milliways_bar | Mar. 28th, 2006

Mar. 28th, 2006

river_meimei

[OOM: Saturday night, on Serenity: Simon tells River about Adelai Niska's arrival.]

and-far-away.livejournal.com

There's a note posted for all security, here

namo

[OOM: Gorlim and Námo spend an evening together. No warnings necessary.]

blue_ajah

[OOC: In due time, all stories end.

This simple fact makes for something of an unusual game of cards, as Moiraine and Dale Cooper discover.

Afterwards, the Aes Sedai returns to the Dreaming, and to Dream.]

flybywash

[Semi-OOM: Wash and Zoe in the cells, day one; millitimed to Sunday.

One or two threads are still in slowtime.]

timsbooks.livejournal.com

Tim is seated peacefully at his favorite table, when the front door slides open. He doesn't pay much attention at first, until the first person comes through. Him. And then a second Him. And then a torrent, all dressed in his style, the black pants, white shirt, black trench, red tie and sunglasses. And he feels something inside him, the urge, the urge... to siiiing! Which might explain why he jumps up onto a table, pulling out a megaphone.

"May I have your attention please?
May I have your attention please?
Will the real Tim Hunter please stand up?
I repeat, will the real Tim Hunter please stand up?"

A pause to look around. Nope. All still standing.

"We're gonna have a problem here.."

And that's when they start dancing, along with him.

"Y'all act like you never seen a Magic God before
Jaws all on the floor like Molly, like Wrong just burst in the door
and started whoopin her ass worse than before
the third time he made one, an' she walked out the door (Ahh!)
It's the return of the ... Ah, wait, no way, you're kidding,
he didn't just say what I think he did, did he?
The Other said.. nothing you idiots!
The Other's Dead, he's gone for good! (I hope.)
All the women love Tim Hellspawn
"Tim Hunter, I'm sick of him
Look at him, walkin around wavin his you-know-what
Enchanting you-know-who," "Yeah, but he's so cute though!"

And he stops, frowning, and waves a hand. The other Tims exchange a glance, then beat feet for the door. He stands on the table, watching them, his frown deepening.

"What the Fuck Was That?"

bloodandnicotine

*One Spike mopes through the front door, in full on angst. And then, he bursts into song.*

I don't know how to love her,
What to do, how to move her.
I've been changed, yes, really changed.
In these past few years, when I've seen myself,
I seem like someone else.

I don't know how to take this.
I don't see why she moves me.
She's a bint. A Slayer too.
And I've killed a few of them before;
In very many ways,
She's just one more.

Should I bring her down?
Should I bite her throat?
Let her mock my love,
Let her get my goat?
I never thought I'd come to this.
It's turned all about...

Don't you think it's rather funny,
I should be in this position.
I'm the one who's always been
So calm, so cool, no Slayer's fool.
Running every town.
It's turned around.

I never thought I'd come to this.
I'm turned all around...

Yet, if she said she loved me,
I'd be lost, I'd be frightened.
I couldn't cope, just couldn't cope.
I'd turn my face. I'd back away.
I wouldn't want to know.
She scares me so.
I want her so.
I love her so.

*And then he stops, turns around, stares at the mirror behidn the bar. At Himself. And then he looks outwards again.*

AW, Bollocks. Not this again!

young_tmriddle

OOM: Tom receives word that Mrs. Crouch would like a word with him.

Despite a great temptation to ignore this particular owl, he makes time and heads for room 202.

worst-wizzard.livejournal.com

Rincewind is sneaking back in the back door. A very badly drawn octogram is on some sort of rock. In clay. Obviously, Rincewind knows even less about clay than he does about magic, whatever he found is starting to flake off the rock.

However, he steps out a few steps, and looks somewhat relieved. At least he hasn't burst into song. Yet.

abotticellilady.livejournal.com

Bianca is curled up in a corner booth, reading. Having finally conceeded to the jeans not fitting, she's wearing a long black skirt with a white top. And, no, the fact that she still looks stylish has not done a lot to improve her mood.

Of course, considering she's gone past the first annoyance and terror and is now in the hazy 'la, la, la, what?' stage, it's hard to say what exactly her mood is.

She may or may not tell you what is up. Luck of the draw, really.

pendragon-son.livejournal.com

[In which Melehan recieves his father's sword, a vision of a possible future and his first kiss from his twin's dream-girl.]

When Melehan stumbles into Milliways, still clutching his father's sheathed sword to his chest, his expression is a little...dazed.

Well. A little smug and rather dazed. Making his slow way over to a table, his expression goes through several other changes. Most notably, the 'oh, shit' expression when he realizes just how angry Melou really is going to be.

Feel free to talk to the young prince before his brother kills him, though.

Current Mood: confused

percocetandgin.livejournal.com

A well dressed but slightly disheveled brunette walks out of the restroom - she's moving with the practised ease of someone who is very used to being very intoxicated. She pauses and looks around the room, looking confused for a split second. She turns around and walks back into the ladies room. And then walks back out. She shrugs her shoulders and walks over to the bar.

"I have got to stop buying from that Mexican Internet Pharmacy. Bartender, would you make me a martini - and don't waste any valuable space by putting in those olives. Oh - and where the hell am I?"

Current Mood: confused

mollyprewett.livejournal.com

She doesn't remember where she learned the song, but she's singing it quietly under her breath as she kneels on the garden path and carefully waters the newly sprouted flowers with a gentle trickle of water from the end of her wand. It's not a demon making her sing, but rather the simple joy of working in the gardens.

"Hi!" said the little leatherwing bat
"I'll tell to you the reason that
The reason that I fly by night
Is because I've lost my heart's delight."
Howdy dowdy diddle-dum day
Howdy dowdy diddle-dum day
Howdy dowdy diddle-dum day
Hey le lee-lee lie-lee low

( rest )

She could probably use a break about now. Come say hello!

sister-lucy.livejournal.com

There isn't a large geisha today.

No, today, there's a large Angel. No wings, though. Not for ages.

There's also no fruity drink.

Lucy is merely sitting quietly, watching the stars.

horseblanket.livejournal.com

A week old is young to be outside, yes.

But Milliways is technically not outside, and Sheila hasn't seen anyone except her family and Slack in almost two weeks.

So possibly against what's left of her better judgement, she's brought the baby downstairs, and finds them a space on the couch.

the_seafarer

It's a fine day, spring in the air and Caspian leads one of the horses--Duncan--out of the stables and slaps the brown neck as he sets the horse loose in the paddock outside. Most of the horses are out, snorting in the fresh air and stretching their legs, and he leans against the fence to watch them for a moment, smiling to himself, and starts to whistle cheerfully under his breath, grateful for the sun and the warm breeze.

bloodyrockgod

You know, even with the prospect of bursting into flame from an overabundance of music? Charlie doesn't want to stop himself from singing.

( So he doesn't. )

As for the dancing . . . well. That's why bassists usually just hang back by the drums and look cool, don't you know.

noble-samurai.livejournal.com

Milliways has seen quite a few Jack's as time's gone by. Jack Frost, Jack Bauer, Jack Driscoll, the list goes on and on. And it's time to add yet another Jack to that list.

...ok, so his name isn't really Jack, but come on, work with me people!

Anyways, back to the point.

The door is pushed open silently and a young man wanders into Milliways for the first time. He glances around, his eyes concealed from view beneath his hat, apparently slightly surprised. The bar he had been entering looked quite different from the outside, not at all like this. With a shrug, Jack makes his way towards the bar, his head low and his gaze on the floor. He's learned that bar-goers in this time have a habit of starting fights over nothing.

Not spotting a bartender, Jack waits for a moment. Nobody appears. He's been to bars before with automated service, however, so he orders anyways. "Tea, please." He says, his voice soft. A moment later, to his surprise, a tray with a steaming kettle and a cup appears before him, as if by magic.

Eying the tray for any sign of foul play, Jack picks it up slowly and wanders off to a secluded corner of the bar where he takes a seat in a booth and pours himself a cup of tea, glancing around slowly as he does so. There is something off about this place, he's sure of it.

Welcome to Milliways, Jack. Enjoy your stay.

[ooc: Bah. Slow-time for a few hours.]

pendragon-son.livejournal.com

[Post Milliways: later that night, the Pendragon twins patch up and plan a little murder...]

bohemian-mark.livejournal.com

[OOM: Goodbye Love (Reprise) In which Mark gets a large dose of reality.]

The door opens, and a ragged figure walks through, directly to Bar, to collect a mug of beer, then to a far corner, curling up on himself, and pulling a camera out of his bag, cuddling it tightly. Looks like Mark's had a rather bad day.

guppy_sandhu

Guppy has been sitting quietly in a booth by the infirmary with his fire extinguisher and a pile of paperwork.
Then, all of a sudden, he stops, and with one hand sweeps the entire pile of paperwork off the table onto the floor. The next moment he's standing on the table, shaking out his hair.

One of the rats obligingly brings the mysterious guitar that seems to appear from nowhere over and he brings his hand down to play a long resounding F chord.

And then he sings. His voice isn't too bad, although it's really more ex-choirboy than rock.

( Cut for space )

He stops as suddenly as he started, a look of utter mortification on his face when he realises what he just sang loudly across the bar. Handing the guitar back to the rats, he climbs down off the table and starts gathering up the paper with a slightly shaking hand.

It's not the singing out of control that frightened him.

It's how much he enjoyed letting go.

namo

Námo goes to the bar and orders a bowl of soup with some dry toast before taking a seat in a booth.

The Elf looks much happier since he was last in the bar. There is no alcohol accompanying his meal, only ginger ale, and he almost hums as he eats.

Care to join the Elf for conversation?

i-martha-adams.livejournal.com

She said that she would check daily, and so Mrs. Adams is in the bar again tonight. She heads to the notice board, then shakes her head and settles at the bar.

A quiet order procures roast chicken, spinach salad, and a silver coffee pot filled to just below the brim for ease of pouring.

She has no reason to know that Bar delivers such things, so there is no reaction when she fails to get a note.

not-de-la-vega.livejournal.com

Anyone listening might catch the sounds of a fight outside the door. Maybe.

Moments later however it swung open to admit a smartly dressed, if rather short, swashbuckler.

Well, at least, he fancied himself a swashbuckler, of a sort. His hat had been lost somewhere along the way, but his mask was still firmly in place, sword drawn for a moment, only long enough to realize that he wasn't where he'd thought he was, before being sheathed again.

He arched a brow, scanning the bar, finally he said, "This is not the back room of the Casa del Oro." He paused, looking over the place again, "I do not believe this is even California."

bad-as-he-is.livejournal.com

There were not supposed to be walls in the middle of a field. Tom was not the finest of scholars, no, not even one of the finest. Not even one of the finest in Somersetshire.

But he knew that there weren't supposed to be walls in the middle of fields as surely as there weren't to be rabbits in the house, a fact he had been assured of very firmly by Squire Allworthy, a number of the girls on the housekeeping staff, and Reverend Thwackum. Mr. Square, for his part, had wandered off into a philosophical quandry concerning the nature of man and beast which took him a number of hours and more than a few servings of fine roast with which he greased the wheels of his esteemable intellect.

That being said, there weren't supposed to be walls in the middle of a field and thus he was quite surprised to run into one while hunting for the pheasant he'd shot just a moment before. Looking around explains the wall, though not necessarily how he'd gotten into a tavern from the middle of Squire Allworthy's lands (for such a sober Christian gentleman as Squire Allworthy would certainly never host a tavern in the middle of nowhere). That being said, a tavern was where he was now and thus did it require exploring.

"George?"

For truly, in any tavern in Somersetshire, it was a good bet that Black George could be found in it and the man held a strong liking for him. He was largely alone in this affection for Tom, who for all his jocularity and charm was but a foundling and thus of the lowest of births, but it mattered little to George just as George's somewhat illegal activities mattered little to Tom.

"George? George Seagrim?"

not_that_spike

Well, he's kind of smug, sitting at the bar with a cup of coffee.

With a shot of Irish whiskey in it for good measure, because a cowboy has to keep up appearances. He's got a new pack of Marsboros all ready and waiting -- bravely defying his very own self-imposed limitation on smoking -- and a plate of some kind of fried somethings, not sure what the hell they are. All he knows for sure is they're not potechi.

Potechi's only for when Beth's around, anyhow. Poking at the fried whatevers with a pair of chopsticks, he picks one up and dips it in the sauce it came with and tries it. He hasn't yet met any food that's killed him and odds are good that this shit won't, either.

venusadept_2

Felix, perhaps not entirely sure what he's doing, goes to Bar and gets a length of wood. It might be considered a cane, or a baton.

The invisible instrumentalists gather, waiting.

After a moment he leaps onto a table and begins to

( sing. )

[Slightly adapted from Meredith Willson's 'Trouble (reprise)' and '76 Trombones', neither of which has anything to do with me.]

morbid-midweek.livejournal.com

[Pre-Milliways]

The door opens and a thin young woman - on the short side, dressed head to toe in black, with long black hair - enters, her nose buried in a book.

As such, it takes Wednesday a few moments to realize she might not be where she was heading. The book is slowly lowered to reveal a deathly white face and black eyes. A measured look behind her indicates that her dorm hallway is still there. In front of her, is a different story.

"This is interesting." Is all she murmurs.

macleod_connor

This is Connor having a drink at the bar.

Or at a table.

Or by the fire.

He may stay in one place for a while - or he might move around all night.

One never really knows.

snapcrackleburn.livejournal.com

It's more or less been a normal day for Roy Mustang. Full of important paperwork (sitting untouched on his desk), telephone calls (it's really a good thing that he's an alchemist, because otherwise the phone would need replacing), and the like.

In short, boring.

'No, I don't care if he started crying. There will be no- Look, it has to survive submerged in water for a full day to be permissible. A... parrot or budgerigar or whatever the hell it is does not-'

He's calling back over his shoulder as he walks into his office. Or rather what is supposed to be his office. Where he actually finds himself is another place entirely. It appears to be some sort of... bar.

'This is unexpected.'

He keeps one gloved hand at his side, fingers lightly touching, just in case.

No, Roy, you're not in Central anymore.

angela-edmunds.livejournal.com

[OOM: Angela is reminded of a certain obligation.]

She's looking rather pale these days, Angela is. But outwardly, she's calm.

Very calm.

And if she's humming under her breath, what of it?

At least it keeps nasty thoughts from her head.

mollyprewett.livejournal.com

Molly had a strange morning, what with random people breaking into song and dance around her... so she'd retreated to her room for a short rest, and ended up falling asleep for three hours.

Now that she's rested, she's down by the lake again. She's cast orbs of light to hang in the air above her, and she's got another huge chunk of frozen lakewater resting on the ground in front of her.

Using her wand to cast focused heating charms, she's attempting to make an ice sculpture. She was going for the shape of a centaur....what does it look like you?

magius-unlocked.livejournal.com

The wizard is dancing. Alright, a wizard is dancing. On air. Out back, near the lake. He is dancing to music that fills the air softly, and quietly, and grinning. And no, he isn't under a demon's influence. He is just in love.

inquisitivehero

Doctor McCoy is at the Bar, not his usual table. He is drinking, a rarety for him these days, but it has been a long ... year, really. As he drinks and watches the bar, he taps at a laptop, which barely holds his interest. A tired Doc, at the Bar.

spark-girl.livejournal.com

Agatha's in the bar once more, now working on a new clank. When she remembers food, Bar has a plate of scones for her and a cup of tea, kept warm. When she doesn't, tools are slow in coming until she eats something.

queens-darkness.livejournal.com

There's a dark Fae taking up a couch over by the fire. His ankle length hair is braided and curled up on the floor by his head, because laying on a braid just isn't comfortable. The shadows around him are flickering. Yes. Flickering. They grow dense and then sparse, and back again, as he's plying a little with his powers. There's also a steel sword resting against the couch by his feet, because sooner or later he'll be getting up to practice outside.

Feel free to question the Fae about the sword, or the shadows, or both.

twiststheblade

Miho has discovered something.

Power tools.

Bar will lend her power tools. Well, rent her power tools.

So she is a little way outside, with an extension cable, a bench, and goggles. She's around a little used side of the building, keeping as much out of the way as is possible whilst still being able to reach an electrical outlet. Nevertheless, the sound of cutting wheel on metal can be heard from a way away.

Miho has no respect for conventions dictating the use of heavy gloves and thick clothing. She is wearing goggles, because white-hot shards of metal burnt into an eyeball are inconvenient. (The mun has personal experience. Ow.) But random burns elsewhere don't bother her.

She's just roughing out shapes now, really, although there will be welding involved later. So, if anyone like the idea of very small girls wielding very large metal cutters, come poke her. From a safe distance, please, and make plenty of noise. She needs her fingers.

maid-of-astolat.livejournal.com

Elaine comes downstairs, in medieval barmaid gear.

Bar is being silly tonight.

Not that Elaine minds, of course.

She picks up the tray with a pleasant smile and is ready to serve.

dragonofgrey.livejournal.com

Draco was finally starting to get the hang of this fox deal. Animagus form was fun really. Especially now he could think normally again. Be nice to be able to switch back and forth, but he had one part straightened out. Just needed practice to get the rest. He had bounded out in the snow out back, and was busy taking in the scents.
Now he was back in the bar, sitting on his haunches on a stool, and grooming himself. Animal or not, he tried to keep himself clean, neat and tidy.

mortisbelle.livejournal.com

Medieval lady, bar, no drink, and people watching.

Feel free to bother her.

ways-lust.livejournal.com

Lust walks through the door, lifting one hand to flip her hair behind her shoulder as she does. She looks around a moment, then smiles. While she hadn't planned on coming here tonight, she certainly wouldn't mind not being in the dirty little village she'd entered from.

She walks to the bar and orders a mug of coffee.

magick-willow.livejournal.com

*Willow walks downstairs with her laptop, looking contemplative. As she reaches the bottom of the steps, to her horror, she starts singing*

We couldn't be happier,
Right, dear?
Couldn't be happier
Right here
Look what we've got
A fairy-tale plot
Our very own happy ending
Where we couldn't be happier -
True, dear?
Couldn't be happier
And we're happy to share
Our ending vicariously
With all of you
She couldn't be lovelier
I couldn't feel luckier
We couldn't be happier
Because happy is what happens
When all your dreams come true!

puckishly.livejournal.com

[OOC: In this thread with Ingress, Puck remembers something he'd nearly forgotten.]

He is cherub-cheeked.

He has an infectious grin.

He is-- dare we say it?-- adorable.

He also hasn't worn this shape for what feels like a very long time.

slightlymonkish.livejournal.com

Adrian Monk is not the social type.

In fact, he's not really the anything type. He doesn't like public places, especially not public places with lots of people.

So why he's sitting in a crowded bar with his elbows on the table is far, far beyond his own comprehension.

Not to mention, he only drinks alcohol on Special Occasions - this is not one of them.

He stares blankly at the Scotch sitting in front of him, looking as though he can't figure out how it got there.

azarathsraven.livejournal.com

Rush of air, the sound of someone screaming, , was it her? Was it her voice that made that awful soul rending noise? She couldn't be quite sure. The sensation of falling, weightless falling, the feeling it would never stop was almost as terrifying as it was exhilerating.

This is death? This is the meaning of dying? The feeling of falling for eternity?

She hit the ground with a force that would have killed a mortal man, hell it probably would have killed a few immortals. Yet there was no sensation of pain, there was no feeling of impact. In fact it really didn't do much at all, it was rather an anti-climatic landing.

The first thing she could feel was grass beneath her body, the soft wet earth beneath that. Where was she?

Straggling to her feet (How was this possible? The man who'd killed her had shattered her kneecaps!)she tried to focus on something, anything that would look vaguely familiar.

Was this heaven? Was this hell? Or was it something more or less?

It looked familiar what's what it looked.

Limping heavily and holding her mid-section, she paid no mind that she'd been stripped of whatever earthly clothing she'd possessed, her body exposed to the elements still drenched in her own blood; the gash on her throat sealed but still visible as a nasty red scar, her knees an angry reddish color, she shivered and used what she could to help her in her progression towards what she now recognized as a building.

Maybe they could help her there? Maybe that was where the dead checked in? (Why did this place seem so familiar??)

Pushing open the door she staggered into the Bar.

Welcome to Milliways Bar Raven- and to your afterlife.

transgenic-max.livejournal.com

There's an X5 in a booth, with what looks remarkably like a partially disassembled flying saucer spread out on the table in front of her. She's hard at work fiddling around with the insides of it, leaned over the casing, flashlight held between her teeth to keep both hands free.

Come see what she's doing?

shortofcrazy

Okay, so Riley wandered into the bar tonight and sat down on the couch by the fire with the intention of taking a seat for a minute or two, and then actually doing something. Except that he made the crucial error in judgement of deciding to 'rest his eyes,' just for a second, and thusly, there is a computer genius passed out against the arm of the sofa, black chucks propped up beside his deserted laptop on the coffee table. He really would appreciate being poked awake; sleeping with contacts in = bad.

bow-rod-staff.livejournal.com

OOM: Pre-Milliways...

The door flies open with a dramatic bang and a figure can be heard talking loudly to someone - or a few someones - behind him.

'Five minutes, you chaps, no hanging around. Can't let the blasted things get on top of us.'

As he turns to face forwards, he doesn't see the small purple insect with two sets of fangs and three pairs of eyes appear from nowhere and head for the rafters, buzzing happily. He just...notices that he's no longer outside the Great Hall of Unseen University, and stares.

He's a large man, but big rather than fat. The beard is long and full, the nose large and red and he's wearing a pointy hat. Well, it would be pointy if it didn't look as though the end had recently been chopped off. And there's old tea leaves decorating the brim, although not on purpose.

He blinks in an uncomprehending way. And then, yells over his shoulder indiscriminately, even though the door has shut behind him.

'Alright, you fellows. Who put a damn pub outside the Great Hall? Own up, that man.'

No reply. So he resorts to what he usually does when faced with something he doesn't understand.

'BURSAR!'

Someone explain to Ridcully that he's not in ~~Kansas~~ his University any more?

a-fell.livejournal.com

An angel walks into a bar...

...and completely fails to come up with a punchline.

There is, however, a pot of earl grey and a crossword, which he is more than willing to be distracted from.

Current Mood: listless

gaelic-fae-girl.livejournal.com

Molly stopped in, and walked out back, dressed for the cold. She then found herself softly singing, and twirling, her ballet lessons returning to her. Dark figure, almost glowing in the pale, wan moonlight and stars.

( filked Scarlet's Walk by Tori Amos )

Molly then blinked, "Fuck... now I'm doing it!"

shaped-jeedai.livejournal.com

[OOMs: On Sunday, Jaina got violent at Zekk and Tahiri was forced to arrest her. Tonight, the broke-legged midget Jedi was released.]

cheevy.livejournal.com

If you happen to be listening in just the right frame of mind immediately preceeding this scene, you might hear an echo of a funny sort of universal tick-clack! This is the sound of a man’s destiny: karma, fate, grace, and good fortune congeal to form a rare agreement. You’ve just heard the vastness of quantum reality say, it’s time.

It sounds rather like a key turning in a door. Or perhaps, more precisely, The Right Key.

Which unlocks, quite naturally, The Right Door—that being, in this case, the door in the wall that leads everywhere and nowhere all at once. It opens with a creak and a bang to reveal He Who Returns Home With Groceries. His shoulder holds the door ajar. One hand fumbles to pocket the keys while another seeks with more practiced dexterity to unscrew the cap of a silver flask. One foot is planted, maintaining precarious balance, while the other hangs poised to nudge forward one shopping bag (plastic, non-color relating to brown, printed with an unreadable logo). A muttering-under-breath voice is just saying something about a parking ticket.

And then he looks up.

In the next few frozen seconds, his senses reorient themselves. Ears that had first filtered out aspects of ambience incompatible with the expectation of city traffic now recognize new patterns: clinking glasses, mingling voices, scrape of chair legs, and a fire’s roar. The unreliable and dull human sense of smell awakens to food, drink, froth of beer, musk of bodies, sharp smoke, soft sawdust, and a passing whif of a lady’s perfume. He feels the warmth of the place rolling over his camel coat, radiating against his bare, cold cheeks—pulsing, as heat does, in waves of drafts as if the bar were breathing; one brief exhale carries a scent of sausages so strong he can almost taste them.

His eyes—his eyes take longer to reach agreeable compromise between a state of mind accustomed to routine and the sudden necessity of deviation. It is darker inside than on the street—for as long as the period of half-blind readjustment lasts, he can almost pretend he is dreaming. But no dream is so short, no waking so sudden, and no make-believe so vivid as the shock of color and shape that greets him when the shadows lift. So clear—so deep!

His line of sight is redirected in a staggering rhyme scheme: back over his shoulder to the empty street, forth to the crowded tavern room, down to the flask only half unscrewed, up again into that rich incomprehensibility. One, two, three, two, A, B, C, B. The rafters above, the floor below—complimenting opposites cancel each other out—a rhyming couplet, D, D.

I wish you the key to free you from the cage
That is a life to times unsuited born.
The blessing that brought you, witness of the womb,
Was your damnation as a child of scorn.
Then take this grace: the world will set you free
That you may seek where you were meant to be.

All at once, the truth becomes plain: this is no dream; the world has let go of the soul so wrongly shackled to it.

“WELL IT’S ABOUT DAMN TIME!”

Should such an exclamatory remark happen to catch your attention and cause you to redirect your vision towards its source, you would see a young gentleman, of fair complexion and slight build, grinning a snarling, triumphant grin as he steps through the door: One foot over the grocery bags. The other. Swiveling on his heel to face the way he came. The flask parts his company in a fierce launch. The door slams violently, a force to shake the very foundation and rattle the young man’s bones. One arm up against it, an elbow supporting his weight (the door propped against his projectile’s vengeful return?), his forehead resting on his sleeve, he begins to laugh.He laughs and laughs, he turns to view the bar, leaning back against the door, he laughs until tears stream down his face. He slides down the smooth wood. He laughs.

And then he stops.

~~~

The groceries sit forgotten on their anonymous concrete stoop. There they would sit until the milk spoilt, the tangerines and onion grew hairy with mold, and the rain soaking through the Kraft Macaroni and Cheese reduced it to a shapeless mound of neon-cardboard-pasta. The city would take what the rats did not: Gnawed, torn, stained and stinking, and utterly, utterly empty, the last trace of Miniver would be a plastic shopping bag wrinkled in a gutter, half buried in leaf sludge. The rustle of traffic wind catching a corner would be his only prayer in requiem, but a fitting one. From now on, he meant no more to his world than his garbage. He had left one world to be scattered over the rest like stars across the sky, each pinprick a memory, each twinkle a dream.

Miniver had often wondered if tears really tasted of stars, or stars of tears.

~~~

The young man licks his salty lips and smiles: these were good stars. He pushes off the floor, dusts off his trousers, and walks towards the bar, his cheeks still glistening.

He doesn’t intend to ever look back. There, in his gutter-locked world, he won’t be missed—but maybe now he could believe in a somewhere not too far away where he would be wanted.

[ooc: Due to RL intervention relative to the playing of this puppet, this post is now assumed to have been made on January 10, 2007.]

abs-denham.livejournal.com

Mental health nurse wanders into the bar.

He gets a pint from the bar, and is surprised when he gets a note.

'Abs,
PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE GET YOURSELF OUT OF HERE. THERE IS A DEMON THAT MAKES YOU SING AND DANCE AND CATCH FIRE.
Guppy.'

He frowns, examining it. The handwriting is all over the place. He looks around for Guppy, then spots him and starts to head towards him.

But he finds himself migrating towards the piano. He sits down and stretches his fingers. Then he starts to sing.

( Rather badly... )

His face shows pure horror as soon as his mouth shuts, and he bolts out of the back door, hoping nobody was paying attention.

He leans against the wall and puts his head in his hands.

leftthecradle.livejournal.com

The Ranger looked up from his tea at a call that was silent to all but himself. Ship was calling. They were nearing their destination...and something was very wrong.

His eyes widened, then narrowed as he surged to his feet, knocking over his cup and sending his chair crashing to the floor. Waitrats scurried to get out of his way as he dashed for the Door. With a curse, he wrenched it open and all but dove through.

Tea dripped from his abandoned table to puddle on the floor.

holy-oats.livejournal.com

Mightily Oats comes downstairs, looking somewhat gloomy. He still hasn't found a way to pay off his tab.

At first, he doesn't notice the manic, chipper background music playing under him.

Not until it is TOO LATE.

( My God-friend Who Lives in Omnia )

[OOC: Please ping if you want to tag, as I am tired and needs my sleepses.]

mandercommander.livejournal.com

Bonzo is out back from the bar, meditating by the lake. It's his latest exercise from Dooku, who has been pushing him fairly hard as of late...which does, by the way, make Bonzo feel quite at home. Someone really should interrupt him, now, shouldn't they?