14 July 2017 @ 06:36 pm
 
Ysalwen steps through the front door, looking lighter and less troubled than she has in weeks. Having your apprentice settled into a Tal-Vashoth mercenary team -- the Valo-Kas, as it happens -- will do that. Particularly given that they are newly formed, though taking in members of several different mercenary bands with a great deal of experience.

Meraad liked them, and James found very little to complain about with any of its members, so.

Ysalwen settles herself at a corner booth, pulling out her tablet-book and pulling up three holographic windows. One contains a complicated nuclear decay simulation, another has some sort of energetics equations on it, and the third is playing Die Hard. She's been told it's a quite interesting play, and so.

Liranan has settled underneath her chair, ready to take a nap while she works. He may come out when the movie's gunfire starts, or he might just roll his eyes and go back to sleep.
 
 
18 June 2017 @ 10:34 am
 
Mmph.

If Loki was in a sunny mood the last time he was puttering around with his skiff at the lakeside, he's all looming black clouds now. The skiff looks rough. Mostly superficial damage--scorch-marks, dents, a long scrape down one side--but one of the wings isn't folding smoothly. Does he know how to fix that? Not without consulting a few manuals?

He inspects the skiff, sourly, and then climbs into the back to take a damn nap. He can't bear the thought of that depressing little Milliways room and its meager bed; better to sleep rough by the lake.

That was a lot of illusion-work, a lot of invisibility. Of course it's not taxing to his powers or anything like that, but it does leave a bit of a headache.

(That was a lot of crude showy bloodshed in someone else's universe for someone else's benefit. Of course he doesn't feel regret or anything like that, but it does leave a bit of a headache.)



((Catch him looking over his boat, or if you don't mind an extra-irritable Loki catch him napping.))
 
 
03 June 2017 @ 11:14 pm
 
Dave steps through the front door of Milliways and looks surprised. His expression quickly fades into his standard deadpan, but it's noticeable for a moment there. He glances briefly over his shoulder, then shuts the door behind him, cape neatly swirling out of the way. He's much more aware of it now after wearing it for most of a year.

He isn't any taller, but looks a little older nonetheless. Some of the baby fat has left his face, leaving him with sharper cheekbones. The sunglasses are still ridiculous, but not so oversized. He's in serious need of a haircut. And a sandwich.

Which is why you can find him at the bar, chowing down. And tapping one foot to a beat that no one else can hear.
 
 
29 May 2017 @ 10:56 am
 
[OOM: In which a dead king, a Grey Warden, a Crow, and a dog fight a dragon. It goes swimmingly!]
 
 
25 May 2017 @ 01:25 pm
 
Baze has decided that he doesn't like sand. It's coarse and rough and irritating and it gets everywhere. Even the texture between his teeth is gritty when he tastes it, and the taste itself is far too salty. Far better are the strange, brown beans he found fermenting in little stashes, which he snacks on every time he finds a new one. They're terribly bitter, but they remind him of caf.

The beach is, however, beautiful to look upon, and--most importantly--it's warm. Baze has never been so warm, having grown up on a moon with a permanent winter. He graciously allows the Caribbean sun to bake him alive.

Or dead, as the case may be. Still.

He's shed his armor, a rare occurrence that he hopes becomes less rare with time, and goes to test the water with his bare feet. He's never seen so much water, either, or so blue a color. It's almost overwhelming, how he can't see to the bottom.

This place is full of marvels, this Milliways bar. Baze hopes he never leaves.

(OOC: Chirrut may pop into any and all threads. Millitimed to before the Galen Erso EP. Warnings for scary stuff in the end of the Ibani thread, with discussions of death and child cruelty. Tiny tags: Baze Malbus, Chirrut Imwe)
 
 
15 May 2017 @ 07:16 pm
 
[OOM: Two Harrowings]

As the door opens, there's a quiet sound of crying on the other side, and murmured conversation. When the redhead walks in and realizes it's Milliways on the other side, she hastily closes the door. The rest of her movement, though, is rather slow and hesitant as she makes her way to a booth and leans her staff up against it.

And then she slides into the booth, rests her elbows on the table, and buries her face in her hands.

If you look closely, she might be shaking a little bit.

The tears won't start collecting on the table until they can leak past her hands.
 
 
11 May 2017 @ 05:42 pm
 
Ysalwen enters the bar today carrying a large stack of papers, including several bound ledgers, a few broadsheets, and a ridiculous number of letters and messages.

Someone, it seems, is researching mercenary bands. Meraad is well on her way to finishing her apprenticeship, and she wants to travel. While Ysalwen trusts Meraad's researching skills, she'd be a terrible advisor if she didn't know anything she was talking about.

So it's time, it appears, to switch to research mode again.

Liranan grumbles a little, because sitting around while Ysa reads is boring, but she placates him with a deer haunch and the promise of going outside to play frisbee a little later.

In the meantime, she's now seated a table absolutely covered in various stacks of papers, taking flurries of notes down on her tablet-book. Liranan is eating his quarter of a deer under the table.

Maybe she will remember to take him outside before it gets full dark.

Liranan is not holding his breath.
 
 
25 April 2017 @ 06:34 pm
 
Brotherly love is a beautiful thing. Brotherly love, reconciliation. Forgiveness.*

And an enormous platter of food.

Look, Loki isn't sure how long it's been since he last ate, but it's somewhere in the order of months. That's not enough to kill him--though he's happy to let Thor think he's arrived as one of Milliways' dead--but it's enough that once Thor steers him to a seat and orders a meal for them both, he's going to down a phenomenal amount of food. Enough that it would make the most solicitous grandmother proud, if there were a grandmother around to see.

It's all a little too methodical and determined to call feasting. But Loki's not so single-minded that he can't keep a watch on the sights and sounds of Milliways, particularly in the intervals when Thor is off consulting with Bar or ordering more food.



*Actual levels of brotherly love, forgiveness, and reconciliation may be open to debate. Possibly violent debate once Thor and Loki get to talking.

((Not a joint post because Thor-mun is pretty busy for the next day or so, but Thor might be able to drop into some threads.

Bedtime for now but feel free to tag in--I'll get back to you in the morning!))
 
 
09 April 2017 @ 08:21 pm
 
[Earlier.]

Dave is slouched at a table, facing the window. He might be watching the exploding galaxies. He might be staring into metaphorical rather than literal space.

The sunglasses hide a lot either way. Bags under your eyes? Bam, cool shades, no problem.

Unkempt hair? Whatever, you're a teenage boy, no one expects you to keep up with that shit.

Emo, slumped posture? You've been a whiny bitch for this entire retcon so far, why should now be any different?

He's got this all under control.
 
 
13 March 2017 @ 09:24 pm
 
The door to the bar opens, and on the other side, Dave looks up sharply. This was not where he intended to end up.

"man seriously this fucking place again" He was tense even before walking in, and doesn't relax as he steps further inside.

"whatever"

He's used to inevitability. At least here he can get apple juice as a side dish to the main course of predestination.
 
 
05 January 2017 @ 11:32 pm
You -- yes, you, whoever you are -- got an invitation to the party. All of Milliways is welcome!

If you choose to come, you'll find Bar directing you to a big round tent that went up this afternoon on the lawn outside the bar. Marius and Cosette and various friends spent a lot of time this morning ferrying decorations in, and the waitrats spent a lot of time in the afternoon ferrying food in, but the doors won't officially open until close to sunset.

But this isn't a cheap white plastic tent, oh no. It's warm and domed and made of thick fabric, something like a very large yurt. A bit of magic keeps out the drafts, making everything extra cozy.

There's a fire in the middle of the floor, with a low screen encircling it but also magic meaning that this fire puts of warmth but will not actually burn anything, even if you step right into it. The floor is wood -- great for dancing, if you feel like it! There's a piano over against the wall for anyone who wants to make some music.

Everywhere there are garlands of European evergreen branches and herbs, studded with bright dried fruit and sparkling ornaments. (Mistletoe might very well be among them, though the Pontmercies haven't thought to supply that as an intentional party game.) There are candles and lanterns everywhere, and a big chandelier. There are no electric lights at all -- it's all fire -- but a good number of them are magical, so that nothing's going to get set on fire or covered with smoke. The general intended impression is of genteel, welcoming festivity, in a very French and very early 19th century European way.

There are food and drinks galore. Come in and enjoy the party!

[OOC: Party-style post! Subthreads for various categories and activities, etc. Open from now until whenever!

Edit: As of Joly's arrival, Cosette now has a mini-polaroid camera. Fear, Milliways. Feel free to assume that she's popped up to take a candid picture of your character(s) at any point, as long as they're not doing or wearing anything scandalous! She will happily give the resulting picture to your character if they want; it probably won't be a very good picture, in terms of composition or focus, but it will be cheerfully enthusiastic.]
 
 
01 January 2017 @ 10:34 pm
 
Just out of sight of the bar itself, there's a table. Not in a shadowy corner, but not in the main drag of Milliways.

It is currently occupied by a preposterous amount of Daves. One is about thirteen, short and skinny and sulking. If Milliways has any sort of chronology, this is the 'current' Dave.

Two of them are a little older, but about the same age as each other. Still deep in puberty's grasp, maybe around fifteen. One is wearing a dealer's visor.

The next Dave looks more like the 'future' Dave who was most recently in the bar, helping out his younger self. He's probably sixteen.

The final Dave is quite a bit older, wearing a fancy suit jacket and dress shirt over a pair of black jeans. He's face down on the table with his shades mashed up against his forehead. There's a half-full glass of water next to his elbow. He mutters to himself occasionally but barely stirs.

They are apparently playing poker.



[OOC: Feel free to just toss in a reaction if this is too many Daves for you to actively thread with. It is entirely ridiculous.]
 
 
03 December 2016 @ 10:35 pm
 
Dave has finally made his escape from the infirmary, with Nynaeve's tentative approval. Or, not approval so much as lack of disapproval. He gets the impression she doesn't approve of very much, but she nodded and didn't make him drink any more tea, which is close enough.

Now that he's back on his feet, he's sort of skulking around the bar. Peering into the multitude of shadowed corner booths. Assiduously avoiding the pool tables. Running his fingers along the bricks over the fireplace mantle. Eavesdropping on a conversation or two.

Just taking the measure of the place.

He's not exactly stealthy, with his white hair and bright red outfit, cape and all. But he is being quiet. His occasional muttering under his breath is drowned out by the bar's ambient noise.
 
 
03 December 2016 @ 06:20 pm
 
Ysalwen, dressed in her softest mage robes and wrapped up in an oversized black cloak, is curled up on the couch in front of the fire, cheeks pink and expression very relaxed.

There are flame-colored roses braided into her tumbled-down white hair.

Liranan is sprawled on the couch with her, head resting comfortably across her lap.

Neither of them are sleeping. Sleepy, yes, but that is not at all the same thing.
 
 
 
14 November 2016 @ 10:56 pm
 
Sometimes, smuggling work is daring and exciting, as you play a complex, nailbiting game of cat and mouse with Kirkwall's guards.

Sometimes, smuggling work involves standing on the docks in the freezing cold as dozens and dozens of crates are unloaded.

Today was a 'standing on the docks' day, and it was boring and cold enough that it really only took an hour before the guys were passing around bottles of moonshine.

All of which probably explains why Hawke comes stumbling into the bar today, loudly and badly singing sea shanties, nearly crashing into several tables.
 
 
10 November 2016 @ 09:57 pm
 
The front door opens, and Dave Strider stumbles through. This is a younger version than has ever been in the bar before. He is wearing his god-tier outfit, cape and all. He's all elbows and legs, skinny and exhausted looking.

When he looks up and takes in his surroundings, his expression barely changes, but he immediately tenses and settles into a combat ready stance. A sword appears in his hand.

"what the flying fuck-" he starts, but then he sees the window. He can't get any paler, but he looks spooked, and very unhappy.

Any patrons particularly sensitive to the flow of time can feel the grip he takes on his powers as the Knight of Time and tries to slow t h i n g s d o w n...

But time in Milliways is recursive and slippery and mostly inevitable. It flows backwards and sideways and is connected to and manipulated by an infinite amount of other universes. It's too much to handle for a Knight who has only recently come into his full powers. Time drags as Dave sweats and shakes, then it SNAPS back as he loses control. Time edges back toward normal and blood starts dripping from Dave's nose. His knees buckle and his eyes roll back in his head.

Then there's a flash of red and the sound of grinding gears and another Dave appears. This one is older and taller, and dressed in a snappy black suit with a red sunflower in a buttonhole. "whoa shit dude!" He darts forward and catches the younger Dave before he completely falls, then grabs the sword before it hits the ground.

Hefting the sword and the younger Dave into his arms, he heads off to the infirmary at a swift trot.

A few minutes later, he comes back. Dave glances around, shoots his cuffs, and heads toward the bar.
 
 
01 November 2016 @ 09:55 pm
 
[Before Ysalwen leaves for Kirkwall, Sallie and Ysa have a tiny chat.]
 
 
01 November 2016 @ 06:46 pm
[OOM: Set before Ysa departs Kirkwall:

A conversation with the living. ]
 
 
31 October 2016 @ 03:08 pm
 
Alistair has become a big fan of this newfangled instant text-only communication stuff. It makes things so much easier.

Like, say, when you go home after an incredibly vivid dream, with all intents to call it a night, then find yourself having a very manly twenty-minute sobbing fit into your dog's fur for no reason.

(Well, no. For good reason. But it's still a little embarrassing, even if Fuzzy's the only witness to his indignities.)

It's the kind of thing that, if you're Alistair, makes you want to go talk to someone after it's over -- except you're too wrung out to muster the energy, you look a mess, and there still isn't anyone around the palace you'd feel comfortable leaning on for a while. (Except the dog, of course.) But behold! Here's the newfangled instant text-only communication stuff to redeem a not-so-great night.

And so:

quondamGryphon has signed on.

...All right, maybe Alistair's wrung out enough that, back in Denerim, he'll stare blankly at the list of usernames for a bit. But he'll get around to writing something. Just give him a minute.



[ooc: alistair isn't in the bar proper, but he's taggable on t-minus. open until it scrolls.]