19 July 2017 @ 08:35 pm
((William Douglas and young Jim Moriarty go back to 1450 Rome. Mostly talking and exploring, some fade-to-black/not very explicit sex. And a vihuela.))
17 July 2017 @ 04:58 pm
16 year old Jim got a message from his older self, telling him chances to come to the bar would be virtually zero over the next month, so he'd better take one if it turned up. He didn't say why the chances would be zero, but that's par for the course.

So anyway, the kid's taken over a corner of the bar. There's a computer, a pile of junk food, textbooks, future!movies to watch and...apparently some fashion choices to make, if the magazines and bolts of cloth are anything to go by.

He's as botherable as he ever is. Possibly more than usual.
11 July 2017 @ 12:42 pm
Sherlock is allowed to walk a little more every day, provided he brings the IV with him. The practice is good. He's formulating a plan, and he need to be able to travel quite a ways for it, and appear strong during it.

When the door opens to Milliways, he breathes a sigh of relief. His recovery has been fine, visits from his friends and family and all, but he's missed Jim terribly. He searches for him before he takes another step.
10 July 2017 @ 07:51 am
Well. That was a hell of a day. Less than a day. A hell of a, what, twelve hours?

Young Jim Moriarty and William Douglas enter the bar from the same door, not speaking to each other, in the middle of the night, and both very quickly vanish. Jim to who-knows-where, and William to the room he still keeps here.

When he comes back down in a couple of hours, he settles at the bar and asks for hot chocolate. No, a drink. No, never mind, one of those computers. A computer with, what was it Cassidy said, cat videos? That's supposed to be a thing? And also with, um...you know...eh...

A napkin appears with a question, in answer to which William nods quickly before crumpling it up. And then a laptop appears, and--bless you, Bar--a cup of Irish coffee. Caffeine and alcohol, all in one place.

He's going to do some research. On cat videos. And other things.

((Two OOMs: Jim and William in 1450 Rome. They're totally on the same wavelength...until they realize that they're not so much. Warnings on the first for cheerful sexual situations with quick fading to black, but mostly a lot of conversation; the second is pretty much just arguing, with warnings for consent and homophobia issues and really poor communication.))
09 July 2017 @ 10:52 pm
Not far from the forge, Teja the Ostrogoth and Galen Erso are putting the finishing touches on a -- thing.

It consists of copper pipes and flowerpots and rubber tubes and little windmills and solar panels and clanking gears and slightly glowy tiny crystals arranged in swirly patterns. It looks like a steampunk version of a Rube Goldberg device or Tinguely artwork, with aesthetics via the Star Wars universe, which is probably what it is.

You're quite welcome to take a look, or enquire, or just be baffled by the apparently purpose-free art of it all while the Gothic smith and the ex-Imperial engineer are bringing their cunning artifice up to their exacting standards.

[[OOC: Say in your tag whom you want or get both. tinytag: galen erso]]
08 July 2017 @ 12:13 pm
When life gives you watermelons, you might also get lemons

There's a black rain cloud hanging over Wilford today, as he absently picks at his lunch at the bar. The nerve of some people, just showing up uninvited like that and ruining what was shaping up to be a perfectly good day.

Wilford's got the TV tuned to some garbage, where a zombie is being made to run obscene obstacle courses, but he's not really watching it. It's just noise to keep his mind from running too far away from him.

Seriously why now?
06 July 2017 @ 08:47 pm

Jim walks into the bar, laughing. He looks around, says 'no', and walks out again

Annnnnd, then he's back and is presented with a note. Just like that, his good mood evaporates. Not that he really has carpets, at least not in places the dog is allowed to go. But...ugh.

Well. Whatever. He checks for Sherlock - no go, and that lowers his mood further. He talks to Bar about London - no go, and no prizes for guessing how that makes him feel. So he goes to get the dog, and just goes home. It's apparently one of those days after all. Bleurgh.

06 July 2017 @ 11:40 am
Wilford needs to get off of Billy's sofa before he goes insane, which means something else needs to be taken care of first. After letting Buster outside to run around, he stops by the bar to leave a note.

Jim Moriarty )

After that, he goes back to slowly start packing up his things.
05 July 2017 @ 07:03 pm
Jim circa. 1992 wanders in wrapped up in a thick winter coat, scarf, hat, gloves, the lot. Without missing a beat he continues walking, shedding clothes as he goes until he's in just jeans and a T-shirt, dumping everything else into a chair. Bar lends him a pair of swimming shorts and towel, which he swaps for a bag stuffed full of books. He takes a glass of lemonade with him, and disappears off to the Caribbean inlet for a good long swim.

He's back when the sun gets low, perched on a bar stool with a decent base tan, and dripping water everywhere. He wipes his face with the towel, and says, 'okay, can I see it, please?'

The Book of Kells appears in front of him. He uses a dry bit of towel to open it up, because ancient manuscripts don't mix well with salt water and he might decide to sell it after all. In the meantime, he'll brush up on his Latin and admire the artwork. What a lovely day it's been. 

[OOC: Catch him inside or out.]
29 June 2017 @ 07:40 pm
Sherlock went back to London this morning. Jim saw him off, went upstairs and changed into jeans and another old jacket. Messy hair, three days of stubble, and naked fury written all over his face. He's been sitting on it since Sherlock turned up shot, and there's no reason to hide it any more.

But the door won't open. He stalks over to Bar, batting away the vidscreen that's randomly presented to him.

'Let me out.'


'Let me out'

Nothing. This continues for twenty seconds, his anger rising and rising until he pulls a lighter out of his jacket with one hand, and a gun with the other.

'How much damage do you want me to start doing? How many people will it take? Let. Me out.'

Bar's silence is deafening. But eventually a napkin appears. 

Have it your way.

The handle turns this time. Jim's mouth sets to a line. Mary Watson is going to be delivered back to her husband in pieces. He steps through the door. And a few seconds later, it opens and he reappears again. Same clothes, a day's more stubble and with the faint air of farmyard on his clothes. 

'Do you think you're funny?'

The silence from Bar suggests, very strongly, yes.

[OOC: heads up for bad mood, and potential Temper. Open through the weekend.]
26 June 2017 @ 01:33 pm
[OOM: A believable lie is best couched in the truth.; or, a month passes. Sherlock is busy.]

The door opens from a long, brightly-lit corridor in a London hospital. Sherlock walks in wearing a hospital gown with a dressing gown over it, pulling along his IV on a stand. Technically he's only supposed to walk to the end of the hall and back -- but a little rest at the end of the universe should be fine, right?

He takes in all the changes, toys, and creatures that suddenly populate the bar in a glance. He sighs, wraps the dressing gown tighter around himself, and tugs the IV stand along to the nearest comfortable chair, which he folds himself into as best as he's able.
26 June 2017 @ 12:31 am

The change of scenery is welcome, but Jim doesn't dawdle. He heads straight up to his suite, where he swims for a straight hour to relieve the tension threatening to build to dangerous levels. He feels much better when he comes back downstairs, even if he doesn't look it as he's dressed in (*gasp*) off the peg clothes, and an adidas jacket that's at least a year old. 

He takes a business card from his pocket, and touches it to the handle before turning it.

Nothing happens.

He tries again, and nothing continues to happen. The door does not open. Jim regards it coolly for a minute, then turns his head towards Bar.

'Do you know something I don't, darling?'

The silence implies an answer along the lines of so many things, so Jim rolls his eyes and tilts his head at the door instead. Well, if it's like that, it's like that. He tries another business card, and the door opens onto the Los Santos beach house with no problem at all. He frowns and closes it.

He doesn't like this. He shouldn't have left. But it appears there's nothing he can do about it for the time being, so he glances around the bar and then disappears back upstairs. He would not be good company just now, and he needs to settle on a hypothesis for what's going on. Because something is, and watching it from the outside is terrible.

22 June 2017 @ 10:03 pm
Sherlock has been very useful lately, and also full of interesting information.

Jim is not liking any of it. Something is definitely afoot. And normally it would be none of his business, except it's Sherlock so it is his business. With Mary Morstan in the picture, and Magnusson coming over the horizon - followed by his assistant, who will be lucky to get out of this alive - Jim is done sitting on the sidelines.

It necessitates doing something he does not want to do. But when has that ever stopped him? So he takes Mycroft's business card one day, and touches it to the handle of the front door. It opens. Jim looks out on the view for a long few moments, then stretches his neck to the side, and closes it again. 

The suit he's wearing is impossible. So he comes back ten minutes later in skinny jeans and basketball trainers, with a zip-up hoodie and dark shadows painted under his eyes. His skin looks whiter than normal, because he's made it so. He doesn't hesitate again. This is a trip that has to be made, so he's making it.

[OOC: First link has NSFW content, and a lot of conversation about various things. Also, angst. Miscommunication. And mutual admissions that there's still something they're rubbish at.]

19 June 2017 @ 09:38 am
At some point, Wilford manages to sneak away to leave a note for Jim.

Jim Moriarty )

There's something a bit off about the handwriting. Like maybe the person who wrote it has had more than a few too many to drink.
17 June 2017 @ 11:34 am
((Loki has offered to sort out a problem for Jim in Wilford's world. It's a bloodbath. Loki feels a little weird about the whole thing--but let's be honest, we all know he's not going to learn not to go on murderous rampages, and neither will Jim.

Warnings for over the top violence in a big city. Not much really graphic detail but there's a lot of destruction.))
15 June 2017 @ 01:02 pm
 So, things are still a bloody mess, and Jim is about dead on his feet. Once again, he did not intend to come to the bar and once more, here he is and unable to get back out. He doesn't have the energy to yell at Bar this time, so he goes upstairs and takes a shower and even tries to sleep...which lasts forty-five minutes, before he's woken up by his brain screaming about all the things that need to be done. Progress has been made, but he's not going to be able to rest until he's removed the people at the root of the issue.

So he drags himself back downstairs, and the door still won't open. He turns to look at Bar. She produces a sandwich, and a pint of cold water, with her usual silence except it still manages to be pointed. Jim grits his teeth, and slopes over to the nearest stool.

'Forcing care on people is a violation of their human rights.'

Bar does not seem overly concerned. 
"Well it's mine now." Bar produces another napkin-note; Loki reads it, eyes narrowed. "--Then I'll pay. There's money in my account. Roughly a bank's-worth. It ought to cover a single unarmed skiff. --All right, thank you. And the paint I asked for? Green. Mm."

Loki leaves the bar with a bucket of paint, shaking his head, and makes for the lake, where his skiff, the one that is definitely his and not Milliways property, is waiting. Thank you, Milliways, and thank you X.

((OOM link to adventures with Loki and X. Catch Loki in the bar or outside!))
09 June 2017 @ 08:52 pm

Jim does not look his usual debonair self when he walks into the bar today, because he was not looking to come into the bar today. He's been awake for three days. He has not eaten. He has a raging headache. And he is fucking furious.

Bar does not seem to care about any of this, and won't open the door when he turns around, and tries to leave straight away. So he goes and yells at her for a bit, but all she does is present him with a large sandwich, and a pint glass full of water.

'I will burn you to ash, you-'

Oh, whatever. He collapses onto a stool, and stares at his reflection in the mirror behind the bar. Jesus Christ. Why is everything so....everything.

[OOC: No warnings in the link. Open all weekend!]

08 June 2017 @ 11:29 am
The door is thrown open, and Wilford bursts in with a stack of folders in his hand. He heads straight through the bar without a second glance to anybody, and bounds up the stairs two at a time.

A few minutes later, he comes back downstairs as if none of it had ever happened. As he drops into a seat by the fire, he pulls out his stenopad and writes down a quick note, which he gives to a rat to deliver to the Bar. Now that he’s sitting still, it’s obvious he’s had an exciting sort of night. He’s a bit grubby, and there are a few bumps and scrapes around his face and hands, but nothing that will keep him off the camera. But he’s feeling quite pleased with himself, so he doesn’t really care what kind of a mess he looks like right now.