milliways_bar | Dec. 1st, 2006

Dec. 1st, 2006

No notebook today. No scribbled tangle of equations and layouts and plans.

River listens to advice, sometimes. Even reluctantly.

She's under a booth again, though, hands wrapped tight around her ankles, staring out at the legs of passersby. It's hard to say if she's really seeing them, or what she might be seeing in their place. Her face is tight, and there are dark smudges under her eyes; the long brown duster falling in folds around her makes her look young and small, only a huddle of a girl.

simple-tool.livejournal.com

[Sometimes change came subtlety, like shadows silent and soft against the night. Small things, shifts, tiny broken pieces slotting back where they should. Such was Tool's time with Martha, subtle.

Slow.

But also, somehow, as obvious as red apples]

prydeful

[OOM: The bleach uncle shows up. And there's nothing he can do.

Except hug his niece, and maybe dance.]

blaising-sun.livejournal.com

Getting up at four in the morning isn't fun, but she's used to it. There's chilled dough to get out of the fridge and beat into submission, and cranberry orange muffin batter to mix, and it's Mary's birthday today so she'd better make a special little pan of Bitter Chocolate Death just for the occasion.

But the trouble is that the door to her bakery isn't to door to her bakery. It's a door into... someplace weird, and she stops dead as the door snicks shut behind her, mouth set, face pale.

She looks around for anyone who might be overtly Other, but the twinge she's feeling isn't like the feeling of Bo, it's-- it's magic but it's thick, and suddenly she has to sit down, right now.

So there Sunshine sits, at the nearest table to the door, eyes scanning the room ceaselessly, fingers turning a small pocket knife over and over in her hands.

caleb-temple.livejournal.com

[OOM: Previously, in Trinity]

A young boy, not more than ten or so, runs into the bar, closing the door quickly behind him and leaning against it with his eyes closed. He grins to himself, and then opens his eyes.

Instantly his grin turns to an expression of utter shock and his mouth drops open as he stares around what was supposed to be his bedroom.

"Merlyn?" he says quietly to the air around him in disbelief, "Merly? You doin' this?"

thebrokensoldier

Ben's outside in the cold. If only because it keeps him away from being assaulted by the scents within the Bar. He doesn't like that. Not one bit. So he's out in the cold and staring up at the sky. One minute he's there and the next minute he blurs and is up in a tree watching the surroundings below him. He's also looking out for any strange scents that might be about as well. He's just being cautious that way.

dexter-morgan.livejournal.com

Dexter's been in the bar all night. Once Mike wandered off, he had finished his slowly-nursed beer and then retired to an empty table in the corner. He'd been observing the other patrons of the bar ever since. (Except for the few hours he'd fallen asleep at the table. He'd intended to ask for a room, but hadn't gotten around to it before sleep got around to him.) He's slowly getting used to all the different kinds of people who frequent the bar, and trying not to think too much about what might be waiting for him back in Miami.

For now, he's too intrigued to go home. He's waiting for Mary.

surgical-intern.livejournal.com

This is it. This is the day she has been looking forward to for years. The day she starts her surgical internship at Seattle Grace Hospital under the esteemed Dr. Burke. She is pretty sure she's prepared adequately for the day - she's reviewed all of her notes concerning common procedures, memorized the map of Seattle Grace, arrived an hour early to make sure she had time to get coffee and change into her scrubs and white coat, looked over the case files...

With a deep breath, she clutches her cup of coffee a little tighter (the cellophane crinkles a little under her grip) and pushes the door open to walk into the locker room, to meet her fellow interns and the resident who will be in charge of them. It doesn't matter that it's still forty-five minutes before the shift is supposed to start, right?

Evidently it does. This is... not the locker room. This doesn't even look like the rest of Seattle Grace - there is no possible way any of this can ever be made sterile. She almost thinks she's wandered into the lobby of the psychiatric ward instead (made up to look like a bar to decrease the negative associations with hospitals?) when she spots the three tragically deformed children. Well... Perhaps it is a... For once, she's at a loss. So much so, she doesn't notice when the door closes behind her.

undignified

Wes is in the bar -- with no Solo brats this time.

(He did eventually get them home, dust-covered and with new toys in Jaina's case, and he even convinced little Jacen that no, the waitrats wouldn't like to go home with him and meet the ranats in the lower levels of Coruscant, and nor would the odd rabbits from out by the lake.)

He's got a chocolate milkshake, a datapad, and a table. He's eyeing the new sign thoughtfully, and also doing paperwork.

...

Okay, playing a game.

talkback.livejournal.com

Sometimes you gotta do a hard thing.

Sometimes, you have to be the bad guy.

And, sometimes, your heart breaks so much, you do what needs to be done, to fix it up.

Does it matter, that you sacrifice someone, if no one will ever remember they existed? It's not really a sacrifice, is it?

Would it still be murder, when no one knows, when a person is removed completely from existance?

These are the hard questions one must ask themselves, from time to time.

And some of this might explain why we Chase is walking through the front door right now, Old Lace slinking in behind him, like a whipped...velociraptor.

And over his shoulder, carried carefully? The Staff of One, a big old staff with a hoop on the top, a mystic device of great power, that belongs to the teammate he has in chains back home.

He realizes the change an instant too late, as the door slams shut behind him.

"No, not now!"

The staff is planted, firmly gripped, as he channels his will into it. It's rough, but he's done this before.

"O-OPEN!"

The air between him and the door sizzles with the energies released, as the Staff of One attempts to do what simply isn't done.

And fails.

Chase slumps, a look of defeat in his eyes.

confinedinside.livejournal.com

As strange as his time was spent being locked in his own apartment for three days with hideous apparitions of ghostly figures taunting him whenever he crept into that dank hole, this bar that he'd become quite accustomed to was more the stranger. At least no one hear had tried to torture him into witnessing the deaths of many people and then gruesomely murdering him to become a final sacrament for a deranged man's dreams.

No, as weird and unique (maybe even frightening) as such a place as this, it was quite comforting to say the least.

He sits quietly, accompanied by no one but himself and watches. Shy is a word to describe Henry, but a friendly and carng man is how those closest to him would truly tell it.

turned_captain

Out in the forge, Will is busy.

Will is always busy in the forge. The difference is, today he has a post explaining that he's busy in the forge. The sword for Elizabeth is all but finished, and is cooling on the rack. And there's shoeing, minor jobs, and all those other things that take up day-to-day business in the forge.

Not that he isn't happy to take on more work. The forge is always open for business.

goodbyesandusky.livejournal.com

Look who's back, once again, and working apparently, given as how he's dragging a box of half-finished costumes in a box as he walks backwards through the door.

He blinked upon noticing where he was, then grinned, shoving the box into a booth and going to get a chocolate chai. He was given a slice of cake as well, whereupon he blinked, then again, "Really?"

That's right, a year ago Wednesday, a scared little gothboy was flung into a bar at the end of the universe following a car crash.

Some things have changed, some haven't, and even though he's changed a bit, he's still very much the same.

ninja-mountie.livejournal.com

Time, the little silver-haired fellow has decided, means precious little 'round here. Oh, he opened that front door all right, once his conversation with Kirk was done and he'd had that talk with that Parkman fella, but there's just something unnatural about the way the snow in Mackenzie wasn't moving at all. Those flakes were just hanging there in mid-air, still as stones. And his dogs, well, they weren't exactly moving either- now that was strangest of all. There wasn't a power on Earth he knew of could stop a team of Siberians from at least picking up their heads to see what was behind a door when it opened.

It's unnatural out there, and that don't sit well with him at all.

He's a little more at ease now that he found the back door. It's different out there, warmer than in Mackenzie, but he can live with it. Looks sort of like some of the country further on south, maybe down around Slave Lake. The forest's sort of funny-looking, but he'll head on over there later. Right now, he's down by the lake proper. There's birds that live hereabouts, and he's watching them skitter over the water and dive through the sky. He's been watching for a good long time now. They've just about decided he's part of the landscape.

He's good at that.

mendanddefend_archive

It's been a very long cycle in Mainframe. Three Gamecubes in a row (a first-person shooter, a tournament fighter, and something called "Dance Dance Revolution"), on top of the nail-biting tension of the surveillance on Daemon, have left Bob totally drained. He walks into the bar and collapses in the nearest booth, mumbling a request for an energy shake to a nearby waitrat. He doesn't even notice the Kitsune Sutra appearing on the table as usual.

trustonewhosees.livejournal.com

Tersa comes in through the back door. She's smiling, humming a tune under her breath. Going to the Bar first, she receives a mug of something hot and spicy-smelling, and leaves ( notes for Serena and for Ravin )

She takes her drink to a table nearby, sitting comfortably, relaxed.

bohemian-mark.livejournal.com

[OOM: World AIDS Day, 1999: Mark makes a speech.]

milkbonesoldier.livejournal.com

Wells has been busy the past few days, and so missed his wife's visit to the Bar last night. At the moment he's catching a breather at the Bar.

Or he thought he was, because the instant he goes to ask for his usual Bass, a pair of notes pop up. One is from his wife. The other is from his cousin. He spends a few moments silently reading them both.

".... Fuck."

whychoosefear.livejournal.com

[OOM: Paul and Ali deal with World AIDS Day.]

alorn-bear.livejournal.com

Belar's supposed to be answering prayers right now if the sign on his table is anything to go by. Big white sign, says "ANSWERING PRAYERS - BACK IN FIVE MINUTES, FORTY-FIVE SECONDS". It's just possible that he can answer prayers with a mug of hot cocoa the size of his head in one hand, anyway- he sure looks like he's concentrating.

Although he got whipped cream or marshmallow goo or something on his nose in the process, so he doesn't look all that godly just at the moment.

sime-channel.livejournal.com

An entry composed of maths.

The distance between New Orleans and Scotland is roughly 4,385 miles. In eighty seven days the world travels 140,025,456 miles (1,609,488 miles per day times 87 days, and growing at a rate of 67,062 miles per hour or 1,117.7 miles per minute or 18.6283 repeated miles per second).

Psychospatial orientation allows a Sime to know, at all times, exactly where they are relitive to everything else. Up to, and including on a subliminal level) the very movements of the stars themselves.

For the past while Suzi has been getting more and more out of sync with things. Right now? Right now she's about the same color as a sheet, and you would be too if your inner compass kept telling you that you were swinging back and forth in an arc with the outmost edge 140,025,456 miles away from either end point (and growing) and the two end points 4,385 miles apart from each other, and the three positions traded between each other more-or-less randomly. She's generally got three or four hours between swoops, but the disorientation takes nearly all that time to even begin to resolve.

Although, if she could get her mind around it, she spends a lot less time in Scotland than she does in New Orleans or at the End of the universe.

and-far-away.livejournal.com

OOM: A long way out of Milliways, Sharpe does what he went to do.

stilljustandrew

[After this:]

There's a note with Bar addressed to ( Cousin Harry. )

doctordoogiehowsermd

As it turns out, Vinnie wasn't responsible for the bar in my house - that was just some strange happenstance of the space-time continuum. He did try to steal my biology paper though, but, as it turns out, he learned his lesson and ended up writing the paper himself. Sometimes those life lessons do get through.

"And sometimes I end up walking into a bar instead of a patient's room. What is with this place?"

Seventeen year old doctor wearing his lab coat and carrying a clipboard looking mildly annoyed at his re-entry to Milliways.

scrmifthishurts

There's no telling why she's out in the cold but she is. Actually, she's got nothing better to do than to be out there even if she isn't actually dressed for it. She's shivering just slightly but that doesn't stop her from pulling out her bow, notching the arrow and letting it fly. She's practicing even though she doesn't need it.

Hell, she hasn't returned home yet even though she should. If anything to keep Hannibal from worrying. But she shuts off her mind and just notches another arrow letting that one fly and watching it go further than the first one. This is repeated over and over again until she has to retrieve the arrows and start all over.

skidrowseymour.livejournal.com

The Door half-opens. "Have a great time, Audrey. Lemme know if Laurence Harvey assassinates the President."

Seymour waves to someone on the other side. A pail of murky water is in his other hand. He turns around, blinking as he realizes where he is.

The hearty smile drops from his face and he sighs heavily. The Door closes behind him. He glances back at and sighs once more. "Have a nice time on your date, Audrey," he grumbles.

Seymour goes over to the nearest table (with another sigh) and sits, setting his pail by his feet.

Oh, for something to dull the pain! Or someone to distract him from it.

stuck-mynock.livejournal.com

There's an Atton at a booth, apparently asleep, with two datapads (One entitled "Objectives of the Kazic III Restoration Project", the other entitled "Oh no, my Head has Exploded in a Great Blast of Dark Side Energies, whatever shall I do?! - A Guide to Interesting Uses of the Dark Side of the Force, by Jorak Uln.' and a plate of tiny muffins on the table.

Botherable.

captainryan.livejournal.com

Ryan did some thinking last night, not all of it pleasant. The important thing is that now he has a mission. So he's doing some serious people watching from behind his tea, albeit unobtrusively. Special forces training is good for things like that.

He's trying to see where everyone goes to and comes from within the bar, watching the door open and close (and disappear), catching glimpses of worlds on the other side. He's doing this all from a table tucked away in a corner near the door to the lake, for easy escape if necessary. There's certain people he plans on avoiding.

Bother at will. He doesn't plan on biting.

Current Mood: determined

mitanarchist

[OOM: Actual Reality! Act Up! Fight AIDS!]

the_antiangst

Angel's on a couch by the fireplace, with a book.
Anyone who's been around the bar for a while has probably seen the sweatshirt before - it's the one Angel showed up wearing, and one he's worn several times since. It doesn't matter that the thing's two or three sizes too big even now that he's put on more weight. There's a certain amount of sentimental attachment involved.
But for all the thing's been around as long as Angel has, it's never gotten a proper in-text description. The time has come to remedy that.
to people living with living with living with not dying from disease
It's plain red, except for the black letters on the front: Actual Reality.
...What? Collins gave it to him.

pointed-spoon.livejournal.com

Dworkin is settled in a booth, eating fish and chips.

Well, theoretically they're fish.

He's not telling.

There's a seat open for company.

hcliffhuxtable.livejournal.com

Doctor inna bar. Lemonade. Krazy Glue.
Botherable.

tokilltherose.livejournal.com

There was a test-opening of the door.

Once more, it wasn't his apartment. But at least it wasn't the mirror library. It was that bar again, and he could handle the bar. The bar wasn't some creepy place courtesy of grandma. So Steve let himself in, looking around. He wasn't sure if he recognized anyone or not, but if this place was going to keep being there instead of his apartment, and it wasn't eating him, he may as well get used to it.

escapethedebt.livejournal.com

The door flies open and a rather angry-looking young man storms in, quite clearly not exactly paying attention to where he's going, or else expecting to be somewhere else. A few footsteps on wood, not carpet, alert him to the fact that this isn't, in fact, where he'd intended to be, and he looks up, his expression still angry.

"Damn it, Jasper," he bellows, "if this is some new game it's really not the time!"

mogget_cat

It is a rather sour-looking not'cat that stalks in from the lake area, water-droplets shining on his white fur. At least, that which is not splattered with mud.

As it crosses the room, the mud disappears into nothingness. Still, it is the idea the lingers.

Times like these are what the fireplace is for, and the Milliways fireplace's hearth soon has a coil of fur upon it, soaking in the heat and pretending not to sulk.

Damned demon rabbits.

gonna_live

[Out of Milliways:

It's not that Simon didn't come to bed last night.

It's that he didn't stay there.]

talkstohats

Go and catch a falling star, reads the first line of Michael's tricky spell. And as a result Sophie is sitting at the table and staring out the display window hoping for inspiration.

There are a few sheets of paper in front of her, covered in writing in a slightly shaky hand that's nonetheless more reminiscent of a schoolgirl than an old woman. One of them has a nine-line spell on it, followed by the instruction to "Decide what this is about, and write a second verse yourself."

The rest are notes.

the-woodpecker.livejournal.com

The first thing Bernard does when he walks into the bar proper tonight, Anthony in arms, is look the hell around.

He doesn't see her.

Phew.

After checking the hiring sign up sheet he put up and leaving it up for another night, he gets a cup of coffee (decaf) and a bottle (apple juice) and settles at the usual table.

He's in a better mood than yesterday. But only just. It's been kind of a fortnight.

Anthony's in a great mood, though! Just ask him!

blue_ajah

She glides downstairs and into the bar, and soon can be found settled at her preferred table, with a cup of tea near at hand.

The Aes Sedai's demeanor is serene and her expression calm, but her reading this evening is neither poetry nor any sort of tale. Instead, she seems to be reading through notes made in her previous studies, evidently searching for something.

As she works, she keeps an observant eye on the room and those patrons who are present this evening.

a-fell.livejournal.com

[oom: Postcard for Crowley]

livewithrats.livejournal.com

Right now, there are two men sitting near the fireplace.

One, clad in the usual black apparel, is sipping at a glass of vodka on the rocks. The other, dressed much more properly, is scribbling down little notes on paper while nursing a bottle of some fancy European beer.

The only thing they have in common is that they are both very restless. Bored, even.

So there's an Alex Krycek and a Nick Carraway sitting in the Bar. They cast a few side glances at one another every so often, but neither speak. Nick's too distracted with his writing, and Krycek... well.

Krycek's busy thinking, as always.

Distract either? Or, perhaps, both?

over_europe

Nixon went back to Normandy last night, and when he began to give a flippant apology and caught the way Dick was looking at him in confusion, he realized his absence hadn't been noticed. He'd gone about his business; caught a few hours' sleep in the back of a truck, been woken early to report in, marched south with the battalion, fine tuned plans with Strayer and staff at headquarters while the column was fired on, wrote reports, heard reports — he fulfilled his duties. He was kept busy, and he began to believe that the night before had all been an impossible dream.

That night, he jogged through the rain and the mud, anticipating the warmth of the farmhouse that a grateful French family had happily offered up as a base of operations, but when he swung the door open, the scene wasn't quite what he was expecting.

"Son of a bitch," says Lewis Nixon, looking around as he drips all over the floor. This place again.

So it is that several minutes later, there's a cold soldier sprawled at a table with a bottle of whiskey (Vat 69), a glass, a juicy steak, and his helmet sitting beside his plate and his rifle resting on the opposite side of the table. He has a muddy jumpboot up on the nearest chair and his face is streaked with pitch and dirt and water, though his skin is perfectly clean just below his hairline. Nixon is making short work of the steak, though he watches the bar at large, too, as he chews. He's not about to let his guard down, even if this place, dream or not, does make the best goddamn steak he's tasted since he left New York.

nitro-is-ace.livejournal.com

(OOM: And somewhere, at a point a few weeks ago by virtue of millitime, the band strikes a chord:

It's time to board the TARDIS!

It's time to snatch Moiraine!

It's time to pack some cookies and prepare to go insane!)

exiled-inventor.livejournal.com

The door swings open, onto the faint sound of two children arguing nearby, and a rather strange looking man in a lot of green, raised sandals and a stripy hat, holding a cane in one hand, enters, head tilted down, though it quickly snaps up to look around when he realises that he hasn't entered the storeroom of his shop.

He doesn't look immensely surprised, but it's difficult to tell, as a fair bit of his face is hidden by the shadow of his hat.

"Why is there a bar in my shop?" He asks quietly, of nobody in particular, moving his cane so that both hands rest on it. It occurs to him that the extra business is probably a good thing, but there's still a bar in his shop and he knows he didn't put it there.

Urahara Kisuke has entered the bar.

not-a-wizard.livejournal.com

Bored, and it's beginning to be obvious, he needs something to do and has reached the point where he's come here.

He's allowing his eyes to roam about the bar aimlessly, as he sits and drinks his cider.

Not spoiling for a fight, precisely, because Telemain doesn't fight, but the anticipation is there.

chelleuncurled

Michelle didn't mean to come into the bar, which is probably why she's got a pint of ice cream in one hand and a copy of "What to Expect When You're Expecting" clutched to her chest.

The first few chapters of the book are marked with post-it note tabs and her place is kept with a yellow highlighter.

She's wearing Freudian Slippers (a gift from Tony a while ago), cotton pajama pants, a CTU academy shirt, and a terry cloth robe.

At least she's not barefoot.

She goes to the Bar and grabs a large mlikshake and a plate of strawberries.

She was entering the kitchen anyway.

maid-of-astolat.livejournal.com

Elaine's come downstairs for a little while, just to see who is here. She isn't often down in the bar these days, but every once in a while, it's nice to be out.

She's sitting in full medieval dress at a table, paging through a book of some sort of poetry, drinking a glass of wine.

creator_raven

The back door opens, very deliberately.

There is a momentary pause, less hesitation than consideration.

This place is . . . new, after a fashion.

Then the door opens further and a tall, skinny man steps inside, ragged ends of his coat falling straight down behind him.

Raven is back, it would appear.

He walks over to a table, one near the corner, pulls out a chair, and sits down.

Again, deliberately.

Then he looks around him, black eyes wide and unblinking.

This will doubtless prove interesting.

For some.

prydeful

[OOM: It's a week of white.]

first_of_dana

She found another door that should not be in her Temple.

So of course she went through it.

And so there is a tall, red-haired woman at the bar, frowning, and stealing glances at the Observation Window.

[OOC: Not plotlocked, but please ping elsinorequeen on AIM before tagging. Thanks!]

highking.livejournal.com

It wouldn't be accurate to say Peter Pevensie's been ususually absent from the bar--it's been a long time since he was around often. He's got better reasons these days, though.

He's here tonight because he... well, he felt as if he ought to be. Felt a little edgy--a little... thin.

He's still got a lot to do, though, and he's fairly absorbed in the books in the books and papers spread out his table. Right this very moment he's reworking his class schedules; he wants to work archery in here somewhere, but there's not entirely enough hours in the day.

If only people didn't have to sleep, things would be so much simpler.

saionjisenpai.livejournal.com

[OOC: OOM: Still in Ohtori.]

last-king.livejournal.com

In keeping with the whole "not just skulking about the House of Arch" thing (which, really, there ought to be a twelve-step program for), Tirian is in the bar tonight, with (wait for it) tea.

He's also looking a bit thoughtful--it's drawing closer to Christmas, and there are presents to be thought of.

forbiddensailor.livejournal.com

She opens the door to Milliways, the little one, shuts it behind her with an "oomph."

...Okay, maybe she isn't that little. Not anymore. Maybe eight.

Anyway, she walks up to bar, clambors onto a bar stool, and asks for a green tea flavored boba tea. And thinks about stars, and what makes them so bright in the sky at night... (oh, the scientific answer she knows. Don't worry about explaining all of that to her. She's got it down, pat.)

gramarye1971

Merriman has been around, though not always in the bar of late. He's been doing a good deal of thinking, and writing, and walking out by the lake when the noise of the bar hampers his ability to do either.

He comes in from the door to the lake, heading in the direction of the bar. Judging by the thin layer of frost that's collected on the edges of his heavy coat, he's been out of doors for quite some time.

ambitionsbared.livejournal.com

OOM: The story begins, as it often does, with two brothers.

ilcattivo.livejournal.com

[OOC: OOM:

Several weeks ago, Angel Eyes entered for the first time. He hasn't been seen since.

Where's he been?

Here.]

cardboard-tube.livejournal.com

Gabe doesn't quite realise he's walked into Milliways until he's almost at Bar and, still lost in his own thoughts, he climbs up on a stool and leans on his elbow.

"Huh. Oh hey, Bar -- did John Candy invent candy?"

There is nothing.

So he adds, hopefully, "I like candy."

Obligingly (and perhaps shaking her metaphorical head), Bar produces a large bag of mixed candy for the lunatic.

Gabe + sugar = doom!