milliways_bar | Aug. 17th, 2006

Aug. 17th, 2006

[OOC: Meg drops by to borrow a cup of Indy's sugar, and receives an invitation. No euphemisms involved!]

[OOM: More Questions, More Answers, and A Not!Interrogation After Day Three of the Painting of Billy Batson's Apartment, Billy gets to meet Sam Carter, who is standing in for Cassie's mom. It goes well. Rated TM for Teenage Mushiness.]

tragic_mask

... and then, one night, it's simply there-- when it was least expected and she was half-asleep, hands stretched out across the table and glass empty.

The door is not dramatic. It doesn't even have light around the edges as a proper door should-- it's just there, silent and cold, with a threshold big enough to squeeze through.

Melpomene puts her coat on, silently, and wraps the scarf around her neck. She leaves a note--

( for anyone who cares )

-- and then she's gone, really gone, one foot through the doorway and not looking back.

fallen-april.livejournal.com

April inna bar, looking rather pleased with herself.

She's got a couple of full notebooks sitting next to her and is transferring the contents (her novel) onto the laptop in her lap.

She's been at this for a while - she'd welcome a distraction.

not-one-drop.livejournal.com

Reformed vampire inna bar.

Coffee.

Up for conversation.

...what, you expected more?

golden-acorns.livejournal.com

A tiny and very pregnant red-headed lady wanders in. She's leading a blond toddler by the hand and is accompanied by a young wolf. She settles them all by the fire and starts to knit. Come say hello!

arjiki-diamonds.livejournal.com

Fiyero is currently seated at the bar, thumbing through a book that he found in his room.

He's also having tea, as seems to have become the norm for his visits downstairs. He looks quite content at the moment, and some company might be appreciated.

bohemian-mark.livejournal.com

[OOM: Brother talk. Rated PG-13 for slightly (alright, perhaps more than slightly) dirty implications.]

Mark's in the bar, sitting at a table, drinking tea, and poking at some notes on a very stained and dog-eared script. The mun is quite uncreative. Bother at will.

milkbonesoldier.livejournal.com

Last night was not a good one, for no particular reason. The human subconscious is a nasty thing, prone to throwing stuff at the unsuspecting sleeper whether it has any relevance or not to the day just gone before. If Wells were a different sort of person he might be trying to figure out why he was saddled with such a nightmare, but he's not much good at that sort of introspection. He's just made his way out to behind the Bar instead, to where he's managed to rig up a heavy bag under one of the trees.

Whatever else might be going on in his head, beating the hell out of stuff generally makes him feel better.

fallen-april.livejournal.com

April is back down inna bar, after having a long shower and a nap which didn't do much good.

She's left the notebooks and laptop upstairs this time and looks... rather less happy than she did this morning. Or this week.

In fact, those who knew her back then would notice she looks about as heartbroken as she did when Roger left.

shadowsusannah.livejournal.com

[OOC: OOM:

White Plains, 1999: An uncertain present.]

petraarkanian.livejournal.com

Petra is still in her cell. Pacing this time. It seems she has met her limit for meditation, and needs to get out some of that traped energy.

prince-arithon.livejournal.com

Arithon's hair comes to the bottom of his ears. That's it. The entire braid has been cut off and he's got a short, easy to care for, modern (conservative modern) haircut.

Otherwise he looks exactly as normal. Boots and silks and a big sword, book in glyphs with a picture of Big Ben on it.

cywyllog

One year ago this evening, a timid Welsh princess walked intoa dream inside a dreama bar.

Not that Cywyllog is aware of this. The way time in her world and time in the bar work, and hardly ever coincide, she's lost track of how long it's been. So tonight is just another night, just another cup of tea, and just another few hours in her favourite chair.

krazyglusurgeon.livejournal.com

Cooper is in. Surprising, yes perhaps, but not exactly. It's another place to get a drink, and one where he knows that he won't be late afterwards no matter how long he spends, and as patrons go here, he's on the normal side of things (if you ignore his status as the lone human survivor of a werewolf attack) so he shouldn't cause anything resembling a buzz. He's got a pint of Guinness on the bar that he's working on and a sudoku puzzle that's seen better days.

Matt Truman of all people is also about, his head bowed over a booth table with a pen and parchment spread out in front of him. He's writing something, something important it seems, but he'll be happy to be disturbed. His mind's a little cloudy on the wording and he could use a distraction.

Garion of Riva is settled, as a wolf, by the fireplace. He's not sleeping but he is resting some. He would like some company, though anyone who flinches at the presence of a wolf--

Let us hope they like rutabaga, that's all.

And me? Sir Apropos of Nothing? Yes, I'd be the one telling you all of this and of course inviting you to bother them. Don't worry, I'll drop the omnipotent narrator hat off on my way out but I'm really just helping out, you see. Being a good neighbor, so to speak. I am soon to be a married man, after all, and a man does eventually have to settle down.

Like right now, I'm settling down for dinner by the Observation Window to indulge my daily craving for schadenfreude. That's not an invitation to speak to me, just so that you know, but you'll probably take it as such just to spite me.

Or not take it as such just to spite spiting me.

No, I don't know if that second to last word is a word. Look it up if you want to be so damned picky about it.

ofthisnonsense.livejournal.com

The front door opens, and Morwen enters the bar, for the first time in a while. She gets a glass of water from Bar, and then something - actually, someone - at a nearby table catches her eye.
It's a gamble, but she's never learned anything by not asking questions, so she goes over and says, "Young man, why are you wearing a skirt?"

And he looks up from the remains of his pasta, and grins, and says, "Why not?"

"...Well, I can't argue with that logic."

So: Two characters for the price of one, at a table. Bother as you will.

dragonvolunteer.livejournal.com

Cimorene wanders in from outside carrying her sword. And observant person might conclude that she's been exercising, and that person would, in fact, be correct. She's been working quite hard on the lessons Mendanbar gave her, and her swordwork really has improved over the last couple of months, if she does say so herself.

And so it is that this rosy-cheeked princess heads over to the bar to get a nice cold glass of cider.

guppy_sandhu

Guppy. Bar. Chocolate.

Minimalism.

highking.livejournal.com

Peter Pevensie enters the bar from the House of Arch, through the magical portrait on the wall. He gets dinner from the bar--a lamb chop and green beans--and sits down with it by one of the windows looking outside. It's really very fine out there, he thinks; maybe he'll take a walk or a ride after he eats.

[Please read.]

gil-whimple.livejournal.com

A faun trots through the bar, tray of tea, coffee, cookies etc on one arm. He disappears upstairs.

A few minutes he's back, still with the tray and trots out into the garden.

Back again, tray still on arm, he scowls round the bar and heads for the chair near the fireplace.

"No," he says to Everard, "I don't know where the little purple bugger is either," and he settles down to eat and drink the lot alone, if necessary.

shufti

Shufti is sitting by the fire, feeding Jack with a bottle.

And getting covered with the required amount of baby dribble, but hey, that's part of the job.

jack_f_twist

There's a cowboy over on the couch by the fire, looking like he's got a pretty peaceful, easy feeling.

He's also got a glass flask of whiskey, and it's lookin like he wouldn't be so adverse to sharing it, should some company head his way, but until then, he lights a cigarette and takes a deep pull, smiling into the fire at some thought just popped into his head.

Or one that'd been hangin' about his thoughts most of the day.

henry-jones-jr.livejournal.com

So last night, Indy made Meg an offer she couldn't refuse. The early part of this evening was therefore spent in intensive training—the art of alcohol has advanced a fair amount since Meg's day—but by the time Happy Hour rolls around, Indy feels confident enough in Meg's prowess that he sends her to change into her bartending outfit while he writes the specials up on the board:

DRINKS SPECIALS

French Monkey
Paris Paradise
Opera House Special

Once he's done, Indy looks impatiently in the direction of the stairs. Fortunately, Meg is well-practiced in the art of the quick change, and it's only another few seconds before she comes bouncing cheerfully back down the stairs. Indy gives her a grin and flings over a bar towel. "Okay. Open it up."

The miniskirted ballerina beams back and turns to the bar.

"Salut, everyone! What'll it be?"

last_adam

There's nothing like a good book in the evening, along with a drink.

Though Adam seems to be making funny faces at this one. The book, not the drink.

milkbonesoldier.livejournal.com

He hasn't gone home from earlier today. London's waiting out there, and he's got to work up the stomach for it. The moon's far enough behind him that he isn't too worried, but lately it seems like his native city grates on his nerves more and more.

So- Wells, still here in the Bar, having beaten the heavy bag enough that he figures he rates a nice pint of Bass.

spooky-shrink.livejournal.com

Dr. Malcolm Crowe comes down the stairs and walks over to the bar. He orders his usual Glenmorangie, and as it *bamph!*s onto the bar top in front of him, he slips off his watch and stares at it.

"The hell--? Where'd the last two weeks go?"

"Fucking Milliways."

He glances up again at Bar. "Uh. No offense."

Sighing, he slides onto one of the stools and takes a long drink. At the rate he's racking up Missing Time, he might as well move to Roswell. For a moment, Malcolm wonders what Agent K might have to say about that, then decides he'd really rather not know.

from-topside.livejournal.com

The door opens and a head pops through, looking back and forth. She seems satisfied, for whatever reason she might have been looking, and the door opens a little farther to show that baby in her arms. She tip toes in for a moment before dragging Richard and Joshua in behind her, closing the door with a kick before sprinting to the darkest corner of the room and settling in.

Family outing anyone?

kitchen_maid

It's been almost six weeks since she was last here, and they've been very lovely weeks indeed. She's getting comfortably settled into the palace in Ambergeldar, and not-quite-so comfortably settled into having to be a queen.

She's also been looking about the back of closets and cupboards when she can, and tonight she has found a door at the back of her wardrobe.

And so Amy, who is now the Queen of Ambergeldar, but still just Amy, is back, radiantly happy, and delighted to be here.

Come say hello.

angela-edmunds.livejournal.com

Angela is in
The bar for she is hungry
Come and bother her.

She may be worried
Her Dad and Grampa are lost
But she will not cry.

curlys-boy.livejournal.com

Kyle's sitting at a booth, a pad of paper in front of him and his fingers twirling a felt tip pen. In his pocket is his mp3 player, faint music can be heard coming from the wires attached to the buds in his ears. He and Warren had slipped into Milliways unnoticed earlier that evening. They'd wanted just a little relaxation and food, maybe to talk with a few friends.

Anyone who comes close to the booth will see the usually posh dressing man in denim jeans and a tight fitting white t-shirt. Anyone watching could see that his lips are moving when he jots things down on the pad. Anyone who's close enough to listen, can hear him singing softly. His isn't a world famous voice, but it won't make your ears bleed.

Warren's around somewhere getting them dinner. Come and say hi. They don't bite, honestly. Alright, Warren does, but that's only three days out of the month.

jackdriscoll.livejournal.com

A tall, skinny-looking man in a 1930's suit enters the bar with a surly expression. Those who know or have seen Jack Driscoll will find nothing noteworthy about this. He claims a table and, hailing a wait rat, orders a cup of coffee with a bit more cream and sugar than his gal is used to getting. When he receives said coffee, he sets it on the table top and--well, he just stares at it, arms placed limply across the table, eyelids drooped, appearing to be on the verge of planting his face in the cup.

[ as of 10:28 EST, here for a couple of hours, then I'm hitting the hay. I'll be here all day tomorrow and into the early afternoon on Saturday to pick up any slowtimes! ]

Current Mood: tired

river_meimei

River has a stiff, double-sided sheet of digital paper clutched in one hand when she enters the bar. One side has a swooping full-motion advertisement for Bentley Aeronautics' latest short-range shuttle; the other side has a tangled diagram in six colors superimposed on a picture of a test-tube full of silvery liquid, and the legend PHYSICS MONTHLY in bright red. Her hand is currently covering the small touchscreen buttons that allow the reader to flip pages, rotate diagrams, and the like.

This issue of the journal is a few weeks old. That's a hazard of having to wait for mail pickups.

After stopping by Happy Hour, River carries her drink and her magazine over to a table, and settles in.