milliways_bar | Jan. 29th, 2007

Jan. 29th, 2007

Belle is in bar.

She's. . . different today.

Please be aware, any male who tags will most likely be flirted with.

vaapadmaster.livejournal.com

Just before seven, the waitrats set up a table, a bit separated from the others; a table for two, with candles for the right atmosphere. Mace peruses the preparations, and raises a brow at the bottle of chilled champagne: that might be a touch too much, but he lets it stay.

Dressed in formal robes, he waits for his guest.

[Plotlocked!]

milkbonesoldier.livejournal.com

[OOM: Ever have one of those days where you wake up vaguely nervous, only to find out that everything's going along just fine and your life's unfolding exactly as it should?

This is SO not one of those days. Wells and Ace are in for more trouble than they ever expected.]

runmakitarun.livejournal.com

[OOM: To be born on this soil is to be born a warrior.

Makita walks back onto the streets of Bahamut and back into battle. Violence and brutality ensue.]

forge-fire.livejournal.com

There is someone in the booth in the corner, the one that's usually a little dark and shadowy. At the moment, it's not. The light is on overhead and there are smaller lights, tiny tinkling lights, that shine in patterns as the occupent of the booth turns his piece around and around. It's a miniature carousel complete down to the last meticulously carved and painted picture around the edge. He's putting in the horses and riders at the moment, taking great care with his work and soothing each one of the horses as he places them. He's just started, though, so he'll probably be a while.

That said, he can talk as he works, as much as he ever actually talks.

hungbyathread.livejournal.com

PLOP.

PLURK.

PLOP.

PLU--WOBBLE.

WOBBLE.

A man as brilliant as Geoffrey Tennant (and he is brilliant, like a broken mirror, like an exploding marble, like the shine on the glass on the window that shows the End of the Universe) shouldn't be amused by a plunger stuck to the wall, nor by his ability to make it wobble, but he is. He figures it's better than watching the front door to make sure it does nothing funny as he has been for the last few days.

That said, as it hasn't done anything unusual except, perhaps, let in an unusual set of patrons, Geoffrey is starting to think he might in fact try the door and see if it brings him back to his senses (whatever of those he might have left).

Plunger. Door. Plunger. Door.

milkbonesoldier.livejournal.com

Wells didn't get much sleep last night, being- perhaps understandably- just a bit too much on edge to make that really feasible. The girls at the Academy got the drill of their lives today as a result. When he stalks into the Bar today he doesn't appear to have unwound one bit, either. He sets a number of envelopes down on the Bar's surface. "Could you see to it that these get to Andrew, Philippus, and Cooper, please?" he says.

( Notes. )

The envelopes vanish; he nods. "Thank you," he says. "I suppose it's too early by local time for a pint? 'Cos it's well past noon where I've just come from and I could bloody well use one."

soulburden.livejournal.com

Renfield had to procure a new journal, as the last one (plus the extra pages Suzi had given him) was now completely filled with notes, figures and random scribbles that even he couldn't quite make out sometimes. Most of it he could figure out, but some of it looks like rubbish.

Which likely led to his current emotional state.

He sits hunched over at a table, scribbling, erasing, and grunting at a page in his brand new journal, the new coat Bar had given him draped over the adjacent chair.

sime-channel.livejournal.com

Suzi is settled in with her usual cup of tea, and a much less usual covered plate. She moves the cover off to take bites of the snack food under it on rare occasions, but is very careful to re-cover it when her hand isn't actually in the food. Her other hand is occupied with reading, another of those big Braille books.

incoldwrit.livejournal.com

One Truman Capote is currently at a table reading the newspaper. Seeing as how this is not the newspaper of destiny, that which will show him the subject that will eat his life, and seeing as how he frequently looks up around the bar, he can be easily distracted from this task.

[ ooc: mun is here until about 3:30 pm est, though she may take a shower between now and then. ]

the-woodpecker.livejournal.com

Well, looky here!

There's a bartender behind Bar hasn't been behind Bar in a few weeks. Fancy that.

Having put the kids to bed for naps at home, Bernard stretches, yawns, and surveys the room, thinking he'd like a nap, too. He picks up a glass and a rag and starts polishing, ready to take orders.

mogget_cat

Yrael wanders in from the back corridor with his violin tonight, humming a rather haunting tune. A faint, smug smile on his face, he settles at the bar and begins resining the violin bow.

Come. He'll play for you.

brokenjilly.livejournal.com

Jilly's much less distressed to find herself in the Bar this time. Sure, it's still disconcerting, to say the least, but at least she knows where she is this time. And more or less how things work.

She slides onto a barstool and orders an orange pop. She's got her sketchbook with her this time, as she's just coming from the park on a nice spring day, and she thinks it might be a good idea to draw the Bar. The explosion, at least, will make good practice for chaos - and some of the patrons would do nicely in a few of her odder paintings. Not that she plans to use them, but, well, inspiration does strike at odd times, doesn't it?

So she's sipping her drink and doodling at the Bar. Interruptions will be welcome.

turned_captain

Given that it's late January, one would expect fewer people to spend time out by the lake. It's cold, the ground is frosty and dangerous, and the atmosphere indoors is surely a lot more amenable to a person who spent their adolescence and adult lie in the Caribbean then the freezing Scottish cold outside.

Indoors, however, offers little in the way of occupation for a blacksmith and a sword fighter. Will Turner has little use for tables and chairs and bars between his three hearty meals a day. He has a daily routine, and hardly any of that affords him time for wrapping himself up indoors.

Practice is a habit he's been in since he forged his first attempt at a sword. Since then these self-invented "katas" and footwork routines against a homemade dummy have so ingratiated themselves into his routine that a day feels odd without these three hours he sets aside just for himself. So that is what he is doing now; out by the lakeside, putting himself through his paces.

steelartisan

[OOM: Piotr and Destruction talk out by the lake.

It goes so well! Fathers always love their little girls' boyfriends!]

verymodelof.livejournal.com

OOM: In which Matt decides Ithaca was a terrible idea, and Danny may be coming on too strong.

rebel-falcon.livejournal.com

"Sorry 'bout the mess. I always was a lousy host."

Han flips a couple of coins over his shoulder and stalks out of the cantina.

Into ... another cantina.

Well, ain't no such thing as too much Alderaanian ale. 'Specially now he's got a fare. Seventeen thousand! The old guy must be nuts.

Really, it's a rather self-congratulatory smirk Han's wearing as he heads for the bar.

omniscient-pa.livejournal.com

The blonde girl walks purposefully into the bar behind a rather large stack of papers, focused more on not dropping any of them than her surroundings. She sighs and frowns a little

"Um, Matt, Andy said you needed... to..." Blink. "This... isn't Matt's office."

Suzanne, welcome to Milliways.

evryinchbut1.livejournal.com

Your server is: Valerie

Waitress making the rounds; feel free to flag her down.

blackholesandrevelations

"Squiggly line equals reverse squiggly line which equals..." John drifted off as he blinked at the paper of...symbols before him. He took a moment to scratch his head with his pen, before continuing: "Which equals Scorpius on a stick...

Satisfied with this answer, John tipped his bottle of beer back, smacking his lips with sastifaction.

Quite. Quite, quite botherable.

kitchen_maid

Amy and Susan are over by the fireplace, playing with a stuffed white elephant. Susan has a great deal to say about this, even if most of it is not yet in recognizable words.

Company is, as ever, quite welcome.

abar-starclog.livejournal.com

Carl's been busy, over the weekend. By now he figures he's earned another break, and while he started with every intention of getting back to his reread, he fell into doodling on the book cover again.
Some of those stick figures look like they're heading for epic battle; with each other or against something else entirely remains to be seen.

pig-transcends.livejournal.com

Chao, the Transcendent Pig, is perched on a barstool humming to himself. The melody, which appears to switch erratically between the keys of B flat and E sharp minor, happens to be the national anthem of a small republic on Markov Five. The republic celebrated Independence Day today, for certain values of 'today,' and the anthem is stuck in Chao's transcendently porcine head.

viridian-hue.livejournal.com

When the Door opens, the young man who enters is disheveled, clearly still a little strung out, and is clutching a half-crumpled brown paper bag in one hand and a receipt in another, peering at the latter intently. "That isn't gonna be enough canvas," he mutters, hand tightening on the crumpled bag and it's obvious how the paper got into that state in the first place. There's paint streaked on his temple, up and into his stringy, longish brown hair, and the blue is entirely obvious against it. Come to mention it, there's paint almost all over him, splattered on his cargo pants, smeared on the sleeve of his hoodie, dripped on the toes of his shoes. When he hears the noise of the bar, or absence thereof compared to the din of rush-hour traffic on the Bowery he was expecting, Isaac looks up, a little doe-eyed.

"Huh. Wrong door."

He turns, reaching for the handle and stumbles when his hand runs into empty space instead of the metal bar he's expecting.

"Huh," he says again. He's pretty sure this is real. It doesn't feel like he's still high. In fact, the headache throbbing in his temples makes sure he is, in fact, more-or-less sober.

So he's ended up in a bar. Somehow. Somewhere. His brain, so very helpfully, tries to fill in the empty space with a musical cue from West Side Story, and it's really not doing anything for him, mostly just making the headache worse and the world tilt a little harder to the left, so Isaac does the most logical thing he can think of.

He stands right where he is and stares at the place, waiting to wake up or for the door to lead him back out on the street to reappear. Y'know. Whichever comes first. He's not picky.

guppy_sandhu

Because essays are a pain in the gluteus maximus
Guppy is in a booth near the infirmary, trying to get through some of the backlog of paperwork that he hasn't had time to do at work. Mainly because of the whole short-staffed-without-cover-management-incompetancy sort of thing. There's also the advantage that it gets him out of his imploding department for a while.

Having said that, he's been sort of staring at the last sheet for about fifteen minutes without having actually written anything or indeed moving. Maybe his coffee meter ran out.

faithful-slayer.livejournal.com

Blink and you'll miss it, but there's a Faith in the bar. Perched at a table, dressed casually, just come back from a run around the lake, drinking a lot of water.

She's still blue, of course.

the_seafarer

Caspian has been acting strangely, the last few weeks. He's been conversing with the horses (which is fairly normal, but how often does one ask a horse, even a talking one, if they'd be more comfortable sitting over here rather than just there?) and pouring tea (again, not unusual, though he generally takes only one cup and they are not always quite so small and delicate).

He's been practicing other things, too.

And despite what Mal or Jack may have led him to believe, batting his lashes is decidedly not anywhere on the list.

[OOC: Am off to sleep, but will catch up slowtimes later!]

poisonwine

After the revelation of the day, Belle has moved out of her old home and into a Milliways apartment (2110, since you asked). She's unpacked, and is actually feeling quite good about life.

Even to the point of humming while she sips a cup of steaming black tea.

Wanna poke the happy assassin?

k_in_black

[OOM: After months of covert field operations, a few lethal confrontations, and some startling discoveries, the Men in Black finally gather for a high-level briefing about the alien manifestation known as Black Oil.

From a lost holo-datachip of the MiB Archives, this is part one]

nitro-is-ace.livejournal.com

The front door opens.

Ace meanders through, feet dragging a bit, her rucksack over one shoulder.

The front door closes.

Ace makes her way with a single-minded purpose to the couch.

It's been a while since Ace has been this tired.

countofserenno.livejournal.com

Dooku is sitting in the Bar, by the observation window, pondering/meditating (since it's so cold outside). Not doing much, just...sitting there. And he could use conversation.

Any takers?

winged-defender.livejournal.com

Here's someone who hasn't been around in a while: Peach has somehow managed to make a stealthy entrance and is perched at a table in a shadowy corner, happily demolishing one of the chairs.

Also occasionally making car alarm noises. She's really not very good at the whole 'stealthy' thing.

almost-arabian.livejournal.com

It's a rare occurance that Lawrence steps into the bar not of his own accord - he's rather greasy at the moment and there are a pair of round goggles atop his head.

He's been working on the old 'cycle, you see. At least now he can take a break. He wanders over to the bar and asks for a cloth from a waitrat along with a salad and a cup of tea.

The rag is used to wipe off the oils from his hands and face, as best he can manage it.

missginnytonic.livejournal.com

Wow it seems like its been forever since she's been in. A week bar time, Maybe more.. She's a little down its been a hard time in her world. there have been deaths all over. Seeming like they're more and more every time she turns around. No one she knows yet but she is sure its only a matter of time.

[ooc: ok so Ginny has been gone a while but her Mun had Drama at home that can be explained here

baby_duck484 ]

lvheather.livejournal.com

Through the door, as it swings open, one might catch a glimpse of a wood-panneled hallway, the edge of a tall desk to the right suggesting an office building, high end and ritzy. The woman who steps through, though her cool confidence is the match for any business woman anywhere, screams something far from Wall Street. She pauses three steps in, the clack of her heels stuttering before they stop entirely. Perfectly plucked eyebrows rise sharply above grey-green eyes. Her lips purse, thoughtful.

"Well. This is unexpected." Calm on the surface, the mellow alto tones hold an undercurrent of surprise. Not precisely pleasant surprise, either - it is not every day that one's attorney's office morphs into a bar, after all.

The door swings shut behind her. And vanishes.

Welcome to Milliways, Lady Heather.

hysteriaprone.livejournal.com

[OOM: A series of nightmares and dreamscapes that leave Roderick Usher completely and utterly shattered.

Warnings for blood, horror, a small bit of incest, extreme character breakage, angst, and a lot of Poe-esque writing.

We are very proud of it. :D]

ashtreelane

When a door last opened between the house and Milliways, two months ago, eleven people came stumbling through.

And two were left behind.

Don't cry. There's always a way.

ashtreelane

is my beginning is my end

The front door opens, slowly, and a cold draft gusts through the room.
...I will be watching then as I watch now.
Beyond the door is a gaunt young man in faded black, his back to the room, barely silhouetted against a slowly whirling vortex of darkness. He staggers back away from it, apparently involuntarily, into the warmth and light of Milliways.
I will praise darkness now, but then the leaf.
The door closes, and melts away into the wall.

awesome_lilly

Lilly's been sitting in a back booth. Maybe you couldn't see her, but she was there.

She wasn't alone.

And by the way things are going, she's not going to be alone tonight either.

locks_it_up

There's a pale green teapot and an almost-white blue mug on an endtable by a couch. No actual tea--there's warm cider in both--is present, but the personification sitting on said couch and using both happens to like them.

They hold cider just as well.

[OOC: And slowtimes must be begged.]