milliways_bar | Oct. 12th, 2006

Oct. 12th, 2006

[It's hard to decide what to stay for, what's worth it, and what you'll have to pay, but having the chance to talk together makes things a little easier, mayhap.

The best stories never end after the telling is complete. And when there's a cost, you learn to count it.

But there is a price to pay, and sometimes it leaves its mark before being known in full.

But sometimes it's worth it, anyway.]

a_poor_guardian

[Two OOMs:

On his first night at Milliways, Archibald Craven encountered the Delicate Flowers.

Tonight, after speaking to Gabriel Tam about parenting and damnation, Archibald went for a night walk in the woods and heard a voice he did not expect to hear again.]

gondolin-noble.livejournal.com

Even now that Sauron is dead and gone, his creations... and his master's still roam Middle Earth. Glorfindel, travelling on the Redhorn pass, has evidently found this out the hard way.

The door opens to a mountain vista, the sun staining the sky red and highlighting the tall dark peaks. It would be beautiful... except for the sounds. Rough, growling, gutteral voices snarling curses in a dark tongue, the crash of metal on metal, cries of pain - and rising above it now and again, the defiant (and sometimes triumphant) shouts of a voice much clearer, in a much fairer tongue.

Then a golden-haired elf backs into view, his bright sword forcing away all comers, his grey cloak and light garments stained with blood, and he holds there... until a battle axe comes crashing towards his head. He leaps aside, thinking to throw himself against the rock face to avoid being chopped in two, but instead falls through the door into Milliways. Thinking fast, he kicks the door closed after himself, locking his pursuers out.

Well.

Here he is.

dontlooklisten.livejournal.com

There's a table by the fire that's been in use since something like lunchtime today. It doesn't show any sign of being vacated any time soon, because Whistler's in the process of assembling something small and highly electronic.

You have not truly seen care and precision in electronic handiwork until you have seen Whistler use a soldering tool. Even if it is a model from more than ten years after his time, with a minimum of excess heat or solder spill-over.

Given that he's surrounded by a fair number of other similarly-sized devices- mostly very small audio speakers- there's a good chance that he's been at this too long for his own good and might need to be reminded of the time. It is suggested that you make some noise during your approach if this is the case. He doesn't startle well.

wolfskincoat.livejournal.com

[Prince Charming's grown up, but has only got worse.
An OOM, of sorts. Clare helped with the verse.]

gone_byebye

[OOM: At the home of the screaming burrito, Ray has a few words with Detective Chen.]

Ray enters the Bar and heads straight for the bulletin board, where he tacks up the following notice:

Will anyone who has knowledge of:

- the New York City waterfront on the Long Island side
- the Fort Greene area of Brooklyn
- the British prison ships anchored in Wallabout Bay during the American Revolutionary War (the HMS Jersey in particular), or
- the invocation of the Afro-Caribbean deities most commonly known as the Gede family, Baron Samedi in particular

please contact Ray Stantz as soon as possible? Thank you.

That done, he orders his usual green stuff and heads for a seat.

astral-brat.livejournal.com

[oom: sometimes you're still a kid playing at being a jedi ... and sometimes, you're not. Rated C for Kriffin' Corellians, N for Not'droids, and A for ANGST.]

There's a noise, at the ceiling. Probably a familiar noise, to a lot of people; a very unique buzz, wavering as the blade causing it cuts through something.

Then there's a hole in the ceiling, just for a moment, just long enough for a teenage boy to clamber through to sit on the rafters -- and be rather shocked to find himself here, at the end of the universe, and not in a room on a space station by Corellia.

But the shock fades into relief, through his tears, and he shuts off his lightsaber, hooks it back onto his belt -- and stays there. He sits on one of the rafters, back against a support with one knee drawn up to his chest, as curled up into his bundle of cloak, tunic and bag as he can be.

He can't quite do that trick of shutting himself off in the Force anymore, not in this state; he's broadcasting quite loudly.

He doesn't care.

[open for tags all day plz; if i'm afk, i will pick it up. thank you. ♥ (eta [12.30pm]: going into city! will return on wireless in an hour, hopefully.)]

valdemars-mage.livejournal.com

Elspeth follows Serena up to the Libary. She keeps her hands clasped behind her, not toutching anything. Better to be safe rather than sorry.

Current Location: OOM: The Library

fallen-april.livejournal.com

April inna booth.

She's bundled up but shivering a little, and coughing.

She's also in denial about the fact that she's getting sick.

Come talk to her.

[Yes, she caught the flu from Mark. But, obviously, your pup only has to get it from her if you want them to. ^_^]

destruction1_0

[Some things have to be processed.

Today is a benchmark in the process for Suzi Darley.

When you are the process...some things you notice, is all.]

thea-lilitu.livejournal.com

A screech owl blew in the door with a whistle of confused indignation, stubby wings flapping madly. Hey! What the--oh, for feck's sake, this is completely undignified! One minute she'd been emerging from a mirror in Tel Aviv to talk to some of her descendants, and the next...insta-dust-storm, blinding winds, complete disorientation...and here.

The little ball of brown feathers landed on the floor and dissolved into a small cloud of golden light, then spread out and coalesced as a buxom, olive-skinned woman in a scarlet-and-gold silk gown. She straightened, ran a hand back through her wild red hair and looked around, the white tattoos of wings on her back gleaming.

"Ooooo-kay. This is...new...."

sime-channel.livejournal.com

( Fourteen days )

As soon as she woke up she slipped downstairs, to see if the door was back. If she were home, Suzi would be getting Transfer today. If she were home, she'd have gotten at least a little Transfer nearly every day because she'd then give it as well.

This isn't home. The door isn't there.

night-hibiscus.livejournal.com

[OOC: Just after this.]

Doors have brought Yuna unexpectedly to Milliways repeatedly over the last few days (longer, in bar-time); today, when she comes here instead of the lodge in Kilika, she looks more displeased with the abduction than she has in the past. Biting her lip, she hurries through the bar proper and vanishes out the back door.

It's some time later when she comes back in; her hair is damp and she's shivering a little. A cup of hot tea by the fireside seems like the prescription for that.

She's solemn and distracted--a long way from cheerful--but not visibly unhappy.

[Both the OOM out back and this post are open for tagging.]

makesfiends.livejournal.com

For anyone who missed her delightful company when she arrived yesterday, now is your chance.

The contrary green, Bulgarian sounding, girl is sitting at the bar today, mixing several ingredients in a large bowl. The soft gooey substance is currently a bright fuchsia colour, and seems to be slowly thickening.

After a few minutes stirring Vendetta stops, peers behind the bar, but seeing no one to take her order, she waves her arms about - shouting, "I -demand CLAMS! Right now!"

Pinkish goop goes flying.

"And grape punch!" she adds in a similarly clamorous tone.

Bar's probably heard the order, but there may be other useful information she could stand to learn. The rules, for example.

lvpd_sidle

Sara comes downstairs, going over to Bar.

After acquiring coffee and a bowl of vegetable soup, she finds a seat near an observation window.

amanda-darieux.livejournal.com

Sitting by the observation is an immortal. SMmling. Her mood has improved and now she is getting alittle bored. The other day she had a chase with a wraith and it got her juices going. Remembering the thrill of the hunt. And the peace of the calm before the a hiest. Her memories churn in her mind and she looses her self in the ending universes.

She has a green drink whose name is alien, perhaps because she first tried it on another planet with an alien.

unwraith.livejournal.com

Michael's decided, after some thought, to attempt a short trip out of the Bar and return. See if he can come and go deliberately, now that he knows the place is here. He's not sure how this works; figures it's worth a try. He has some 'tall thinking' to do, and unfinished business on the other side.

He considers trying to get his gun back from the Security personnel, and decides to let it wait. Sharpe had struck him as a tough but fair man,but he'd as soon not press his luck.

Finishing a cup of coffee, he walks to the door he entered by.

hearthethoughts.livejournal.com

Once upon a time there was this cop see. Ended up finding this bar? Met all sorts of crazy people?

Currently trying to leave?

The door opened a few hours ago.

Okay, so he hasn't tried. So he's got a chicken sandwich and an order of Chili Fries. ~~that he shouldn't be eating~~. So bar tried to provide him with reading material and failed abysmally.

Let's make this simple.

Cop in the bar trying that whole "Blocking External thoughts" thing. It's not working very well. He's had to move a couple of times to a place outta the way from the general populace, but he moved back. He's a social guy.

He'll probably share those fries nicely if you ask.

wolfskincoat.livejournal.com

[OOM: Red goes to the forest that imprisons the maid,
And decides for this job, she could do with some aid]

Her boots are low heeled and sensible, and her demeanour all professional. From the dark green combat pants that hug her elegant form, and the halter-neck under the wolf coat, to the red rabbit skin driving glvoes and hat that come off as she enters the bar, she looks more like a working woman than she usally does when coming here.

She pauses by the door, scanning the bar for someone, or something, but doesn't wait long, retring to the bar where she orders a plain Martini.

Apparently, she has time.

grumpywordsmith.livejournal.com

The Front Door opens to allow a small rubber ball to come bouncing into the bar.

"Sam!"

"Sam! Do I have to do everything around here?"

Moments later, a grumbling White House Director of Communications comes into the bar. Not that he's noticed--he's too absorbed in scowling at the sheaf of papers he has in his hand. He reaches down automatically for the ball, which has come to rest against a chair leg, and only as he rises back up does he notice where he is. Just in time to hear the Door slam shut behind him.

"Not again!"

dragonofgrey.livejournal.com

There was a wizard emerging through the painting of the dogs to enter the Bar. He was dressed in his Persian-styled wizard robes again. He ordered some dinner, and found a quiet booth toward the back of the bar. Sharp eyes might notice his drink of choice was not tea, or a wizard drink, but a glass of lemonade. There was a pitcher of the same by him as well. He was casually observing the goings-on about the place. Been a lot of new people of late.

He's a git, but open to distractions. Depending on who you are, of course. ;) Annoy him anyway.

bothbutneither.livejournal.com

Sometimes, dark corners are good, and even though he's usually attracted to the light and bright, tonight's a night to play saxophone softly in a dark corner. It can be done, after all, without attracting too much attention. A lot of the music he writes and plays is quiet.

Right now, it's not one of his own compositions. It's a Charlie Parker song called Lover Man.

But he plays it softly, as if it's for a private audience. As if he doesn't want to call attention to himself.

As if he almost doesn't want to be heard.

On the table by his side are a cup of cold tea and a plate of wheat crackers and a tall glass of vodka and a sheath of sheet music and a pencil and a pencil sharpener and a box of reeds. It looks like he might be there a while.

Gren's eyes are closed.

aveb-feline.livejournal.com

There is a Mimi in the bar, stretching.

Her ankle is propped on the top of her booth, and her other leg is on the table part.

It's good to be bendy.

(It makes Roger happy, at least.)

e_delmar

[OOMs: On Shadow, Ennis has some more visitors. Some of 'em been around a while, and others not for so long, but helpful all the same. And sometimes it's good to see a face you ain't seen in a while.

Then again, some faces ain't goin' nowhere.]

his-fathers-sin.livejournal.com

There's always a lot of things you want to say.

There's a lot you want to do, too, but in the end most of what you can is help Wakka and the other Aurochs work and clean up.

And think about dancing and pyreflies, which is most of what Tidus has been doing, before he headed towards the inn.

Except--

He sighs, as the door closes behind him, and rubs the back of his neck.

"Here again, huh."

fiveroundsrapid.livejournal.com

It's over. The whole blasted mess is over. Time to gather his wits and sit down and compose that-

-this is not the appropriate place to compile a report back to UNIT headquarters.

The Brigadier does his level best not to swear too loudly before making his way to the Bar. Just about now he could use something to drink, regardless of how he feels about being here.

vaapadmaster.livejournal.com

Jedi Master at the bar, with a book and tea.

Minimalist, yes.

heroiccharacter.livejournal.com

Silverbolt...really isn't sure what to make of it when he finds a bar in place of his quarters once again. After all, the last time he was here, he left in considerably worse shape than he came in. And it isn't as if the attempt to explain what had happened had gone over very well with Optimus, either.

But curiosity finally gets the better of the fuzor, and a moment after he pokes his head in, he steps into the bar, looking around to see who might also be still a little bewildered by the whole thing...and also keeping an optic out for pterodactyls.

fighting_mad

[OOM: After getting too close to an ill Mark Cohen, Plourr is struck down by the flu. Crankiness and a long-suffering husband ensue.]

twiststheblade

Note for Goldilocks and Lilly Kane:

Darlings,

Red has stolen me to take care of some troublesome weeds. Shouldn't be gone long enough for either of you to miss me, but if anything goes wrong I might be a while. Back soon.

Miho

guppy_sandhu

Guppy is sitting in a booth by the infirmary, mentally noting a suspicious increase in general coughing.

And then, because it seems like it might be a good time, gets his sign out of his pocket and puts it up.

The doctor is in

shortofcrazy

[After this:]

Riley is sitting on the floor in Milliways.

Huh.

He's not quite sure when or why or how that happened, but here he is.

He glances back over his shoulder to be sure that the door is there. (It is.)

"That was sneaky," he says disapprovingly, getting up and brushing off his jeans. Still, as long as he's here ... He makes his way to the bar.

bannion_sight

By now, she's discovered that although her dreams may be somewhat more intense here, she still can't make herself see what it is that she needs to see, or learn what it is that she needs to learn.

No matter how much she sleeps, or how long she spends in her room staring at the ceiling.

There's only so long she can manage to try at any one time, though, and so tonight she's come downstairs into the common room to spend the evening.

Frazzled or not, Kim's smiling as she takes a seat. It's nice to be around people.

nodistresshere

Iella walks in the door tonight-- and stops short. She is wearing a form-fitting (but modest) knee-length dress that ranges in color from red to orange-gold depending on the angle that it's viewed from, her blonde hair left to fall softly across her shoulders.

She blinks once at Milliways, then smiles. The door just saved her from a hideously dull conversation with an Adumarian Minister of Finance, and before she goes back to that, she deserves a drink, she thinks.

She walks to the bar, heels clicking quietly on the floor, and when she moves, the dress' colors ripple like flame.

talkstohats

The door to the bar opens.

Through it skids a stool, on which is slumped a motionless wizard, clad only in a bath towel and covered with truly incredible amounts of green slime. A cloudly, shadowy creature hovers to one side, occasionally emitting howling shrieks of pain and terror.

On the bright side, the hair of the wizard is currently a very pretty shade of pale reddish-pink.

The stool trails slime behind it, and the little old lady, resolutely pushing the stool, is also becoming rapidly covered in slime. She doesn't look particularly pleased about it.

Behind them, one can briefly glimpse a boy frantically sweeping up more slime before the door slams shut behind them.

blue-star-badge.livejournal.com

Adric padded out of the kitchen, drying his hands on his apron, he smiled a moment later, padding to his usual seat at the end of the Bar for a late dinner, tugging out a tablet and a pen from his apron pocket, working on pinning down block transfer computations again, still just to see if he could. Go ahead and distract him, it'll prove him right.

~*~*~*~

Over in what had become his usual booth was Remy, playing a game of solitaire, his own dinner long since finished, though he was sipping at a mug of coffee still, and mostly the card game was to distract his brain enough that he could come to a few decisions while it was otherwise occupied, he'd welcome a better distraction than the game however.

~*~*~*~

Off at one of the small tables was a young man in black, wearing a simple enough mask. He was carefully stitching a narrow cut down one arm, apparently using the Bar as a respite from whatever fight he'd been in previously.

~*~*~*~

Last but not least, someone's little old grandmother was sitting over near the fire, humming to herself while she spun, using a drop-spindle and alternating wool and finely ground cornmeal to get the colors she wanted in the yarn.

curlys-boy.livejournal.com

Kyle's at a booth reading a book. There's no telling what the book is, because he's got it covered in brown paper. There's a mug of hot cocoa and a cheese danish on the table in front of him. He's got one ear open to anyone who wants to jabber, and the other's got an ear bud in it.

Come make his acquaintance if you don't know him. Come say hi if you do.

kurosakiboy.livejournal.com

Day and night have started to blur together for Ichigo. It happens, he supposes, when all your time is spent indoors, underground, away from the sun and the moon and people. People that don't spend their days beating you up, anyways. He misses those kinds of people sometimes, but it's worth it. Besides, he has this place for that.

Pushing open the door, the Shinigami glances over his shoulder to make sure nobody in the cruddy cave is watching him. Satisfied that he's in the clear, he lets it swing shut behind him - listening for the little click, just to be sure - before he makes his way over to the bar.

It's actually refreshing to be around so many new faces, so many people he doesn't know, probably never will. Seeing the same eight faces time and again, day after day, gets dull fast, especially when you don't particularly like any of them. So many strangers and so many strange people all around him is suddenly seeming like a good thing.

river_meimei

The days are getting shorter, and colder. It's well into autumn now, and before too long it'll be too chilly to be comfortable without heavy jackets and boots.

Maybe that's why River's meandering along the lakeshore now, a flame-red maple leaf in one hand.

She'll go in later, and have cider by the fire, and warm up. Even with boots and one of Simon's old sweaters, her fingers are chilly. But not just yet.

stilljustandrew

[OOM, last night: It's been a year.]

e_delmar

[OOMs: The more visitors the merrier, really.

Especially when they're the kind you don't need to talk to toget things across.]

a_poor_guardian

[Millitimed to this morning.]

When at last Archibald wakes up, the early sunlight stretches in golden beams across the Milliways grounds. He’s lying under an apple tree, in front of the greenhouse door. Archibald supposes he’s been sleeping there all night, but he’s in no pain, and his shoulders are only a bit stiff. He pushes himself up to a sitting position and stretches.

Archibald hasn’t forgotten the things Gabriel Tam said to him last night. He hasn’t forgotten his dream either, although he doesn’t understand it. “In the garden!” said Lilias, but the garden door is locked, and the key buried deep. Archibald ponders what Lilias can have meant. He isn’t worried or afraid; a strange calm has fallen over him, like the stillness he felt in the valley in Austria.

It’s time to go home, and Archibald Craven doesn’t fear the prospect.

Archibald goes to his rooms to collect his things. When he stops at the Bar to pay his tab, a letter materializes on the mahogany surface. He unfolds it, hands tightening on the cheap paper as he reads.

Please, sir, I would come home if I was you. I think you would be glad to come and--if you will excuse me, sir--I think your lady would ask you to come if she was here.

Archibald wonders whether something is the matter with Mary. Does she need more guidance, someone else to look after her? Is she ill, perhaps? Or, worse, has something happened to Colin? Colin could be dying; he has been on the point of it many times.

Ordinarily, Archibald would fall into dark thoughts again now. Somehow, today, with sunlight still streaming through the windows from the lakeside, he cannot believe that anything is really wrong. He lifts his knapsack, smiling for no reason at all. As Archibald walks back to Italy through the front door, his mind is full of Lily’s voice: Archie! In the garden!

3rdtimelucky.livejournal.com

One non-blonde Fable enters through the back door.

It's raining again, you see. And though Gore-Tex® keeps such precipitation from soaking one's top and most of one's cargo pants, one's stubborn refusal to wear a hood or a hat tends to lead to wet hair, with all the temporary shade deepening that results from such.

So, with her name far from descriptive at the current juncture, Goldy closes the door to the dank twilight, wipes her feet, un-shoulders her rifle, sheds her jacket, and heads over to the bar. A bar towel is the first thing she procures, in order to curtail the dripping from said dark locks. As much as she loathes unexpected hair drenchings, this one was entirely voluntary, hence her unfazed disposition.

Next, she orders a bowl of baked potato soup and a beer, and deposits herself at a table in order to enjoy them.

bev-marsh.livejournal.com

Beverly is seated on the floor near the fire, one leg stetched out, the other drawn up with her arm around it and her chin resting on her knee.

She's looked happier.