milliways_bar | Jan. 2nd, 2007

Jan. 2nd, 2007

"Tea," River asks the bar, looking at it with something that might be wariness. "Please."

What appears is plain green tea, unadulterated by any kind of soymilk, and River relaxes. A moment later, a small collection of objects appears: a bracelet of jewel-toned glass beads with an accompanying note, a not entirely functional but very glittery pot holder, and a book. On the cover are three eels, gleaming with a wet iridescence that looks too real to be managed by ink and paper, intertwined in ways that don't look strictly possible by the limits of anatomy and physics.

And a cube of tofu.

That last gets pushed away sourly and very firmly; from River's face, one might think it were a particularly loathsome beetle.

The rest, however, makes her beam, and she carefully scoops them all into a fold of her skirt so she can carry them and her tea over to a table.

tibetanmethod

The front door opens.

Dale Cooper, looking bleary-eyed, sits down at the Bar and requests a glass of milk and a fried egg sandwich on rye toast.

Naturally the night when he has a dream like this is a night when there's no milk in the house.

(And he likes fried egg sandwiches.)

http://users.livejournal.com/_righthandman_/

Long after the rash of wee baby pups has left the bar, one last remains.

Chase has got to learn to stop complaining about stuff within earshot of the Bar. Last time he complained about the pink shirt she gave him to wear, he ended up wearing a bedsheet toga for a week.

And now he's been worrying aloud about his upcoming thirtieth birthday.

And now there's an eight-year-old boy with the poofiest hair ever known to mankind staring slack-jawed at the observation window.

"So cool."

[OOC: Please, guys, don't kill me. I never got the chance to play a baby!pup back when they were in fashion, and I just wanted to try it for a night.]

winterladym.livejournal.com

((OOM: Elsewhere:Boredom and the single faeWARNINGS! For general creepiness and evil.))

The door slams shut behind the newest patron of this fine establishment, with what was meant to be a rather obnoxious crash. However, due to the rather annoying properties this place tends to exhibit, it's much more of a thud then a crash, and that serves only to annoy the Queen to be of the Winter Court of the Sidhe.

"JENNY! You ignorant little piece of pixie trash, how DARE you catch that door!"

The girl spins, her multi colored dread locks, green, blue, even white there at the back, twirling in a bizzare halo about her head. She takes a deep breath to yell some more, but, somehow, some way, the idea that all is not right in her perfect little world has insinuated itself into her pretty little head. Sure she looks young, but the brain in that young body has been around for a long, long time, and she was able to play the damsel in distress back when knights would actually fall for such things.

"THIS."

She takes a breath, calming herself. It would do no good to go off the handle immediately. First, find out what has happened to the usual place and then-

Then it hits her. The sights, the sounds, the feel of foreign magics, the interplay of unknown species, of mortals who have never existed in her world. This is a place she has never been before. This is something new.

Bright eyes gleam in an innocent face as she does her best to take it in. Never mind that there appears to be no way back, never mind that she has no idea what is going on here, never mind that she knows nothing.

This is NEW.

new-moon-sucks.livejournal.com

Inuyasha's currently training outside near the lake, though he sure as hell wished there were youkai that he could use as target practice.

Sword up, eyes narrowed and make sure to get that lungful of air, swing the sword down and yell at the top of your lungs,

"Kaze no Kizu!"

Three claws of gold energy blast across the lake and more than likely hit something on the otherside, once again probably changing the landscape.

He looks over the rough water and scowls.

Dammit, not good enough. Better try again.

Botherable, just don't get hit.

tristranthorn

When Tristran and Yvaine come downstairs, it appears that the tension between them has lessened. And even though Tristran can still hear her mumble and swear on the occasion -- most likely directed at him -- he's happy that he's been hearing less of it.

They are downstairs, sitting at a table looking rather inconspicuous, with the chain linking them together hiding beneath the table-top. It is their last evening in the bar and then they will be leaving the bar to pursue Tristran's great quest for home -- he can't help it if he's eager to leave. He refuses to be conned by Yvaine's excuses any longer! No way!

There is a large, steaming pot-pie in front of him along with a great mug of mead, and beside him is a selection of ordered foods from the bar which he is planning on taking with him for when they leave. After all, there won't be another town for miles where they're going; he's sure of this. Sitting on the other side of him, rather closely -- by force, they'll assure you, since the chain doesn't stretch entirely too long -- there is a beautiful lady with a glass of water in front of her.

They are sort-of but not-really having a conversation, so interruption by anyone is quite welcomed.

[ooc: same deal here: two muns with two pups; what you say will be heard by both! anyone is quite welcome to tag!]

mogget_cat

Yrael's really starting to like this whole 'wearing colors' thing. He's wearing the deep green shirt he got in Belisaere, the black pants he got from Bar, and the long, pale green leather coat he got for Christmas, stretched out comfortably on the couch. He's reading an interestingly covered book, keeping the unheard beat of the bar room with the tapping of his foot against the far armrest.

no-war-here.livejournal.com

[ooc: soon after this...

Mark Fossie meets Mary Anne's husband, which goes about as well as you'd think.]

called_lioness

Behold: blonde, tea, bar.

BTB.

Like BLT, but not as inclined to give you long-term cholesterol problems.

In conclusion: Lucy is in the bar, with tea, her hair is still blonde, despite anything Sunny Baudelaire may try to do and change this fact.

She is also reading Emily Dickinson, who was not blonde, and probably should have had a hell of a lot more tea, but might have fit in awfully well in the bar, come to think of it.

princeinexile

[OOM: Zuko and Steph reach a breaking point. Daddy issues, Dead Girlfriends, Abuse Subjects, Teenage Angst. This breakup has got everything...

Except the happy ending.]

buddyofchrist.livejournal.com

The door opens, and a dark-skinned man in a "Jesus is my Homie" t-shirt walks in, pulling a curvaceous woman in a headscarf behind him.

"I heard about this place while I was in prison for towel-whipping that policeman. You'll love it, Maggie, it has the best Chinese food in all of -"

He stops speaking as he turns from the pretty woman he's towing by the hand and looks into the actual restaurant, the door still open. His swarthy face goes pale and he turns around and exits, shutting the door behind him with a very pronounced slam.

A second later, the door opens again, a different day this time, grey and pouring down rain, but still the same man, with a newspaper over his head and the same "Jesus is my Homie" t-shirt. He looks around, pales a little less, turns around again and slams the door behind him.

Repeat ad infinitum, until finally, on one bright, shining day, in a shirt that says "Female Body Inspector," Biff opens the door to Milliways, looks in, and sighs in defeat.

He turns around again, but doesn't close the door this time. Instead, he picks up a cinderblock, props the door open with it, stares for a moment to make sure it's not going to snap shut on him, then walks in, peering over his shoulder every other step to make sure the door's still open to New York.

"Okay, you got me back, but I'm not staying," he warns the bar, producing a handful of change from the pocket of his jeans. "One Scorpion Bowl and a burrito, and I promise to visit you more if you don't pull any 'bound' tricks on me. Work for you, sweetplanks?"

The giant girly drink appears, which isn't really a positive or negative indication of any certainty, but Biff takes it anyway because he likes his scorpion bowls like that.

"Thanks."

againstcovenant.livejournal.com

The Chief's mind had spent the better part of an hour trying to aquaint himself with the terrain this morning. Parts of the forest were too thick to enter.

He didn't pay attention to anything else. Although those mountains could definately bare investigating-

If you'd asked him earlier, he would have said the place was terraformed. Built on a solid little asteroid and terraformed. Although he doubted he'd find it if he'd checked the UNSC charts.

Picture this. Crystalline white snow, a gentle breeze. A few insects buzz about. Perhaps a morning jogger passes-

And BAM 7 feet worth of armored individual flings itself through the trees-sticking a landing before he's off and running again.

Nobody wearing that much armor has the right to be that fast. Ne? And the Chief's not even the fastest spartan. He could keep this up if he wanted.

But once inside he eyes a booth (No, trying to wedge oneself into that wouldn't be a good idea) and opts for a table where he pops off his glove and begins to work on it with his opposite hand. Minutes pass-before a waitrat appears with a UNSC military-grade ration.

"....Um-"

The chief tilts his helmeted head to the side, "I didn't want this-"

The Rat shrugs it's shoulders, offers a water bottle, and skitters away.
Shrugging, the chief returns to work, food neglected-for now.

hearthethoughts.livejournal.com

Alice Rathbone
1121 Leob Dr.
San Diego California, 92128

Mr. and Mrs. Jeffery King
1013 Kring Ave.
Los Angeles California-

Shoot. He can't remember the King's zipcode.

Taking this as a sign that he needs to stop addressing christmas cards and take a break, Matt rubs his eyes-pinching the bridge of his nose as he builds up a wall made of mental power once again-

After popping four asprin.

He should probably see a doctor about that. But what else is he going to do? The door's back, it's just locked. Shaking his head, Matt picks up the pen and begins doodling slow spirals and circles on the edge of his address book.

He could be bothered.

milkbonesoldier.livejournal.com

It hadn't been a good night, last night.
( You should've been mine. )
Wells was not- is not, probably can't ever be- the kind of man who could look at someone else and know what was wrong straight off. Oh, he could guess, to be sure, but that's all it is- guesses. Sometimes he can't even do that.
( Yours? Never yours. I'm not your puppet. Not your slave- not your soldier. Whatever this game of yours is, it's not going to work. )
Last night was one of those nights. He saw Zuko, and he spoke to him, and- what? He's got no fucking clue, that's what, but there's something getting at the young man that he knows damn well he's got no part of. It took him all night to come to terms with that fact, so he's a little surly this morning as he requests pen and paper from Bar and sits down to write.

( Read more... )

He seals the note in an envelope and sets it down on the bar. "Give this to Zuko, would you?" he says, and it disappears. "Thanks."

That being said, he's going to need a lot of tea before he can get himself to go outside again.

gone_byebye

Ray really ought to be doing this in New York, but frankly, there's too many telephone calls and intrusions of every kind to make that feasible. He's got research to follow up on, two experimental containment field structures to test, a message from Detective Chen, and an analysis to run on the spooks they pulled out of that Con Ed plant in Queens. At least here he can get a few moments to breathe, and to throw all his attention into practicing.

One Ghostbuster, on the least snowy ground he can find out by the lake, practicing with his lightsabre and a training remote set on Mr. Sansevero Wants His Money Back Right Now mode (that is to say, shots primarily aimed at the knees and lower body).

sime-channel.livejournal.com

Eventually Suzi wanders back downstairs.

There are Gens here. Gens. Plural. This is weird. Not...bad. Just weird. Very weird. Very, very weird.

There is an actual Companion here. Again: not bad, but weird. She could help Wwhistler learn to be a Companion, a true Companion.

Does Suzi want that? She...couldn't tell you. She's got Whistler, and he's perfect.

She's also got her knitting, and its...not so perfect right now. She keeps dropping stitches.

dontlooklisten.livejournal.com

So far as Whistler knows, Suzi is still upstairs. Not sleeping- she doesn't sleep long, never has- but upstairs. Everyone needs some alone time, after all, and he's fine with that. That's why he's down here, with someone who is sleeping- someone of the small, furry, brown persuasion, curled up in a basket at his feet, snoring while he carefully picks his way through the circuitry necessary to make a remote-controlled CD player respond to sound as well as to infrared.

It's trickier than it looks, but that might just be him.

krisofvaldemar.livejournal.com

Kris is downstairs, with breakfast and, yes, alcohol. He'd had a restless night. He won't get drunk, but the drink will take the edge off a headache for him.
Bar also leaves him a book on computers, which at least explains what the hell people in the Bar are talking about. He's far from stupid, just it's a new subject for him.
He could be poked while reading.

unwraith.livejournal.com

Wraith, in the forest, just on the border of the Dreaming. He is on his way back to the bar...eventually.
Or, one might say, they are. He's had occasion to think of the human saying "beware what you wish for, you'll get it" several times over the last few days.
He makes himself walk, despite a part of him that just wants to go *away* from the lights and noises of a place that holds other people.
Move. Weapons, he'd left at his quarters, under a lock that only he knows the combination. He's not dressed for the weather, but he doesn't feel the cold.
The lakeshore's a fair compromise. He stops, sits on a rock, watching out over the choppy black water.

Botherable, but there's no promise not to try to bite.

hcliffhuxtable.livejournal.com

Despite recent events, Cliff REFUSES to have any angst served to him today with his donut and coffee!
He'll share. C'mon over, if you're in a good mood, or hungry, or up for friendly conversation. Drinks are on him.

human-child.livejournal.com

Some of the patrons who have been tagged might have noticed, but.

Bastian's in the bar, still.

He's alternating between stuffing his face with a sammich, and writing furiously in his notebook.

Should you wish to bother him, awkwardness and probably-stilted conversation abounds! But he's not going to bite your head off, and he really doesn't know much about any recent events, so he is completely angst-free. Just socially awkward.

bohemian-mark.livejournal.com

The door to the bar opens, slowly, and a telephoto film camera lens peeks through the crack. After a moment, it retracts, and Mark walks through, looking just a bit more relieved than he really ought to in the situation. Striding over to the bar, he pulls out a film pen and scribbles something on some small pieces of storyboard paper. "Bar, can you give this to the people in question? Thanks." He pets Bar as the papers disappear and are replaced by a to-go cup of iced tea. "Thanks. I'll be back later." And with that, he goes back out the door.

( To Collins, Angel, Joanne, Mimi, April, Arthur Dent, Queen Faith, and Sara )

[ooc: If I forgot someone that Mark knows and would warn, let me know. Or just pretend you got one. Thanks!]

prone-to-panic.livejournal.com

Archie's in the bar this evening, once again in his jeans and old uniform jacket. In fact, he's sitting sideways in a chair over by the fireplace, reading a book. Very dignified, that. He's also absently playing with his newly short hair. He still hasn't quite gotten used to that. Come say hi, tease him, whatever.

the_antiangst

Angel got back from New York earlier. It was a good visit, for all he'd still kind of like to be able to stick around.
But what can you do, when you've already got more time than you thought you'd have?
In any case, when he comes down from unpacking, he stops by Bar for lunch... and gets a note from Mark along with it.
...Oh boy.

alorn-bear.livejournal.com

It's a good day today, it really is. Belar's been flying, and flying always puts him in a good mood- even when the weather's awful. Tonight should be interesting, considering what he's heard about the woods and the full moon, but for now he's in the Bar.

With, of course, the sign saying ANSWERING PRAYERS- BACK IN 15 MINUTES decrementing itself on his table as he sits back to do his duty for the day.

jianhuo.livejournal.com

(First this OOM and this scene)

Maybe she underestimated what this new place would be like. Not just a free room with fresh people, but a great possibility of bumping into people she thought she left behind a long time ago. The door still wasn't in the bar and losing the ability to world-hop at a moment's notice...

"Uneasy" was an understatement for how it made her feel.

Not that this place made any more sense now than it had the night before, but that was no reason not to walk around and learn a little more. Thus, there's a redhead walking through the snow, bundled up (and fashionably so, may it be noted) and looking around the grounds.

the-woodpecker.livejournal.com

( Letter to Crowley )

mendanddefend_archive

So Bob ran into the Hogfather the other night, and was given something he hasn't had for a while. The last time he played a guitar was... way too long ago.

Now he's sitting in a chair near the fire, picking out a tune. It's not entirely clear what tune it is, because he stops every few bars to try to remember the next bit.

Like we said, it's been a while.

lichvell-r.livejournal.com

[[OOM: Ravin gives payback]]

[Warning: disturbing imagery]

The door swings open forcefully, letting in a flash of green light; next, wafts in some smoke, carrying the bitter-sweet scent of charred human flesh, coupled with an odd metallic tang. Finally, enters Ravin, fuming in anger, still trailing magical energy.

The lich-girl does not stop, barely acknowledging the bar, and makes a beeline for the back door, heading outside into the snow.

Profuse cursing and sounds of breaking and smashing can be heard, moving steadily away, until silence returns... about the same time the door swings closed on its own, but this time not locking nor vanishing.

If people bother themselves with checking on the half-undead, Ravin can be found sitting on a stone, near the lake; and still fuming, her eyes glowing a baleful green.

Approach with caution.

doc-venkman.livejournal.com

Peter opened the Front Door to wander in, calling behind his shoulder, "Daddy's got to take a break from playing horsie, kiddo. Be right back." There was a little boy's voice in the background.

"Awwww... but I wanna plaaaay!"

"In a minute," He shut the door, and noticed his surroundings finally. Once again, when he had to use the can. At least there's restrooms here. He made a beeline for them.

When he re-emerged a few minutes later, he figured to stop by the bar. There were a few notes and packages. The note from Matt and the package he was happy about, but the one about Guppy less so.

"Aw hell...That guy really should transfer out of there," He groaned. He was about to head to the infirmary when a book also appeared on the counter. Wilhelm Reich? He vaguely remembered a brief blurb from one of his psych classes, but that was it. Huh?

Feel free to ask him about it, or anything else before he heads to the infirmary.

captainryan.livejournal.com

The last person Ryan spoke to last night, or rather didn't speak to was Andrew Wells. That Ryan lost his temper as much as he did isn't sitting well with him. Full moon is no excuse as far as he's concerned. If he can't even control himself over one raspberry, what chance did he have tonight? He needs to calm down, take a step back, relax enough that nothing would bother him.

It isn't reassuring that that's what he tried last month too.

He's sitting on a rock by the lake now in the same outfit as yesterday. Sure it's cold, but he either doesn't notice or doesn't care. Despite his thoughts, he's gripping his dog tags and frowning determinedly.

He's one of the best, you see.

[OOC: ~~Will be back in about an hour.~~ Back!]

still_golden

Do you want to meet for lunch? Jennifer had asked in the morning, and Kim had agreed immediately, making Jen smile a little ruefully. They'd arranged time and place -- a little cafe Jen knows Paul and Kim frequent -- and Jen had met Kim over at the hospital. Spring's coming on, and they're both lightly dressed; Kim's still wearing her white coat, since it's just a quick lunch break.

Jen's looking over her shoulder as she opens the door and steps through, saying something to Kim. She looks forward again and stops abruptly.

"Kim, what's this?"

alwaysroomforhope

Steph drifts in from outside, looking unhappy, and settles into a seat at the Bar. She is followed by a kitten so tiny and wee that it's really just a scrap of fur with 'tude, which winds itself around her ankles as she slumps.

Bar, with perhaps an air of disapproval that she's been avoiding it for so long (that whole tofu thing, so embarrassing, God...) presents her with - well, presents. Steph's D: turns into :o and then :D!

And then D: again, as she opens the last one and a tiny shock joy-buzzer tumbles out and bounces on the Bar-top. Steph jumps back so fast it's a second before her stool remembers to fall over.

"Nobody touch it," she snaps, to whoever might be nearby - she's not taking her eyes off the thing, or the rest of the package it fell out of. Who knows what Joker might've taken it into his head to do? He's been quiet for suspiciously long!

The kitten mewls at it. See, it must be evil.

nodistresshere

Iella enters the bar humming quietly to herself (a lively Corellian reel, if one is being specific), with her nose buried in a datapad. Her footsteps and the tune gradually slow, then stop. The datapad lowers. Her eyes flick up.

She looks at the bar a moment, then raises the datapad again, starts up the humming where she left off, and makes her way to the Bar, where she settles in with the tune, the 'pad, and a glass of water.

slayer_fray

[Pre-milliways: 2288]

The door opens in that hesitant way that suggests the opener isn't sure who or what she'll find, or what welcome they'll give her when she comes in. For it is a she that comes in.

And it's possibly a familiar 'she' as well. Except for a few things.

She's a teenager: fourteen or fifteen years old, skinny and still boyish in figure. She has a scar across her face that's not exactly fresh, but has very probably been there for less than five years. Her black hair is shoulder length and unbrushed, she has no visible piercings or tattoos. She walks with a slight limp, and she's clutching a too-large coat around herself for warmth.

And there's the tell-tale sign of someone who's just walked into a bar where they weren't expecting a bar before. She's not going anywhere though: it's warm.

She'll just hang by the door, and stare

guppy_sandhu

They say that doctors make the worst patients. This is true.

Which is why Guppy is sitting in one of the bar's many corners rather than being in the infirmary. He also has a (slightly ridiculous) dark green wooly hat pulled down to the tops of his ears, and is wearing a polo neck jumper. And he's eating soup.

He looks significantly better than he did yesterday, which wouldn't be difficult. Twenty hours of sleep probably helped.

narrated-life.livejournal.com

Harold Crick had a problem.

You see, he knew he was going to die. The voice told him so, and it has been correct about other things since Harold started hearing it.

So he saw a psychiatrist, even though he knew the voice was not in his head- negating schizophrenia, at least to himself. She thought he was mad, Harold knew this. But the important part was that Harold did not believe himself to be mad.

At least until he opened the door to his apartment after meeting with the psychiatrist and finding instead a large room that looked very much like a bar. Then he started questioning his sanity, all the while waiting for the voice he had come to expect to herald changes in his life to speak up.

He hadn't noticed his wristwatch beeping, warning him, as he had been unlocking the door, but the wristwatch was beginning to get used to being ignored.

A deep breath, and a step into the room, automatically shutting the door behind him as though it was still his apartment, and Harold hopes to find someone that could explain why he is seeing a bar instead of his apartment where his apartment should be.

Maybe this was a new aspect to hearing the voice.

the_seafarer

Caspian, sitting in his usual spot by the fire, is frowning a little. There's a new arrival in the stables, you see, and he isn't entirely sure to whom the lively little filly belongs.

The stock record, therefore, is open on his lap and being scanned thoroughly, as though he isn't quite certain that someone hasn't been making notes in it without his notice. No new entries appear, though--the handwriting in the book remains the same as it ever was, with a neat and precise hand filling the first few pages and Caspian's own strong, sweeping letters making up the entries of the last year.

Perhaps someone in the bar has the answer he is looking for?

maid-of-astolat.livejournal.com

Elaine's come downstairs for her shift.

After the holidays, it's rather nice to get back to a normal sort of routine, and she welcomes the chance to just do some waitressing.

How may she help you?

md_donighal

He meant to do this earlier, but he's been busy ~~and his mun has been tired~~. The man in the gray suit is here now, with the leavings of Paragon City's recent seasonal chaos. "Happy holidays, love," he says as he hands Bar a red box with a yellow ribbon. "Can you give one of these to everyone on my wishlist?" A moment later, he produces another box, this one green with a red ribbon, and adds, "One of these too? Tagged to be used when they really need it?"

( He's making a list and checking it twice... )

That done, he settles back with his usual glass of wine and tray of appetizers, relieved by the lack of tofu. He's always botherable.

Current Mood: cheerful

seta-soujirou.livejournal.com

A young man dressed in a strange combination of a blue haori, blue hakama, and a white, western, button-up shirt steps into the bar. He has a pleasant smile on his face, but it quickly falls into a blank expression as he takes in his surroundings.

He had actually intended to enter an eating establishment, and this certainly looks like some kind of eating establishment (although very Western), but it's chock full of foreigners, not to mention a number of people with odd enough appearances to rival the members of the Juppongatana.

Last time he checked, the restaurant he'd been intending to enter was located in a very small, traditional northern village, not known for its tourism, eccentric citizens, or really odd, Western-style restaurants.

He blinks rapidly. You'll have to forgive him for being a little baffled.

"Ah...anou..." It's all he can manage, at the moment. He's not sure what to say, or ask, or do.

Seta Soujirou, welcome to Milliways.

coming-west.livejournal.com

"I'll be in the library if I'm needed," Cally calls over her shoulder, shutting the door behind her. The door that was supposed to lead to the stairs, but instead leads to a bar at the end of the universe.

She looks pleased and immediately begins looking around for a certain someone. He is not to be seen at present, so she takes a seat at a highly visible table with the book and papers she had in hand when she arrived.

The book is a contemporary history of the Soviet Union and the notes she had taken from it and other articles and histories. She opens the book, but her eyes keep wandering around the room and her legs do not keep still underneath the table.

ninja-mountie.livejournal.com

The little Mountie is capable of going very long stretches without sleeping or eating. He's had to do it on the trail often enough. Getting sleep with a nearly new-born puppy isn't as hard as one might think, so long as he sleeps near enough to the pup to catch the sound of the tiny thing whimpering. It's the eating that's a little harder, since he hasn't really cared to leave the pup alone long enough to order anything for himself and bring it back up.

But the pup's eyes and ears are open now. Today he wriggled to his feet and took a few tottering steps. He's been fed, and he's been otherwise taken care of, and now he's sleeping- so the Mountie feels pretty safe in getting a bowl of stew from the Bar and finding himself a place to eat it. Just his luck that the only place with a decent view of the room tonight is up in the rafters. Oh, well. He'll just have to move the bowl carefully.

Red doesn't blend in too well up there, so those who look up might well spot him.

wizard_howell

"Sophie, Sophie, Sophie." Really, he's starting to get exasperated in a mildly amused fashion: she really is quite maddening. "The object of the game is for the king to come to understand that I'm not the wizard he thinks I am. Not the other way round, merch ffôl: that would be absolutely counterproductive."

It's with great intention that he turns the door to silver and pushes it open, his fingers curled safely around Sophie's thin arm. "Come. Let me spot you a nice cup of tea or brandy and we'll sit here where Calcifer can't listen in and offer up his invaluable words of wisdom. I don't want him corrupting your pristine and nosy mind." When the door closes behind them, he leads her immediately to a nearby table and motions for one of the rats. "Two cups of tea with peach brandy, my friend." Reaching into his money pouch he pulls out a rather impressive gold coin; he hands this to the rat before turning his attention back to Sophie.

She doesn't look convinced. Putting on his best, most tragic face, he pleads (but not really). "Sophie. I can't do it without you. You simply must do this for me."

othercaptjack

Today, Jack checked the door again.

Or, you know. The bare patch of wall where the door was once upon a time. He's been coming here more than a year now, must be coming up to that for how long he's been Bound, and...

It's not that he doesn't like it. He does. Oh, does he ever.

But...

Well, it put him in a quieter mood than usual, is all. So rather than lounging on a barstool in a manner just short of obscene, he's sitting in a booth a little removed from the busiest part of the bar, reading a book and slowly drinking a cup of coffee.

If anyone were to come provide a distraction, he'd be all too delighted.

[OOC: And as it's three am, I must go and get some sleeping! Slowtimes are love, as are you all. *Hugs about*]

nitro-is-ace.livejournal.com

Ace is whistling through her teeth as she strolls into Milliways, evidently not fazed at all by how very cold it is outside.

Perhaps it is because she's just so very cheerful.

The black smudges on her face and the lingering smell of smoke and cordite might have something to do with that. Those who are attentive may realize that it's been quite a long time since she's come into the bar looking like this.

Sometimes? It is good to be a rabblerouser.

"Hullo love, just some lemonade for me, ta... an' maybe one of those nice marmite sandwiches, yeah?" She asks Bar, carefully settling her knapsack on a barstool.

ather-fledgling.livejournal.com

Aubery's having a nice relaxing night. It's following the relaxing day of swimming in a southern country he's had back on his world. The evidence of his being in water? Just might be the couple small water stains on the couch where his head is resting. And, you know, his hair.

He's currently occupying one of the couches in front of the fire. His eyes are closed, and he's not breathing. Sounds of the bar and all being interesting. Feel free to bother the not breathing man on the couch.

simon_doctor

Simon's sitting by the fireplace, with a bowl of grapes and his datareader.

Currently on the screen: Course #GEN253 - Update in General Internal Medicine for Subspecialists.

wheelsy_sheriff

Bill is in tonight looking like he's lost something. That's mainly because he has. He walks past the bar, scanning under the stools with his eyes then finally takes a seat. "Hey Bar, did you or anyone find a wallet?" Nothing appears and he sighs, "Can I just get a beer then?"

He takes off his cap and sets it down on the counter, pulling the beer close as he rests his cheek on his fist. "Damn."

callitavesper.livejournal.com

Monday was a productive day. Bond went upstairs to scope out his room. A little small, but cozy. He had checked the closest and drawers to see if he’d been provided any clothes. He had—and they were, naturally, only the best in men’s fashion. Seeing as how he’d been operating on not much sleep for several days, and was staying indefinitely at the end of the universe, Bond did not hesitate to change into clothes more appropriate for sleeping.

The amount of time he had spent awake in his new room, then, was somewhere around ten minutes, followed by frequent interruptions that a man as on-edge as he was used to. He had to talk himself back in to sleep, had to convince himself there was nowhere he needed to be, nothing he had to guard himself against. He had an easier time convincing himself of the former than the latter. Despite the unquestionable realness of this place, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this was all fake, made-up, dreamt-up.

When one interruption grew too long, Bond got out of bed, dressed himself and explored the surroundings, holding on to the knowledge that this was all real, pushing away the doubt. He walked around enough to feel tired again, and retreated to his room to resume sleep. Such was his Monday.

Today was a repeat of yesterday’s excursion. He stayed outside longer than he had, regarding the mountains, walking around the lake. It’s from here that he walks into the bar again, removing thick leather gloves and a long black coat. This he folds over the back of a booth bench as he approaches the bar, returning a moment later with a glass of bourbon. It’s time to try this socializing thing.

hello-cally.livejournal.com

The Bar saw fit to give West some colored pencils with his supper tonight, so when the wait-rat comes around to pick up West's plate and glass, he is hunched over his pad of drawing paper again. Blue for the sky over the drawing of a grey stone tower, rising up from the green island that splits the river. The sky first, then the water a darker blue, edged with white. A tawny yellow for the tiny hawk that hangs in the sky, watching.

He knows what lay behind the tower in his memory; he doesn't know what lies behind the tower he draws. The river might not come back together on the far side of the island.

theravenboy

Bran Davies meant to come to Milliways sooner. He returned from Cardiff weeks ago, but then David and Jen Evans came down with 'flu, and their sons and daughters too, and Clwyd Farm needed all the workers it could get.

Bran's here now, with a knapsack full of belated Christmas presents. He also has a small golden harp in his arms and a horn tied to his hip. He intends to find somewhere safe for them within Milliways; if a certain call comes, Bran might need the harp and horn within reach.

[ooc: The mun has two hours tonight, and will continue playing threads over the next several days.]