milliways_bar | Dec. 16th, 2006

Dec. 16th, 2006

missginnytonic.livejournal.com

Ginny is sitting at a table. With a Pot of Tea and a couple cups but she's only sipping out of one Cup. the other is in case some one stoped By and wanted a sip. she's more then willing to share. She also has a Tin of Homemade Biscuits to go with the tea.

is-he-isnt-he.livejournal.com

Ben's just doing his typical people-watching-while-researching.

He doesn't notice the tofu in his salad, since it really doesn't taste any worse than reconstituted Dharma mashed potatoes, after all.

hello-cally.livejournal.com

((OOM: In Rome, a conference is held between the East and West, the plan towards peace running smoothly. Outside, there is a faction of young men wanting freedom for their people, their plan finally being put into action. A young woman finds herself in the middle of a violent situation; a young man finds the situation he agreed to help bring about is not what he wanted. The two meet.))

The door to the bar is shoved open to strike the wall behind it with a loud crack. A young man dressed all in black and young woman in office clothes stumble in, the sounds of panicked crowds and the sporadic retorts of gunfire accompanying them. Both of them look as though they have been chased by terrors unspeakable, though the young man's face speaks more of guilt, the young woman's the beginning of furious accusation.

"This place," Westerly says, wonderingly. Why should he be surprised, though? Had he not been wishing they were as far away as possible? He is lost for a moment in the flood of relief, and so does not notice Cally's startled glance at him, finding that he knows of Milliways, as well.

The rebound of the door closes it, mercifully cutting off the sounds of frightened, shouting people.

(ooc: ~~Aggressively open post here! Two pups, two muns, plenty of time.~~ Even the crackrats need to sleep sometimes.)

captain-falafel.livejournal.com

Sayid's nicked A Brief History of Time from Sawyer's stash now that Sawyer's not around to guard it, and he's sitting at a table reading it and drinking a cup of coffee with milk.

He takes a sip and frowns. "Why does my coffee taste like chalk?" he wonders aloud.

And why does he suddenly feel that he'd rather be reading "Who Moved My Cheese?"

bunnymanfrank.livejournal.com

Frank is, once agian, bored. Watching his living self go abotu life is getting more and more dull as things get interesting in the little bar at the end of the universe.

Also, he remembers that he can set up a tab. And he might not have money yet, but he can still get his free drink until then.

Beside, watching his living self make coffee has given him a major caffeine craving. It really only surprises him in that it took so long.

So, now he is in bar, waiting for his cafe con leche (he'd never liked the taste of black).

(slowtimed, sadly. But I will be happ to thread with anyone, yupped or not)

livewithrats.livejournal.com

When Krycek comes downstairs from some long, well deserved rest, Bar has something waiting for him. It's a square-shaped package, wrapped in plain brown paper. He eyes it warily for a few moment before taking it to a table, ordering a cup of tea (what? tea? yes) as he does so. The tea cakes that come along with it are obviously compliments of Bar.

The package remains wrapped while he takes a few testing sips of his tea. Not surprisingly, it turns out to be Russian tea. As he smiles at Bar, he peels the paper back to reveal two brand new copies of Kittens For Dummies, Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them - which is conveniently bookmarked to the section on kneazles - and a gigantic book of baby names.

He can't help but chuckle, really.

So there's an oddly happy Krycek sitting in at a table, drinking tea, nibbling on tea cakes and reading up on kitten care.

Feel free to inquire about his sanity.

fallen-april.livejournal.com

April's inna bar.

Bar tried to give her something vegetarian earlier. She gave it back and ended up just eating a bag of M&Ms she had upstairs.

She's drawing. And humming Christmas carols. And she looks extremely happy.

Be warned, if you talk to her, you may get an earful about her new suitor. But that's okay, right?

goodbyesandusky.livejournal.com

Clive, it seemed, was feeling much better today.

This was evidenced by the fact that he was wearing tinsel. Mostly strewn in his hair, but he also had a tinsel boa coiled up on the seat beside him and a sprig of holly in his top hat, also sitting beside him.

He was working on drawings, some for clothes designs, others just because, apparently the break was doing him some good at least. Feel free to interrupt however, especially if you've got cookies.

dontlooklisten.livejournal.com

Whistler's been working on finishing up the last few hacked Speak 'n Spell's to take back to his world. (No, they don't say awful things when powered up. They've got Braille keys instead of the factory standard kind.) He's taking a lunch break so that he can finish the last in one go and he and Suzi can head home. "Hey, Bar," he says, his fingertips on the bar's surface, "can I get something for lunch that won't set off my new allergies?"

Huh. Some kind of wrap, and the Braille labeling (that's a new touch) says it's vegetarian, but not vegetarian what. Oh, well. He'll just take it back to his table.

About halfway through the sandwich he suddenly realizes that he hasn't finished the patch that Marty had him working on for Flight Simulator and the deadline's two days from now. And he's out of Mountain Dew. Crud.

sime-channel.livejournal.com

Suzi dropped some things off with Bar. Then she had a conversation with...Whistler.

And then she ran away from him, knocking several chairs over and slamming her hip into the corner of a table without stopping.

And now she's sitting in a booth with her arms wrapped around her legs and her face pressed against her knees, crying.

sansa-stark.livejournal.com

The Door opens. A young maiden enters at a brisk pace; she wears a long grey linen nightgown and a warm cloak. Her hair is chestnut, her eyes deep blue.

"Maester Cole--" she begins urgently. Then she stops, blinking, eyes tearing as they adjust from the cold darkness behind her to the sudden warmth and light of Milliways.

"Oh," she murmurs. She spins around to face the Door - and whatever she sees or doesn't see causes more tears to fall. Her breath is faint and shivering as she moves to sit at the nearest table, head bowed.

Whomever the young lady is, she has Sansa's voice.

legendaryoutlaw.livejournal.com

There's a Typhoon beating on the door.

From the inside.

"Come on! Haven't I been here long enough?!? I've been so good for 3 months, why won't you met me out of here?!?"

Predictably, silence answers him. With a dramatic, defeate sigh, vash trudges over to the bar and flops onto a stool. "Hey, Bar, can you suggest something without alcohol in it? Y'know, something new that I'll remember?" A Dr. Pepper materializes on the bar, and after eyeing it carefully, he sips at it. "Hey, that works! Thanks!"

-----------------------------------------------------

On the other side of the bar, a half-mechanical doclot (pitor?) is reveling in being trapped in a bar. With a bottle of Halmad Prime helping him do just that. He's sitting sideways in an armchair over by the fire, just watching the place.

He looks like he could explode from snark any minute.

longlonghair

There seems to be mistletoe tucked everywhere around the bar, but why take chances? Rapunzel comes down the stairs wearing a headband with a hook affixed to the top, dangling a piece of mistletoe over her head.

She'll likely have to adjust it several times as her hair grows, but it might be worth it.

precocioustilda.livejournal.com

Okay, so.

Tilda inna bar.

Fireside armchair, notebook, pencil, contemplative facial expression.

Bother at will.

whiteabsolution.livejournal.com

Sugar, petite blonde girl, is sitting at the edge of the bar with a small glass of juice infront of her - even if being in this place made her want a glass of champagne, she stuck to her guns about not drinking, she was a lightweight anyways. Picking up her journal, she set her pen back to the paper.

But she'd more than welcome company.

wellthrownstone.livejournal.com

...he wasn't expecting the odd tasting chocolate shake. It'd been... smoother, but not as thick and... sort of grassy tasting. Or something?

He's almost down to the bottom of the glass when he looks down at himself in horror.

"Oh my god, what on earth am I wearing? I look like some sort of Renfair reject?"

jack_inthegreen

"Just something to drink, please," Jack says absently to the bar as he sits down with a baby name book. The deadline's approaching--they need a name for this kid, and how.

The Bar pops up a strawberry-soy-smoothie, and Jack drinks it gratefully.

And there's a shift.

He snaps the book shut and wishes he'd worn something today other than this old shirt and jeans. But at least he knows what they should name the baby.

Max.

Of course.

scapepig

Pigs' bruises don't show up easily. So if Snowball wasn't limping just slightly it would be almost impossible to tell he'd recently been stoned half to death before the powers that be changed their minds.

He comes in from outside, having spent the best part of the day defrosting and deleafing the paths. Bar greets him with a bowl of milky porridge, which he laps up gratefully, glad of its warmth.

Seeming to come to a decision, he asks her for a large piece of pipe, a can of aerosol deoderant, a large sheet of paper, a large pot of pepper, some gaffa tape and a piece of string.

over_europe

(OOM: D-Day+6 and D-Day+7 - The war rages on, in Carentan, even if newly captained Nixon writes more than he fights. Warning for violence.)

blueeyedjohnny.livejournal.com

Johnny is beginning to get annoyed.

He tried to find a way out by prodding the tantalisingly visible-but-not-opening door with his sword. The only result being when he prodded it into the crack between door and wall, discovering that the point somehow poked back at him. Which, as well as nearly causing him to cut his own fingers off, was just irritating. And certainly nipped in the bud any ideas of hacking his way out if he wanted to get out alive.

He is currently sitting at the bar, having doused his cut finger in alcohol, wrapping it in a 'clean' rag.

not-broomboy.livejournal.com

Don't ask how
he got the soy
we don't know
we don't want
to know but
there's a thropp
sitting propped up
all propriety
as always, sobriety
and perhaps a touch

of snobbery as
well and no small touch
of disdain for every
one and thing. but that's
nothing new.

hearthethoughts.livejournal.com

Somewhere deep inside, Matt despises his mun for milking this for all it's worth. Really. It's an Evil thing.

He's completely unaware of that part of himself however as he contemplates the latest issue of GQ and wonders what the hell Leonardo Di Caprio's got that he doesn't have.

That neat little sleek object over there? Is his phone. In LA they surgically implant them in people's ears. Matt's is broken.

So he's occasionally looking at it with a worried expression as he flips through the magazine and circles things that he should probably look into getting.

sonofwhitecity.livejournal.com

Boromir has a block of wood, and is carefully carving it with his dagger near the fireplace.

He's done this before--toys, gifts, that sort of thing. This will be a gift as well, though he doubts it will be named Fred.

gone_byebye

The door closes behind Ray, who's still in his uniform, although for once there's no slime involved. He's humming to himself and generally looking as if he's in a pretty good mood.

"Bar? Could I get that uncertain drink from the other day? ... ooh, Putumayo."

The drink is too close to the color and transparency of Windex to have any kind of soy in it. Calm down.

scaredbybook.livejournal.com

This is Kira. This is not Kira on soy.

No, this is just Kira, her patchwork poncho spread about her, industriously decorating her door. There are crosses made from toothpicks painted in fetching colors and designs, which she's busy gluing around the doorknob at interesting angles. There's a rather good mosaic of the moon from cut-out paper bits. There's a fair amount of glitter. There's a row of paints; she's busy working on putting the finishing touches on a daisy chain. There are names written in tiny letters around the knots in the stems.

Beside her lies a tangled mess of colored cords and jangly bells. Kira's been told her world's frozen, but if anything opens this door? She wants to know.

She's also wearing a tiny cross choker made of glass beads and brightly colored string.

Inhabitants of the bar have many, many different ways of getting over their issues. Kira has chosen art therapy! (Tea donations, criticism, and comments welcome.)

the_antiangst

"Honey, we went over this yesterday. I don't like tofu, I never have, and giving it to me without my asking is not going to change my mind. Could you please just give me the pasta like I ordered it?"
There's a pause, and then Bar complies.
"Thank you."
That done, Angel heads for a table (without mistletoe overhead) and sets about having dinner. This tofu business is vaguely starting to worry him, the way it keeps popping up.

pwyll_twiceborn

Paul isn't precisely overjoyed to find himself in Milliways, upon stepping through the door of the coffee house - but neither is he displeased, exactly.

If nothing else, Milliways is a reminder that there is still some kind of force at work in their lives. And during the long months, as they wait for Kim to dream what she must - with Jen back among them, her pregnancy no longer visible, and the mundanity of courses and professors and rent intruding daily - that fact is sometimes hard to remember.

He takes a seat at a table, and proceeds to observe the goings-on.

iambetadraconis

Here's someone who hasn't seen the inside of the bar in a while....

Firewhiskey bottle and book in hand, he heads over to the quiet corner of the bar to do some reading.

To just enjoy some silence.

To not think about the two people who've caused him so much confusion ever since his journey to Egypt with Slytherin.

Current Mood: calm

iceheart-isard.livejournal.com

[OOM: Two old enemies cross paths upstairs, even if one is not nearly as old as the other.]

jaded-jedi.livejournal.com

Mara's in the bar, with a glass of something light blue and alcoholic, in the corner of the bar.

Woo.

[ooc: mun susceptible to disappearing, 'cause...NYC youse guys.]

guppy_sandhu

Guppy brought his own milk today; that tea yesterday just tasted bad, and he's sure there was some UHT sneaked in there.

As such he is sitting by the fire, going through the guitar chords that he meant to do yesterday before he suddenly, for no apparent reason, decided it was a waste of time.

kurosakiboy.livejournal.com

That is not Ichigo walking into the bar.

That is not Ichigo making his way quickly towards a booth.

That is not Ichigo holding the front of his Shinigami robes closed tight.

There is nothing hiding in there.

And that is certainly not a tiny, adorable kitten that Ichigo pulls out of his robes when he believes nobody is looking, and he certainly does not put it on the seat beside him and try to look inconspicuous and innocent.

None of these things happen. You are simply imagining things.

Carry on.

buriedmybrother.livejournal.com

Antigone's in the bar tonight.

As for where she's been-- well, that's not so important. The days have passed for her much as they did before, with flowers and gardens and the whispers of the trees, with long nights sitting by the fire, with never quite brushing her hair or putting on a presentable dress. And she's been largely content, if restless.

She doesn't see any particular contradiction between those two states of being.

Tonight, however, is different; she can feel it. There's a peculiar hush about the place-- as if everything were listening. Waiting.

And this time, she thinks the waiting is for her.

[OOC: Well, ladies and gents, because Merc RULES AT LIFE, Antigone is finally having her last night in the bar. If you know her, if you've met her once, if you've never heard of her, go ahead and tag! I'm up all night. Ping at Merky Dee with any questions.]

thisfatefulhour

Is it late? Yep. Will the mun be in bed soon? Likely.

Is Charles Wallace in the bar nonetheless?

Unless he's acquired an identical twin, who's claimed a table near the fire and a mug of cocoa, yes, he is.

There's a physics textbook open in front of him, but he doesn't seem very focused on it.

heroiccharacter.livejournal.com

"This is not what I expected," Silverbolt mutters to himself as he steps into the bar, laying his ears back. He hasn't been in for quite awhile, and he thought that he might've escaped finding a bar in place of his quarters on a regular basis.

So much for that.

Deciding to make the best of things-and feeling a little curious-the fuzor makes his way over to a table, jumping up on a chair and sitting down to watch the rest of the bar. He looks somewhat baffled, but not unfriendly.

notjustnarrator.livejournal.com

When Nick ventures down from his room, he is not in the best of moods. After his conversation with Puck, a few things - tiny, mundane details - brought themselves to light in his mind, and now he cannot stop blaming himself.

So he does what any sensible man would do, and orders a drink.

The drink - Scotch, on the rocks - appears within seconds, but there is something odd about it.

It's resting atop a hardcover book. When Nick picks it up and reads the gold print along its side, he looks puzzled. The Great Gatsby, it reads. By F. Scott Fitzgerald.

176 pages and two and a half glasses of Scotch later, the book hits the floor with a very audible thud.

iopenthings

Door steps through the House of Arch painting, carrying a sheaf of papers and several pens. She'd promised herself a break after finishing the last bits of paperwork were done for the day, but quite frankly the study was far too stuffy after eight hours. Milliways, however, was at least a change of scenery, and surely she'd be able to finish her work with a minimum of fuss.

Then she could have a drink.

At least this was the game plan.

Now, however, as she sets her papers down on a corner table, her stomach decides to remind her she's not eaten anything since breakfast this morning. Oh, dear.

"Bar? Could I get something to eat? Nothing heavy, but--"

It certainly looks light enough. And vegetarian, unless the off-white cubes are some new kind of beef. It really doesn't take her long to eat it. Then she takes a look at the spread of papers around her. That look of horror on her face can't be feigned.

"Am I living in the stone age? Bar, be a dear and get me a computer? I'll have these accounts done in a jiff, that way. Ridiculous."

And, shaking her head, the Lady of the House of Arch gets down to work.

clack clack clack clack

Eventually she'll get up and order coffee.

and-far-away.livejournal.com

By the time he got back into the farmhouse from the barn, walking slowly and carefully with the baby in his arms, Lucille had gone to sleep, worn out by the difficult birth. The doctor was a little put out by Sharpe seemingly having managed to revive the baby girl where he would have given up (and, perhaps, it had more than he'd admit to do with the daughter of the Viscountess Seleglise being also the daughter of an English soldier) and left soon after. And Sharpe just sat and waited for Lucille to wake up, so they could name their daughter.

She was weak, when she did, not herself... but she smiled, and she was alert, and she chose Dominique for the little girl's name. She's been sleeping a lot since then, still recovering, and Sharpe expects it'll be a while before she's completely well. It's all right, though - she's got Marie to look after her and the children while he works on the farm, and he's never far away if anything should happen. And when he's in the bar, time doesn't pass so it's not as if she misses him, or would need him and he not be there.

It's easy enough to slip out with the baby, one afternoon when the work's done and Lucille's sleeping. And he has people to introduce his daughter to.

So. Soldier in the bar, with a baby in a pink blanket.

nitro-is-ace.livejournal.com

Ace... never really did much of the 'traditional' Christmas stuff as a kid. Didn't do much on the TARDIS, either, despite how many Christmases they managed to hit. Definitely didn't do much on Gallifrey - Christmas didn't really exist there.

Thus? Ace needs to catch up.

She has managed to acquire quite a lot of frosting, even more candy of various sorts, and some very odd-looking pieces of gingerbread.

That's right. Time for the gingerbread house.

So far, she's managed to build a little bomb shelter in the backyard, complete with a candy-cane barrier so no one trips and falls in accidentally. She's got priorities.

un_fallen

Lost in his own thoughts, Raguel's collected his usual from the bar and found a corner table with a view of the whole place. It's a table he often chooses - all the comforts of Milliways, not too bright, oddly comfortable chairs. Tonight it even has a sprig of mistletoe placed conveniently overhead.

Unfortunately, with the corner at his back, Raguel's attention is focused out in front of him rather than upward.

ninja-mountie.livejournal.com

If there have been other people in the Bar with small animals, the little Mountie is not aware of it. He's been in the room he took upstairs since yesterday, seeing to the needs of the hours-old husky puppy he brought in with him. It's not unfamiliar work; he's done much the same for foals and calves before, though not under such circumstances. It's just work that calls for patience and dedication.

He's got both, in spades, but sooner or later he was bound to run out of supplies. Thus he's down in the main Bar with a truly tiny puppy- barely a day old- in a blanket-cushioned basket, filling that drip bag the doctor-woman Khemrys gave him.

He'll eat eventually, when he's hungry. Right now, the pup needs him more.

the-woodpecker.livejournal.com

[ooc: Wrapping things up. Millitimed to Friday night. Warning for... teenage content.]

stilljustandrew

*Andrew's still at work with that reference book and sketch he was working with last time he was in the bar. This time, though, he's got a chicken sandwich and a Coke.*

*There is no tofu involved on this table anywhere.*

creator_raven

There are many tables in the bar.

Quite a few of them are occupied.

One of them, in particular, is occupied by a very gangly man in a black coat and dusty blue jeans.

He also has cookies.

In between inhaling handfuls of said cookies, Raven looks about the bar with bright, black eyes.

Possibly he is searching for familiar faces.

Possibly he is just interested in people.

It only seems like a very great change, perhaps.

Perhaps.