending the tea plants today, replanting groupings of three or four into individual plants, arranging and re-arranging the pots to best find the warmth (and supposedly light) of the sun, making sure the watering system would cover the new arrangement of plants... there was a lot to do. It is peaceable work and the time flies by.

Baze isn't in his brewery when Chirrut is done, so he meanders upstairs to get cleaned up. While he cannot see muddy fingerprints, he has it on good authority that they're highly annoying.

The pain catches him once he's inside. Sudden loss, sharp and aching as a stab through the chest turns any scream into a shocked breath of air, almost silent in its agony.

Baze.

That sense of knowing where Baze is, that he's alright... it's gone. He's gone.

Chirrut isn't sure how long he spends on his knees, frozen in that moment, too stunned to figure out what comes next. He can only barely remember a time Baze wasn't by his side, not too far away. He's still not, Chirrut knows in his head, but his heart doesn't want to listen. His heart is too busy screaming.

Finally he picks himself up, dusting himself off by habit. Downstairs, he should head downstairs, ask Bar, she'd... well, she'd have the best chance of knowing. Then maybe X, if he doesn't find his answer. Then... Too much, that's enough of a plan. He turns back to the door, but... no.

Muddy fingerprints are annoying. He's been told this.

Washing his hands doesn't take long. There's... there's no rush now.

When Chirrut gets to the Bar, he is greeted with a note, written on paper that would have been painfully precious in NiJedha. To anyone watching, his expression does not change as he reads it over and over again, tracing the raised ink with gentle fingers.

This? Baze died for this? So senseless. Baze deserved more.

Chirrut has a quiet word with the Bar, and is rewarded with a stack of books and a copy of his reader, which he takes to one of the chairs by the fire, a rat following behind with a cup of tea. Not Sapir - a surprise tea. For Baze. The books are on brewing beer and moonshine, a project he's wholly unsuited for, but he intends to master.

Noriko comes down to the bar today in comfortable clothes, twirling the black lace plugs in her ears, and a very large armful of bulky white yarn: it must amount to several dozen yards when stretched out. Luckily for her it's all in huge wrapped skeins that's somewhat easier to carry, and doesn't take up nearly as much room in the chair with her.

She has about three-quarters of her shape done, which currently looks like a slightly misshapen bag of white stiff knit. When she's done, she'll have a very big--think person-sized--white fox ready to be stuffed. That part may be somewhat more messy to deal with, but she'll manage with several trips to the bar for more stuffing. This should be good, once she has it finished and can sew on the eyes and nose.

completely botherable.

 
OOM: Point of no return


Jim trips through the door, biting his fist to hold back a scream. Where has all the noise gone? He can't bear the silence, it's not natural. It's not....

...Dublin. Fuck. No. He wasn't expecting Milliways.

He disappears from the bar to try and keep out of sight. But the walls of the generic hotel room close in at once, no matter how much he paces, no matter how much he hits his head to make it work again. The rooms are silent and empty, and he can't bear that either, so he comes back downstairs.

Bar tries to offer a glass of water as he passes. He doesn't even see it, and just heads to the Window. It's busy out there but he can't hear it, no matter how close he presses to the glass. Knowing it wouldn't make any noise out there either doesn't help. He hits the glass. He'd break it if he could. He'd break everything if he could.


[OOC: Warnings for a mental break?]

Sometimes, a person screws up so spectacularly badly that the only course of action is to just pretend it never happened and go do something else instead. Which is exactly what Wilford is planning on doing, once he settles a debt.

He wanders into the bar with the same pounding headache he had before he reset, and puts the smallest amount of effort into finding Baze. He's not anywhere in the bar. He's not immediately visible outside. Wilford even goes upstairs to see if he's trying to brew something that isn't completely awful.

But he's... not here? Well, that's awkward. Maybe he's just hiding somewhere Wilford's too lazy to look. Maybe he'll show up later.

Until then, Wilford heads back downstairs to sit by the fire and try to do something about this headache. He better not be getting sick. That's the last thing he needs.

Cassian's stretching his shoulders as he enters, he's feeling achey which he hopes isn't the start of whatever the bookseller had.

As he walks to the counter, he loosens his collar and when he begins to order a caf, Bar presents him with a tea. He sighs as he picks up the tea and walks to a couch muttering in Festian, "I'm not sick.

Once he sits, he starts working on his datapad and keeps trying to get comfortable with a few coughs that keep multiplying until he coughs up glitter. He curses and sips his tea, watching all the other sick people in Bar as he finds some tissues as his nose is running.

Tiny tag: Cassian Andor, glittersnot

By some miracle, Bonnie seems to have managed to be one of the few people in here that isn't sick.

So she's been in the kitchen, and has now come out with two large flasks, one of soup and one of hot lemon tea. She carries them into the bar and puts them on one of the tables.

"FREE SOUP AND HOT LEMON, COME GET IT WHILE IT'S HOT!" she calls out, getting some honey for people to mix in if they like.

Ever since Jay's birthday party, Emcee has had the sniffles. Not terrible, really, but just enough to annoy him, and to prompt him to emerge from his room and go downstairs to fetch some tea with lemon and honey.

It's when he enters the main bar that he suddenly sneezes.

And blows holographic rainbow glitter all over his handkerchief.

Because of course it would be holographic rainbow glitter.

"...Oh, dear."

The Bar presents him with a cup of tea in a vaguely helpful manner.