milliways_bar | Nov. 30th, 2006

Nov. 30th, 2006

bev-marsh.livejournal.com

The first few days after the house, the hard thing to do was go home. Bev had come to Milliways from the Community Center, after sunset, and every time she thought about walking back home through the dark and the cold...

She finally had, though. And once she was home, the hard thing to do was come back.

She still seems a bit wary as she sits near the fire with cocoa. Just don't try and get her through any doors unless the space beyond is brightly lit and preferably familiar.

the-woodpecker.livejournal.com

[ooc: A Problematic Afternoon.]

simon_doctor

Simon Tam is in the bar.
Dreaming involves an involuntary conjuring up of images in a sequence in which the sleeper/dreamer is usually more a participant than an observer.
He's sitting on a couch near the fire, staring moodily into the flames. Rubbing his forehead from time to time, in an attempt to banish an incipient headache. He didn't sleep too well last night. Or the night before. Not that he exactly expected to.
Most scientists agree that dreaming is stimulated by the pons and occurs during the REM phase of sleep.
No nightmares, though; there's that, at least.
Many functions have been hypothesized for dreaming. Freud postulated that dreams are the symbolic expression of frustrated desires that had been relegated to the subconscious. Scientists today place more emphasis on dreaming as a requirement for organization and consolidation of recent memory and experience.
Kaylee is outside, in the woods. Where Nyarlathotep is.
Hobson and McCarley's activation synthesis theory proposes that dreams are caused by random firings of neurons in the cerebral cortex during the REM period.
Where he's promised not to go.
According to the theory, the forebrain then creates a story in an attempt to reconcile and make sense of the nonsensical sensory information presented to it, hence the odd nature of many dreams.
But he's going to be here, at Milliways, within earshot of the back door. In case something happens. In case of that one chance in a thousand that whatever the something is will be something he can do anything about.
Random firing of neurons in the brain sends signals to the body's motor systems, but because of a paralysis that occurs during REM sleep, the brain is faced with a paradox. It synthesizes a narrative by drawing on memory systems in an attempt to make sense of what it has experienced.
Come talk to him. He could really use a distraction.

sgvy-yuuki.livejournal.com

There is a girl sitting by the observation window.

Oh, yes, very absorbed by the End. But staring at Final Entropy might be unhealthy.

Care to distract her?

dragon_twin

Melou isn't exactly sure when he was last here, but whenever it was, he was in a far worse mood than he's in now.

Whatever is mood, his behaviour is rather predictible: he orders a drink and claims a couch, stretching out along it. He deserves a break.

river_meimei

River is tucked under a booth, legs crossed and elbows resting on the floor. There's a notebook in front of her, and a handful of colored pens. She's scribbling in a tangled mixture of Chinese and English and diagrams; she never manages to fill a page before she slashes the work out with a frustrated jerk of the pen, and turns angrily to a new page.

She's been through a number of pages by now, apparently to no avail.

[OOC: Sorry for earlier post-and-delete -- mun was called away from the computer right after posting. Back now, though. :)]

neverswimalone.livejournal.com

People just kind of show up in Milliways.

All sorts of people. All sorts of critters and fantastical animals. There are unicorns and dragons (well maybe not) and bugs and people from wizarding worlds.

It's a nice little home away from home. A hidey-Hole if you will.

It's about to go crazy.

The Door....Blows open. Observers might glimpse an artic wonderland.

And where one might expect a buff man wielding a weapon, or even a woman, there are...

Penguins.

Four of them to be exact.

"...Evasive Manuevers boys!" The first penguin drops to his feet in a defensive gesture, "Kowalski!"

The Tallest penguin waves his flippers, "...No Sign of the Keeper chief!"

Skipper paused, "...Cute and Cuddly boys! Cute and Cuddly!"

So...While there's a door that's hanging open there are five penguins dancing about.

You know you want to welcome them to Milliways.

prydeful

[OOM: And it all goes slow.]

dexter-morgan.livejournal.com

Dexter whistles absently as he pulls off his gloves and blood-soaked apron and looks carefully around the room. Everything is clean, or as clean as it had been when he'd arrived. There are no errant splatters of blood on the floor or the walls, there are no marks left from where he had taped down the plastic sheeting and rubber tarp, the tools of his trade are sterilized with ammonia and packed neatly away, and all that was left of Daniel Sanchez is piled into three carefully-sealed black hefty bags.

Satisfied that he'll be leaving no trace, Dexter shoves the gloves, apron, and other disposable items into a fourth bag, which would be burned after he was finished burying the body. He would only needed two trips to the car to load the heavy bags in the trunk. He was used to it now, and they were no longer as cumbersome as they had been when he'd first started out. A short drive, a little playing in the dirt, and he'd be ready to head home and call it a night. Maybe he'd give Rita a call, and he'd head over to her place to eat junk food and watch TV.

Grabbing the bags, he heads out the door...and suddenly catches himself in mid stumble. Shaking off his disorientation, he finds himself standing in the doorway of what is obviously an unfamiliar bar, his hefty bags nowhere in sight.

Dexter blinks owlishly and carefully looks around. For someone who has just found himself in a place he hadn't previously been, he isn't terribly concerned, though he is terribly confused. "Ohh...kay. Is this the part where I tell Toto we're not in Miami anymore?"

He is uncomfortably aware that there are still splatters of blood on his shirt, which he hasn't yet had a chance to clean. He figures maybe he can pass it off as a fashion statement...

just_the_doctor

[OOM: After getting a call from Mickey on Rose's cell phone, the Doctor and she return to Earth to investigate some strangeness surrounding a high school. They both find more than they bargained on. Spoilers for "School Reunion".]

sime-channel.livejournal.com

The octopods are done, too. They jingle when shaken, but otherwise are pretty close to featureless. So her needles are stuck through balls of yarn and she's flipping through pattern books to find something close enough to beak-warmers that she can modify. For the first time in days her thoughts are less related to the speed Earth orbits the sun than to happy thoughts. Specifically: eeeee penguins inna bar.

homo-bernardus.livejournal.com

Bernard Black walks into the door of his local pub. Then he remembers the bit about opening the door and staggers through through the doorway. Luckily he didn't feel his head hitting the door because he's rather drunk - but then, no drunker than usual. The pub looks a bit different and the other patrons look a bit stranger than usual - although strange is relative when you have Manny for an assistant/servant/housepet - but Bernard has had a full day of ignoring customers, making Manny scrub the hermit crabs out of the pipes, and drinking the customary hourly bottle of wine, so even the razzle-dazzle of a restaurant at the end of the universe fails to make much of an impact. Or any impact at all.

"Oh, you've done the place up?" Bernard, apparently talking to whathisname who runs the local, gestures at the completely unfamiliar decor with his half empty wine glass. No, now three-quarters empty, and there's a brand new puddle of very cheap wine on the floor. "I don't know, though, I don't know. It won't last. Before you know it someone'll have thrown up guinness all over the carpet and I for one shan't be putting up with that kind of thing. It's unhygienic. Next, next thing there'll be cockroaches and stockbrokers nesting in the walls!"

Ah, there's nothing like the wine-fueled ravings of a reclusive Irishman to give a pub the proper atmosphere. Entirely unaware that he's no longer on the right planet, let alone in London, Bernard sits on a stool at the bar, only by chance and the kind will of gravity not ending up on the floor instead. He's listing to the right a bit.

"Guinnness. And quick! The wine's aftertaste is kicking in and I think." He makes a face. "I think my tongue's starting to melt."

perfectblue.livejournal.com

[OOM: In the aftermath of battle, a faint echo of grace can be found.]

killitwithfire

Axel has to hand it to the girl - she's got nerve. But now that he's tracked her to Twilight Town, it'll be easier to catch her. There are plenty of new Nobodies here, those who haven't been found by the Organization yet, and so have no reason to think him a traitor.

One of them has reported spotting her, so he's heading that way; he doesn't trust his temporary minions enough to capture her for him. She knows what the dark paths look like now, and Axel knows that she'd just run if she saw them open up nearby, so he's decided to go to her the old-fashioned way - through the door.

Only, instead of the shop he'd been expecting, he steps through into a bar.

"Hello." A glance behind him shows the street behind him still, the one passerby frozen midstep. "...Luxord? Xigbar?" he asks the air warily. They're the only explanation he can think of for time and space not behaving themselves.

waylostandfound.livejournal.com

Peter wasn't the only Petrelli to be a bit distracted. Nathan left his brother with their mom while he started making phone calls on his way back to his campaign office. He was still talking on his cellphone as he walked through the door.

"Look, get me Tom on the phone, will ya? ...Hello? Hello?" He stared at his cellphone. Damn, he shouldn't have lost the signal. He then glanced up, only instead of the familiar hustle and bustle of a frantic campaign office going into the last stretch....It was a bar? What the hell?

Nathan took a few steps further in, not realizing the door closing smoothly behind him. Must have gotten turned around or something.

(ooc: ~~much love folks, but gotta say slowtime for work and class. Will be back to tag slowtimes after 4:30pEST. Never mind on the work! Yay! Here till 3pmEST.~~ BACK! Feel free to send more pups to meet my newest one.)

alorn-bear.livejournal.com

There's a tuneless, enthusiastic whistling drifting through the Bar, and its source is the tall blond man in dark blue clothes. Any aficionado of the winter sports available in the Pacific Northwest in the early twenty-first century would probably recognize the getup, if not the brands; most of the logos appear to have been replaced with stylized images of bears. The whistling man taps the Bar twice, and grins broadly when he gets a huge steaming mug of something. One more pat of gratitude and he's off to his table, where he erects a stand-up sign:

ANSWERING PRAYERS
BACK IN 15 MINUTES

... and sits back in his chair, eyes shut, fingers steepled.

The number on the sign decrements appropriately every fifteen seconds or so.

gone_byebye

Back home there's everyday work (if dealing with possessed cinnamon buns and haunted highway overpasses- don't ask, but you really shouldn't take the BQE across the Gowanus for a while just to be on the safe side- can ever be called everyday), and an overenthusiastic ghost, and an angry sister. This is not very appealing to Ray right now. There's also his daughter, but she's a big girl. She can take care of herself for the handful of picoseconds between Ray heading for Milliways and Ray returning, Ray figures, much as he misses her while he's here. Right now he just doesn't want to deal with everything else back home. That'll happen soon enough.

So for the moment, he's reading a copy of the New York Daily News. There's a two-page spread on the city's proposed new disaster response plan. The police and firefighters' unions' response to the suggestion that special units be set aside specifically for the 'undefined phenomena' category of disaster is absolutely fascinating.

etananesoe.livejournal.com

The woods are not safe. Even if you are the strongest of the strong, the woods are not safe. There are areas where the demon bunnies shy from, places where the Tofu Beast will not stride, grottoes which turn the nose of any preternatural being which happens on them.

The woods are not safe. Things walk in the dark depths which are not meant to come near the light, back where the trees become the dream of trees, the dreams of trees. The ground shakes under the feet of ancient dreams of beings gone before man opened his eyes.

The woods are not safe. If you walk deep enough into them you are in the Dreaming, and the subconscious of man is not a safe place to be. Not only Man populated the beings which dwell in the Dreaming, not only his fears stalk the darkness.

The woods are not safe. Daniel is not here. Morpheus is not kind, although he attempts not to be cruel. Nyarlathotep wishes to understand.

The woods are not safe. But sometimes safety is not an option.

scrmifthishurts

She didn't know why she hadn't gone home. It wasn't like she was stuck in the bar. She'd told Suzi that she could see the door. And she could. So by what she'd been told she wasn't bound to this place. But something had kept her from going home. Back to Hannibal King. The only male that she did trust nowadays. The only guy to back her up when her life was in danger. The day before this she'd asked the Bar for a room key and had gotten it, slept in that room... or at least had tried to anyways. Now though she's back downstairs and laying out on the couch. Though she's not entirely with it and she's staring off into space.

Distractions would be good. Before she ends up just taking everything she's been bottling up inside and breaks down.

pirate_jack

It's cold, and wet, and there's only so long a man can stay cooped up in a cabin or roam the lower decks of a ship before he gets restless.

Not that Jack Sparrow hasn't been growing restless for some time, really.

And so, when he comes in through the lake door, there's a grim look about him--

--until he sees the newcomer.

In an instant, Jack's grinning with wicked anticipation. Claiming two bottles of rum from Bar, he saunters over.

captainryan.livejournal.com

The door opens and a man appears wearing unmarked black B.D.U.’s and combat boots. His hand immediately flies to his forehead where a sharp pain is quickly fading along with a duller pain in his chest.

Isn’t he dead?

His memories of the past few hours are fuzzy at best, but the fight with Cooper, and the end result, are some of the clearer bits. He is definitely dead, then. He takes a good look around at his surroundings. Apparently the afterlife is a bar. It’s certainly better than some of the alternatives.

Captain Richard Ryan is in the bar looking ~~just a little lost~~ alert.

OOC:I apologize for slowtimes, but back now and will be here all night. Feel free to say hi!

new-moon-sucks.livejournal.com

He has had more than enough of scowling down at the well. Kagome was more than a day late and that meant he'd have to go drag her ass out of that school thing or whatever and make here come back where she belonged. After all, there were shards to find, Naraku to track down and wipe off the face of the planet, and generally a bunch of things eternally more important than whatever that "school" thing was.

Only, jumping down the well suddenly had him suddenly smacking into a door and literally breaking through it, rolling to a stop on his face and stomach inside of the bar. One cursory sniff and twitch of the ears let him know that he sure as hell wasn't in Kagome's era. Pushing himself to his feet, the irritated and now confused Inuyasha had his hand ready to draw the rather beaten looking sword from the black scabbard at his side and was looking around.

Ladies and gentlemen and all of the above, there is a hanyou inna bar.

dr_temperance

Dr. Temperance Brennan is working in the bar, as usual. No bones today, though. And no case files. Just a laptop on which she's typing out some notes for a new book.

It seems like she's just handed in the draft of her second novel to her publisher, but another idea came to her while she was preparing case notes this morning. The advantage to writing murder mysteries that center around forensic anthropology is that Brennan always has plenty of material available.

Hodgins, one of her coworkers, says that he can tell when she's writing a book because she looks like she just stuck a fork in a toaster. Care to cast a vote?

touch-destiny.livejournal.com

The thing about opening a door, even if you close it very quickly behind you, is that you never quite know who––or what––is going to take the invitation and follow you through.

This door in particular opens into a flickering light like hundreds of fireflies; solemn white mis-matched candles are on every surface and in each window, and every one of them is lit. There might be dozens or hundreds of them, but the light reflecting off of dirty glass jars and hanging beads makes it look more like thousands. Thousand of tiny flames glow, like witchlights in a bog.

Something––someone rustles in a heavy and swaying skirt, beads in her hair clinking gently, and where there had been only tattered curtains in view there is now a woman, who smiles, and shows ruined teeth.

And then the candles, the glass jars, the windows and the hut are gone.

The woman, however, remains.

bunnymanfrank.livejournal.com

There is a six foot tall bunny in the bar. He didn't enter through the door, nor did he appear in a poof of magic. Just one minute there was an empty chair, the next it was occupied by the frightening rabbitman.

He looks around, his face perfectly frozen in its horrible smile.

"Huh"

So he does what anybody in his situation would do. He waits for someone to notice him.

(alas, that my first thread falls into slowtime)

Current Mood: confused

nitro-is-ace.livejournal.com

This'd be Ace then, who is attempting to translate some of her notes from school into something other than Gallifreyan. She'd do it in the TARDIS, where it is a bit easier (thank Rassilion for translation circuits) but she hasn't been in the mood for quiet for quite some time now. Thus, in the nice noisy bar, where there are people, but no translation circuit.

Judging by the ratio of crossed out words to actual written sentences, things aren't going as smoothly as she'd hoped.

At least the cocoa is good here.

pirate-gibbs.livejournal.com

[OOM: Mourning Jack Sparrow and the Pearl]

The door opens, and Joshamee Gibbs thinks he's entering Tia Dalma's shack. He looks around, and as the door closes and vanishes, he quickly realizes that something is a amiss.

"Turner? Miss Swann? Mister Cotton?" He doesn't see them or the others, or the longboat, or anything he knows. And wherever he is, it's so bright. Like daylight but inside.

"This doesn't bode well," he mutters, pondering whether reach for his pistol or to cross himself. For the moment, he just stands in one place, quite confused.

And thus does the population of pirates in the Bar increase yet again.

unwraith.livejournal.com

The cold weather didn't deter Michael from going outside. He had some excess energy to work off.
Losing his edge didn't appeal to him, particularly now. Or at any time.

At the far end of the lake, he'd found a clearing, rocky ground, slightly uphill and out of sight of the water. Practicing. Exercise.
He started with the basic block and strike combinations he knew, then on to more difficult patterns. A bit later, he switched to the simple
sword-drills he'd learned so far. He'd grown accustomed to the weight and feel of it, and the weapon appealed to him. Of course, guns did too, but they had their limits.

Botherable. (For now, though threads will of necessity have to be slowtimed today)

themerlin

[OOM: In a land far away and long ago, not quite our Britain, a young wizard faces his first great testing, and gains some hope, thereby.]

his-sarah-jane.livejournal.com

Today she's returned for a third time, and that's alright because it doesn't seem as if they're going anywhere anytime soon. Harry is still in disbelief and the Doctor is still trying to figure out the coordinates (at least, that's what Sarah assumes they are) of the best place to show off the Harry, and well, quite frankly, she's bored.

So, when that door in the TARDIS opened up to Milliways again, Sarah Jane was pleasantly pleased. That meant something to do for a while, something that wasn't teasing the Doctor or Harry. And the tea there was simply marvellous after all.

Fifteen minutes later, she now sits by the fireplace, the London Times opened on her lap, and a cup of tea on the table beside her. This is a nice change, indeed.

dreamer_fray

[OOM: Haddyn's a big place, even f'r those that live there. Never know who y'might run into.

Think of it as an opportunity t'make new friends. You'll probably sleep better.]

osuwarigirl.livejournal.com

Kagome had fallen asleep in her bed. Finally. No thanks to her recent homework. She finds herself down a long dark passageway with a light shining at the end of the tunnel. Only, when she reaches the end...

The dor opens, and standing there in the doorway is one bewildered not!Kikyo. She blinks a couple of times. This was a whole new way of finding this place. Oh well. She shrugs once and just heads to take a seat at the bar,ordering her favorite tea.

One Higurashi inna bar. Bother at will...but, then again, who's 'Will'?

cleanemandfryem.livejournal.com

That door's been opening for an awful lot of new faces the last few days. So it shouldn't be much of a surprise when a tall, fair-haired man with a tremendous bushy mustache strolls in through the door, yelling back over his shoulder.

"The bet's $20, but no fair starting before I get back. You can wait 45 seconds while I run to the bathroom, right, Mav?"

As he walks in the door, he turns his head to watch where he's headed--and the cocksure grin draped across his face simply melts away. "Mav? I think they've done something to the men's room."

Silence answers him, and he turns to look over his shoulder with a confused look--just in time to notice a complete lack of any sort of door behind him. "Mav--the hell? How'd I get in here?"

He looks around him, and takes in much of the scope of the place. "And where the hell is here?"

stuck-mynock.livejournal.com

[OOM: Sometimes, planets are cold, and droids have saucer shaped heads.]

Atton practically leaps into the bar, shivering, jacket wrapped around him, apparently covered in the sort of thick snow that can be seen on people who have been out in blizzards. Teeth chattering, he heads over to the Bar, picking up the giant mug of hot and blanket she provides gratefully and heading over to the fire.

Botherable, if shivery.

lvpd_sidle

Helping a new arrival earlier had distracted Sara from the knowledge that, once again, timelines had played tricks on her.

She doesn't have a distraction now, and so she can be found sipping a cup of coffee pensively.

"........oh God. There were pictures."

stubborn-annie.livejournal.com

Annie's found that while she does enjoy having the house to herself again now that there's no bad news left to dread, she misses her husband more than she'd thought. It does no harm, really, to nip out to the Bar now and again. Harry's to come home for Christmas, but there's nothing in his contract that keeps him away from Milliways. So...

Blast, there's no note from him at the Bar. Ah, well. She'll stay for a bit anyway. Even if he doesn't turn up, at least she hasn't got to cook for herself.

the-woodpecker.livejournal.com

Tonight is kind of Bernard's night to tend Bar.

Buuuuuuuut, his back doesn't feel great. Healer Weir couldn't fit him in until next Tuesday, so he's subsisting on low-caffeine, muscle relaxants, and sheer cussedness. After sitting at Bar for a while, writing on a large sheet of sketch paper, he stands and walks a little stiffly to the message board, posting the paper up and returning to his seat.

ATTENTION ALL PATRONS

MILLIWAYS BAR is now HIRING BARTENDERS and WAITSTAFF for nearly ALL SHIFTS.

SIGN UP HERE and you will be assigned an interview time with one of the Co-Heads in a timely manner.

EXPERIENCE IS NOT REQUIRED, BUT WILL BE TAKEN INTO ACCOUNT.

Bernard leans on Bar, and lets her give him another decaf.

He hates decaf.

[ooc: PLEASE see the post in the Back Room before signing up!]

othercaptjack

So, Jack's been busy.

In so many senses of the word.

But he's here now!

"...And that contains how many different types of vodka? No, no, I'll try it! It was purely academic, sweetheart. Thanks."

Yes, he is again working towards his independent study on how many different cocktails Bar can make. Come and help!

princessofmu.livejournal.com

Out by the lake the original golden ball begins the daily descent back towards the earth. Foliage-free trees stretch their naked limbs up skyward, like sinners reaching up from the bowels of hell attempting to grasp at even the smallest glimmer of grace. Poor souls.

She sighs, waiting for the moment when the golden ball falls completely beneath the treeline. She's hoping to capture the sigh. The sigh that the world makes at the close of another day. The sigh the night things give right before the prowl. The sigh of lovers at the first trust hilt deep.

She waits. Breathless. Her brush, laden with an orgasm of color, hovers over the milkywhite expanse that is her blank canvas.

kurosakiboy.livejournal.com

There seem to be a few new faces as Ichigo enters the bar, scanning around on the tips of his toes before he decides that he honestly can't care less, since he sees nobody he recognizes from back home. ~~It's not like he's always looking for his dead mother or anything...~~

Taking a seat at the bar, Ichigo orders a soda, hopes he gets the job he applied for when he thinks of how his tab is building, and then just sits in silence by himself.

futures_of_ash

Due to great Millitime, two muddy women entered through the lake door. The taller of the pair was grinning like a maniac and seemed quite content with the tattered remains of her muddy skirt...

The shorter was also grinning, though she was mourning the tragic loss of her shoes.

Accompanying them came the assorted sounds of those thoroughly saturated. Sqwuich...Shhhlopp. Shlupp shclupp schlupp.

Dingle.

Dingle?

Miraculously one of the bells on the shorter's anklet seemed to have escaped the mud holocaust...

[Sadly, one of two muns is sick and needs sleep, so slow responses as of NOW. Suzi-mun shall be abouts for while though!]

burnedmymuffins.livejournal.com

So somewhere there's this island right?

And the island's rather notorious. It's like Skull Island and the Island from Doogal (That one movie..you know the one). It's got giant smokemonsters that apparently eat people without consciences, planecrashes, weird flora and fauna, and quite a few other little surprises.

Hell. All it's missing is an ape. Or maybe a dinosaur. Or hell, Sydney Bristow.

Juliet's never considered herself a part of the island's weirdness. Her story's long and complicated and she doesn't like to go in to it. Whatever Jack Shepard and the rest of them thought of her was just fine. There were things to be done, changes to be made, and goddamnit if she wasn't the one to make them-

Lost in thought, she pushes through the door whistling to herself. She's got a sandwich. Certain people are being far more cooperative.

"....Jack?"

This is not her destination. (Isn't that a bitch?) This is not the observation room. No glass window. No nothing.

It's...a bar.

A rather spacious bar filled with people. Not her people. People. Actual strangers. They're not the survivors either. These people look strange and wellfed and well...strange...

The Tray drops to the floor with a crash.

"...Tom..Ben..Danny-"

sgvy-yuuki.livejournal.com

The first day was shocking.

The second day was enlightening.

Third day, Yuuki is just enjoying the break, sitting by the fireplace with what seems to be a book, and hot cocoa.

Oh, yes, botherable.

over_europe

((OOM: June 6, 1944: night and day, and night again.))

Lieutenant Lewis Nixon steps down the three steps and opens the door, expecting a tiny pub, bursting at the seams with noisy American soldiers.

Well, he's at least a little right.

A man of average height in dark green uniform — pant cuffs tucked into the tops of heavy brown boots, jacket covered in handy pockets, M-1 rifle slung casually over one shoulder — stands just inside the door. If one knew such things, one might recognize it as the uniform of a soldier in the United States Airborne, circa 1944. It's difficult to tell too much about his features; his face is streaked with black pitch and grime.

Nixon's expression is probably funny, if you aren't Nixon. He looks like someone just punched him in the gut and he can't decide how best to curse them out. Another soldier might go for a weapon. This one seems to have forgotten that he has one.

He slowly lifts off his helmet and leaves it to dangle from his fingers in awe, his black hair flattened against his head.

Time passes before he finally speaks. "Uh. Uh, Dick, you seeing th—" He looks over his shoulder. No Dick, just a closed door.

"No—" He pauses, staring at a passing patron, and then he mutters, "No, I guess not."

Nix closes his mouth, tightens his hand on the strap of his M-1 and — does not move another muscle.

guppy_sandhu

Guppy is sitting near the fire, attempting to sew a button back on a shirt. Enlightening him that he's sewn it through the back as well may help matters.

---
Shufti (now bruiseless) is over by the trilobite tank with Jack. She is holding the baby's hands as he stands, encouraging and talking to him.

---
Johnny Private is outside, trying to disguise the fact that he just trod on one of the flowers by putting it up again against a stick.

---
Snowball is at the bar, eating mince pies.

princeinexile

[OOM: Zuko finally gets the message, loud and clear.]

realmrsreynolds

[OOM: After a little too much reminiscing, Sallie tries to tend to some chores left undone at the ranch. She wakes up Jack.]

doctor-weir.livejournal.com

[OOM: After Suzi and Elizabeth meet, John and Elizabeth trade stories over coffee.]

latino_menace

Ramon hasn't been in the bar since the trip to rescue Sands, mainly because he's been in a bad mood about it ever since he got back. He'd have rather left the guy face down in the dirt and dying, but there you have it. Even maniacs can't get their own way all of the time. Tonight, food and alcohol have brought him in, as Random's working. The former has been consumed, the latter is an ongoing dessert. His mood is at the whim of your conversation.

give-us-candy.livejournal.com

It's a horrendous, melodous noise. Three small malcontents joyiously sing a rendition of "The Ballad of Mad Henry", written by, in fact, Mad Henry himself.

Stuck to Roam the World Forever
Put Mad Henry Back Together!

Buried Four Times,
Now he Walks
Among the Pines!
Searching for his bones.
Should have left him alone!
But His Family, they wanted him Home!

So they dug up his grave,
and Boiled his skin,
All to bury him
next to Kin.

Boiled Henry,
Chopped him Up!
And along the way back home,
hit every bump!

And Little by Little,
Piece by Piece,
Old Henry's Bones,
They fell among the stones...

Feel free to tell them to stop. Or clap, either of which works. :-D