So. This is...pretty awesome. Far more fun than dealing with an old manuscript, which is what Jim had thought he'd be doing next time he found this place. He blinks at the decor for a second, then goes to investigate.

Ten minutes later, he has a lightsaber (red, natch) in one hand, and piece of cake in the other. He examines the games on one table, and plays around with them for a bit. But there are other things, so he heads outside and whooshes around with the lightsaber for a while spends half an hour climbing over the ships on display. But there's a flight simulator! And actual pod-racers!

The racers get the first go, because he has a feeling he won't be getting out of the simulator once he's in it. And it's a beautiful day, made even more so by zipping around the place in a Star Wars pod. Excellent fun!


[OOC: open through the weekend. Catch him anywhere around the place, playing with whatever. <3]
[Tiny!tag: galen erso]

Today, Tess is outside. Something not entirely usual for her. She's sitting on the beach, watching the sunset as the wind blows through her hair.

She's silent, thinking to herself, and as the temperature drops will be going inside soon enough. But for now, the sun on the water is all that has her attention.

[[OOM: Because Tess' life just isn't complicated enough.]]

Tess is dressed down today, yoga pants, a tea shirt and cardigan, with her feet curled up under her as she sips a cup of tea on a sofa. She has brought work with her to do, but it lays beside her on the couch, untouched since she sat down.

It's been a Day.

 
Jim had been very pleased to find a door to the bar yesterday, because he had some actual academic reading to do and for once, would have been quite happy to just sit quietly and get on with it. At least, that's what he tells himself; the evidence of yesterday is more that if faced with potential distraction, he'll fling himself at it as hard and as fast as possible.

Anyway, the whole thing put him off reading, so he's back to building stuff. Bar presented him with a note from his older self, telling him that if even thought about setting foot in the upstairs suite again, he'd regret it. To soften the blow of losing room privileges, he was given a box of computer parts and told to make himself a new one. 

So that's what he's doing, looking vaguely interested but still a bit grumpy. His face hurts and his lip keeps splitting open again. It's a drag. 

(But so worth it. Now he gets to plot his response, which is always the fun part of any situation.)



[OOC: Open alllll over this lovely long weekend. :D Violence in the link.]

Tess is caught a little off guard when she enters Milliways today. She's just come from bo practice and isn't expecting to be brought into the bar.

No matter. She'll take her bo staff and grab a cup of coffee before settling on a couch, feet up, and attempt to do this thing called 'relaxing'.

Unlike the previous person to step through the door today, Mycroft does so with very little fanfare. He gives very little away when he realises that something is seriously wrong right now, but those who know him might see the quick cycle of emotions: confusion, anger, doubt — all at once, and very quick.

Either he has been drugged, or...

Or what? Places don't just become random other places at a whim.


Mycroft Holmes is not amused.

 
Jim had a lovely day yesterday, and is in a great mood. So great he's in danger of getting annoyingly manic, which is why he's brought himself downstairs. Better to annoy random others than Sherlock. Unfortunately, that also means that he's at a loss for things to entertain him - he tries a walk, but is bored within ten minutes. The music in his headphones isn't enough, making Bar flick through a few hundred TV channels gets old very soon, and he only manages twenty minutes on the piano before shutting the lid and tapping his fingers over it restlessly.

And then he spots the dog. And smiles.

Ten minutes later he can be found crouched on a sofa by the fire, with Buster's Bonehead's baseball bat in one hand, and a dog biscuit in the other. This thing is going to learn to sit, one way or the other. Every time he manages it on command (mostly by accident), he gets half a biscuit. Every time he doesn't...well, even a half-chewed bat does the job it was intended for. 


[OOC: catch him anywhere in his wandering around the bar, or with the dog. Open until next week! Link warnings for tattooing, jealousy that does not come from Jim, disgusting amounts of devotion and happiness, and inevitable NSFW behaviour.]

[oom: about the hero stuff being easy..."]

For the second time in as many days (for Barry, at least) Barry is in Milliways looking rough and beat up. There's a mar on his temple and another on his cheek, and a split in his lip, but at least his clothes are intact this time.

Sitting outside on the steps behind the bar his shoulders are slumped and his arms rest on his knees as he looks out over the grounds.

He wanted to see the cherry blossoms he was told about, but honestly they aren't helping his mood all that much.

Later on he'll head inside and find a stool at the counter to occupy.



[ooc: feel free to find him outside or in the bar.]

 
As he suspected he would, Jim caught Sherlock's - heh, Rory's - stupid bloody cold. He went to bed angry, frustrated, and sick to the back teeth of this entire bloody bar.

He wakes up with a Welsh accent, a body that feels weirdly exhausted, and a whooooole lot of surprise at finding himself in a bedroom that is not wallpapered in Laura Ashley, cluttered with years' worth of books and theatre junk. Gethin has never set foot in a room so opulent, and so incomprehensible to him. He spends a good hour looking at the clothes, the books, the...frankly pornographic, yet extremely beautiful...photography on the wall of the library (the centrepiece of which involves his own face, and the blurred figure of a much taller man in the background. He doesn't look at it for long.) Everything is very, very weird.

In short, Gethin Roberts does not have a bloody clue what's going on. But at least there are clothes he recognises - comfortably 80s in style - and if the cold he's got means he can't go searching Jonathan out, at least there appears to be a...bar, downstairs?

What. The Actual. Hell. 


[OOC: getting in under the wire! Open until the end of March. :)]

By Tess' reckoning, it hasn't been that long since she was in Louisiana. The feelings the trip brought back are still lingering.

It's not that shes disappointed to see the bar, but one could say she has sort of been avoiding it. Perhaps that's why it chooses to show up this time rather than her wanting to come. Apparently, she can't avoid it any longer.

Nothing is all that different as she sits at the bar proper, other than she seems to be a bit more subdued than usual. She even has a bottle of scotch to keep her occupied.

[[Tess realizes you can't go home again.]]

The bar room of Milliways is always full of sound - the clatter of dishes and clink of glasses, chairs being scooted back or further in, footsteps upon the floor, rats squeaking, the background murmur of conversations overlapping one another.

But tonight the main door to the bar opens to the mouth of an city alleyway, to a caucophony of noise and music, full of seething crowds and colorful parade floats, the smells of food and sweat and smoke and beer and those colorful fruity drinks sold in yard-long plastic glasses with umbrellas in them. Mardi Gras is in full swing and New Orleans has outdone itself this time.

Yrael enters, trailing laughter from a section of the crowd on the other side. His white hair is decorated with purple, gold and green feathers, his pale face partially hidden by a sharp, glittery cat mask of gold, behind which his green eyes are bright. Over his white shirt this evening he wears a shiny waistcoat of purple, gold, green, and black. It's clearly party time, big time, show time -

"And then some!" he grins, seeing Milliways. "Fat Tuesday is upon us, Milliways! Welcome to Mardi Gras! Come, dance, explore! Laissez les bons temps rouler!"

Yrael will make sure the door stays open for any party-goer who would like to partake in the joie de vivre, and the Bar can certainly provide a change of costume...



(ooc: The post will be open all weekend and into next week as needed! Usual party-thread guidelines apply! Tag in! Threadhop! Meet new people and get into trouble! :D Yrael will be around, but his mun will not be able to tag much until Monday evening. <333333)

 
Jim has been rather enjoying spending weeks being moody and depressed in his suite, mainly because Sherlock's up there to make sure he's not actually all that moody and depressed. Bloody boyfriends, and their way of making life better. Jim would grump about that if he weren't pleased by it.

He's only in the bar now because his favourite distraction is asleep and anyway, they need food. Jim puts in a large order and, on a whim, asks for a current newspaper from their world. Bar provides an iPad with various headlines, and he scrolls through until he hits upon the news that NASA has discovered a solar system where life might have evolved.

He forgets about the food, and pretty much everything else for a while. Eventually he wanders over to the Window, still reading, and then just sits looking out at the explosions. 

(The ice cream he bought will be melting all over the Bar at some point, so if anyone wants free food he's probably not going to object, or even notice.)

Today, Tess doesn’t even realize she’s entered the bar until she nearly runs into a table. It’s not the ideal place for now, but she decides to stay regardless, wandering over to the fireplace and settling on a couch.

Her face is blank and there’s no question there’s something wrong. Whether or not she’ll talk about it is the real mystery.

 

Jim comes to the bar fully suited today. There's no fake charm, no easy smiles, nothing but an air of anger, and a suggestion of inevitable...well, he would say violence, but he has no staff on hand to take care of that for him. Inevitable temper then, settled around him like a great, hanging cloud. But it's not directed outwards for once. It's just there. He'll take it out on himself later. 

For now, he buys a bottle of good vodka. A bill appears under the shot glasses it comes with. He scans it, and considers arguing simply because at least one of the cars he blew up was not worth that much, and why would repairs to the floor cost anything in a bar that can fix things by magic?

But he doesn't argue, because he doesn't care. Doesn't argue the cost of replacements for all the things he broke in their suite, either. It's only money. He just takes his vodka to a seat in front of the observation window, and sits down to wait. At least there's a good show to occupy him while he does.


[OOC: Open until the weekend, and open to all. <3]

Having made up his mind, Jim doesn't prevaricate. He walks to the bar, asks for a pen and paper, and writes a note that is short, and to the point.

( Seimei )

He tosses the pen down, and walks away to the stairs. There, it's done. Or it will be done. He doesn't have to think about it until then. He doesn't want to think about it, ever.


[OOC: Not for tagging, thanks. First three links are NSFW, and the third also contains violence. Remarkably, the fourth one is entirely PG, and no warnings apply to the last.]

The door opens briefly, and then closes again.

About five minutes later when Wilford walks into the bar today, it’s with two things: a new haircut, and garden hose that’s been kinked to keep it from just spraying water everywhere. That’s not stopping it from dripping everywhere, but still. It could be worse.

He takes the dripping hose straight up to Jim, holding onto it like he could unleash the full fury of the Los Santos municipal water supply right into his face. He won’t, but he could.

Jim looks up at him, slowly but amused. “And what do you want me to do about this?” he asks.

[ooc: Tag one, or tag them both!]

 
As one door closes, another one opens. A young Jim Moriarty stands at the threshold with half a computer under one arm, and a large fistful of cash in the other. He's dressed in school uniform, tie at half-mast, with a fag hanging out of his mouth.

Well. 

He'd given up on ever finding this place again. Good timing, though. He's come from a stupid interview, he's bloody starving, and being sixteen still sucks ass. 

Meh. 


[OOC: Open until whenever, just taking advantage of his older self being out of the bar. Please no one tell him the grown up is dead!]

 
Jim is in the kitchen today. He is on a mission. It involves saucepans, piping bags, ovens, cream, vanilla, and chocolate. Everything is planned. Everything is neat. Everything is...burning, because he also brought a book for the boring waiting bits, and got distracted enough that there is now a lot of smoke, and a very bad smell.

Hmm. Dilemma. How to stay focused during baking. That's a problem which might have to be solved before he makes any progress on this.

He'll be up in the bar later, picking flecks of chocolate off his shirt. His sodding Gucci shirt, which now has chocolate on it. For God's sake. 

(At some point during the day a photograph appears on the notice board. It shows an infirmary scanner wearing sunglasses, lying on a beach towel with a copy of Playboy next to it. 

What? He's bored.)