milliways_bar | Feb. 20th, 2007

Feb. 20th, 2007

waylostandfound.livejournal.com

Nathan was in the bar late. Taking some campaign notes, and every so often, he glanced at the door.

Still a wall. Dammit.

I hope you're ok, Peter. ...Because I'm going to kill you if you're not.

He sighed, and glanced over his notes some more.

(ooc: Mun is heading to bed, but be happy to slowtime if interested. Will answer tags when I get up.)

lady_moon

Brother and sister are in the bar late tonight.

Domesiticity seems to be agreeing with Ruin, tempering his attitude, because the card is on the sofa with his sister's head in his lap. He's playing with her hair as they quietly talk between themselves. Moon's eyes are half closed, and when Ruin talks, she seems to just purr her contentment with his attentions.

Tonight is a good night for both cards, so it's safe to say Ruin won't be an asshole if approached.

callitavesper.livejournal.com

[ In flat 007: on Valentine's Day, James and Vesper discuss the things that are getting in the way of their relationship, while not addressing the elephant in the room.

Days later, Vesper has an announcement that may simplify the situation but complicates things emotionally, and the elephant in the room is finally adressed. ]

inquisitivehero

Henry came downstairs and immediately felt something odd. Not to mention, he also saw the world through lenses that hadn't been there a moment ago.

He staggered on the bottom step, nearly tripping in the strange... thing, whatever it was, that he was wearing. All he knew was it covered him from head to toe.

He held up a hand and saw... a paw. A blue paw. A blue furry paw.

"What the Hell?"

He stumbled to bar and slumped on one of the stools, and Bar, helpfully, popped up a mirror. Henry, dreading this, picked it up and looked.

...

"I look like Cookie Monster? And I repeat: 'What the hell?'"

Gobsmacked ~~Henry McCoy~~ Cookie Monster, at the Bar.

Welcome to Mardi Gras, Henry!

hysteriaprone.livejournal.com

Exhausted from blood loss and too concerned to leave, Roderick spent the night in the infirmary with Miniver.

They spoke of many things. Death, pain, literature...

Something Miniver had said and stuck in Roderick's mind like a rusty dagger.

It's going to get worse before it gets better.

For the first time, Roderick slept undisturbed. No nightmares haunted him, no visions of Madeline appeared behind his closed lids. He slept soundly, woke up with no hint of panicked sweat on his body, no trembling, no racing heart. Before leaving, he had come to the conclusion that there was something comforting about seeing some of yourself in another. By trying to help Miniver he was trying to help himself.

And that was proof, to Roderick, that there is a shred -- a tiny, tiny little shred -- of sanity left in his skull. Why would he have gone to the infirmary in the first place, had he not acknowledged that his wounds needed to be taken care of? Why would he have stayed, had he not felt worry for the other man?

A shred will do, for him.

He's nestled into a booth this morning with fresh bandages and new clothing on. The circles under his eyes have diminished slightly and his hands remain steady as he eats. There is no sign of fear upon any part of his body -- no tense muscles, no wide, darting eyes, no trembling.

For the first time since his arrival and for the first time in what seems to be years, Roderick feels he has control over his own body and mind.

[ooc: Mun will be around sporadically all day & will catch up on tags fo' sho'. :D!]

slayer_fray

Mel enters the bar from upstairs this time, not the front door, though that's where she intends to head soon enough.

First though, breakfast. And her gun needs cleaning.

Cleaning a zapper isn't quite like cleaning an old fashioned gun, thought some parts of in are similar. Mostly though it's just pulling apart the bits where it's supposed to be pulled apart and going over with a cloth and some cleaning fluid, wrapping the cloth round a pencil to get at the connections inside.

teh-data-fork.livejournal.com

The unseasonably snowy weather in Newark has given way to a nice warm spell, which is making Adam a little more cheerful than usual. (Which still isn't saying much, but eh.)

So he's actually using his time in the Bar to take a break from work, and playing a game on his laptop instead of writing up reports for Division. Between levels, he might be glancing discreetly around for other tech geeks of his acquaintance.

If you ask, he'll be happy to switch the game to multiplayer mode.

wellthrownstone.livejournal.com

It's a slightly different location that the door opens to; still his world, of course, but a very different part of it, far from Riva. He looks at the reports one last time, stuffs them into his purse, and checks the PKE.

Functional.

He reaches it out into Karanda to make sure it--

Functional.

He turns a moment to look about the bar, almost reluctant before breathing in and bucking up and taking a step out the door. This was what he had to do, this was (whether he liked it or not) his job and his responsibility. So after a moment, he takes another.

The door closes behind him with a click.

gone_byebye

Ray's table is almost completely covered by wires and components at this point, even though he cleaned up all his electronica before going upstairs last night. Stuff, after all, expands to fill the space you give it- much more so when the stuff is of the wirey, coiley, expandey type that absolutely has to be sorted and pushed aside while you work on something else. Right now he's fastening an extremely complicated metallic mesh to a wide black strap with fasteners on the ends, but judging by the rest of the detritus of the table he's probably going to move on to putting something else entirely together in a moment.

He's probably distractable. This is Ray, after all.

mallory-grace.livejournal.com

Mallory came trotting down the stairs in a thick sweater and jeans, only to feel suddenly much colder as her feet hit the bottom step. She looked down at herself, and was shocked to find she was dressed as a faerie!

"Oh, ha-ha. Very funny. Not."

She looks around for a magic user with a smirk on their face, but doesn't spot anyone...wait until she notices the wings are real, and her ears are pointed...

oh-wowee.livejournal.com

Toki wasn't expecting this when he walked in from the halls of Mordhaus.

One moment, he was in his usual tan slacks and blue shirt.

Now his hair is in braided pigtails, and he's wearing a pink sweatervest, khakis, and a purple polo shirt.

He fairly flips out.

"WHY IS AND HOW DOES AND WHEN?!?" Squalls the Norwegian.
Happy Mardi Gras, Toki?

Someone should tell him not to panic. Before he cries.

longlonghair

When Rapunzel had left her room this morning, she had definitely NOT been dressed like a pirate! She certainly was now, though! She smiles with come confusion when she sees her outfit, then shrugs and takes a seat at the bar. Someone is playing a prank, it seems. She orders a cup of coffee and looks around to try to figure out who the culprit might be.

sime-channel.livejournal.com

One Sime, walking down the stairs without a care in the world.

Oh, how little she knows.

thiefprinceremy.livejournal.com

Remy was humming to himself as he padded down the stairs, the mask from Belle in his fingers, he knew what day it was.

Of course, upon reaching the bar proper he found himself re-dressed, blinking up over his shoulder, "Again cherie?" This was apparently directed at Bar herself, but he sighed, shaking his head, "Fair 'nough, all in t'spirit've t'ings, non?"

That's quite an... impressive wingspan.

poisonwine

Belle is in bar. She is wearing an outfit that has been passed down from Boudreaux female to Boudreaux female for generations, since the beginning of the guild. In fact, it was made for the wife of the first leader of the assassin's guild. It took a French jeweler years to perfect. It's been reworked and repaired a couple of time since then, but in the end, it's mostly the same design. Skimpy, but a work of art. Belle's never worn it before, but she's wanted to for years. So she's bouncy.

She's leaning against the pool table, still staring at the 2 ball, which is still being stubborn. Feel free to poke!

blood-hungary.livejournal.com

It has been some time since Erzsébet found herself in the bar and allows herself the tiniest of smiles as she steps through the door.

She sweeps over to the bar and orders a glass of wine - something red - and then makes her way over to the fireplace, settling gracefully into a large chair. The Countess has managed through another harsh winter in Csejthe and has no intention of succumbing to the cold here, of all places.

dats-dildoes.livejournal.com

Skwisgaar hadn't really been following Toki, why would he do a thing like that anyway? No, he was just coming to the bar for a drink, and to get away from Murderface's incessant complaining.

It took him getting all the way across the bar to realize that he was now wearing pistachio green and khaki instead of the usual black, "Oh what the fG#k is goings on here?!"

mogget_cat

Yrael walks in, carrying his violin and bow. He's humming to himself, thinking of playing something for the bar, today.

But as he walks in... there is a change.

There are black feathers hiding his white hair. A golden, filigree-edged mask hides his face above a motley tunic of metallic gold and green diamonds. Thin black feathers tickle his wrists at the cuffs of his sleeves. His trousers are long and black, the very bottom of them decorated with metallic gold triangles.

Yrael grins. Ah, another holiday. Well, at least Bar let him keep his violin and didn't make him wear shoes.

He wanders over and perches upon the Bar, cheerfully beginning to tune his violin.

Come. He'll play for you.

becomingphoenix.livejournal.com

The last thing she'd expected when coming downstairs from her and Scott's room was this. Unlike what she'd been wearing she suddenly found herself in some medieval dress. The kind that would befit a queen. Though its also the weight on her face that catches her attention and she reaches up to find a mask there. The redhead is highly amused to say the least. But then she notes some of the other patrons and can't help but smile. This could definitely get interesting.

themerlin

Merlin had been back from his trip for a few hours, and sleeping most of that time, when he had wandered downstairs the first time. Nothing had happened immediately, and he had eaten, then wandered outside.

Several hours later, he entered the Bar again and felt a shift. He felt taller, and thinner, and... very odd.

He attempted to conjure a mirror and found himself speaking oddly.

"Raeppa Rorrim!"

A mirror appeared in his hands and he stared at an unfamiliar visage, one he could not change out of.

This was... very odd.

sorrowfulmisery.livejournal.com

For once she'd actually worn something warm because she'd had every intentions of heading out back. But the moment she stepped downstairs she felt a considerable draft hit her. What the hell...? Looking down at herself she facepalms seeing the dress she was wear that had a considerable slit up the side of it. Right... she's never celebrated Mardi Gras in her whole life and now this...? Not that she was complaining. It was better than walking around Raccoon City in nothing but barefeet and a lab coat.

jianhuo.livejournal.com

Like most others today, the redhead has found her outfits a little-- altered.

It's not so bad, though, and from a peek around the bar, could be much worse. At least hers fully covers her chest, even if it leaves her stomach and hips bare. Though maybe Bar thought that wise, considering the amount of support this particular woman needs in the chest-icular area.

Good thinking.

So she is padding down the stairs (some hilarious inanimate object that serves drinks also took away her shoes), eyeing the snow outside the window with some irritation. It's not so much that she likes going outside that she absolutely abhors being restricted from doing something.

Anyway.

Belly dancer inna bar.

gotham-knocking.livejournal.com

Some people are part of the party, and others are the tourists. Being a reporter, Knox is a natural tourist. So when he enters the Bar, she produces a plate with beignets, a baseball cap, and a shirt.

Knox studies the plate first. Under the beignets, the plate reads "Cafe du Monde." Been ages since Knox had anything from that glorious bakery.

The shirt? It's a reproduction of that worn by a member of the New Orleans Saints named McAllister. Since Knox doesn't know the name, he assumes that the player is from the future. He puts the shirt on, beginning to get a sense of what's going on.

And the cap? The cap celebrates the 2006 NFC South Champion New Orleans Saints. He's not sure what's odder, that there is an NFC South in 2006, or that the lowly Saints won anything. This McAllister guy, he must be great to make that team good.

He puts on the hat, eats a beignet, and sits back. "Heh. It's Mardi Gras already?" For him, the last Mardi Gras here was only six months ago. He wonders what else to expect today. A parade? A party? Jazz? One never knows...

[ooc: slowtime likely]

wellthrownstone.livejournal.com

OOM: A peculiarity of the line of the Earl of Trellheim is their role as the Protector of the Rivan King...

mitanarchist

".............not funny, Bar. Not fucking funny at all."

One might get the impression that Collins doesn't like suits.

alorn-bear.livejournal.com

Mardi Gras does not exist on Gara, and was never particularly marked in any of the places on Earth that Belar frequents. He ignores the holiday and its sequelae with a blithe sort of cheer indistingushable from his usual mood. The sign goes up as soon as he sits down:

ANSWERING PRAYERS
BACK IN 15 MINUTES

He sits back at his table, eyes closed as usual, and the sign starts decrementing. All is well, all is normal-

-or not.

The sign stops at the 8:43 mark, and Belar's eyes pop open. "Oh, crap," he says. "Oh, that's not good."

wellthrownstone.livejournal.com

The door sticks for a moment, or perhaps it's just not pushed hard enough. It sways back and forth before there's a grunt and the body falls in.

No, not a body.

( He's moving. )

misterbunny.livejournal.com

Bunny has a Camera. A t-shirt reading 'Girls gone Wild Staff'. And a wad of cash.

That is all.

scaredbybook.livejournal.com

Kira is unsure to be happy or unhappy as she gets together her sewing collection and leaves her room. On the one hand, she's quite lucky to be alive, and her friends have given her a new perspective on how fortunate she is. On the other, she's not out of the woods yet. She can almost feel the cold, drifting air of the scene waiting back on her world.

Then she enters the bar and realizes the draftiness isn't her imagination. Well, about this development: shall she be happy, or unhappy?

She'll be happy! Kira likes purple. But, alas, she doesn't know how to belly dance.

((OOC: ~~omgkidnapped! Send help and cookies!~~ FREEDOM!))

faithful-slayer.livejournal.com

Faith.

Bar.

NOT HAPPY.

But at least the baby is amused.

lady_moon

She walks into the bar and her usual white dress turns into something festive and very different.

Moon likes playing dress up.

She's wearing a short, black dress colourfully accented in red, purple, gold, and green. On her face is a mask with gold and black feathers. Moon is delighted with the costume. She had forgotten it was Mardi Gras! She goes to Bar and orders, in honour of the festival, a Sazerac and a piece of King cake. After receiving her cocktail and sweet, she goes to a sofa and plops down, crossing her legs so she can balance the cake on her knee and sip the drink.

watcher-g-man.livejournal.com

Giles wasn't expecting to stop by Milliways today. He had no way of knowing what day it was in the bar either.

But he did, and sure enough. His outfit changed from the jumper, and trousers get up to....

Well. Another pirate. With a lot more hair and sans a hand.

If he had his glasses on, there would be glasses polishing to follow. As it was, he had to settle for facepalm. Nearly with the hook, but caught himself in time.

"

...Sodding Milliways.

dreamer_fray

He went out to his spot in the Greenhouse, last night.

Yep. Still there.

And then he cleared away - uh, he means ruthlessly killed - some weed shoots that were starting to grow, and watered, for the hell of it. It's something to do.

And today he's sitting at Bar just like old times. She gave him a plate of steaming and slightly crispy pancakes, dripping with syrup and strawberries.

"...You're funny, lady. Really."

Yep. Just like old times.

white_flowers

She hadn't really planned on visiting the bar today -- even though she's been thinking rather a lot about the events of last time. But when 'Angie North' stops by the familiar little shop that she's grown so fond of, it seems only natural to keep wandering. And so, she follows her impulse, right through the door and into the bar.

Mardi Gras isn't celebrated on Stavin Five, as it happens. Perhaps that's why her attire doesn't shift when she arrives-- although she does take note of the bright colors and costumes to be observed around and about.

Amused, she sits down at a table near the observation window, and pulls from her shoulder-bag a delicately crafted spring-green throw, as well as a skein of warm red thread. Carefully, she begins to scatter stitched blossoms through the green field.

henry-jones-jr.livejournal.com

[OOM. A lethargic Indy and a battle-bloody Mel catch up in the equatorial climes of Suite 134. Legoland souvenirs are gifted before the pair dedicate the rest of their Tuesday afternoon to ice cream, tinyphant tormenting, and theories on several Very Important Matters.]

alwaysroomforhope

In a fairly quiet corner of the bar, there is Steph. She isn't wreaking havoc on anyone - rather disappointing, really - in fact, she's curled up in the corner of one of the delightfully comfortable couches Milliways provides, sleeping.

The wisdom of such a manoeuvre, when you've spent two days cheerfully painting everyone else's faces with Sharpie, is debatable.

But Steph likes the noise. Keeps her mind off everything.

Besides. Who's gonna notice her tucked away in the corner here? All the mayhem goes on Out There, right?

http://users.livejournal.com/_to_the_bone/

"Good gracious!"

Jack's forgotten about Mardi Gras. The abrupt change of clothing serves as a very good reminder.

Better than last time, he supposes.

allican-do.livejournal.com

Bar appears to have a serious sense of humor today.

Please See Icon.

The Sharpie was gone, but Katara's leathers are missing, and in their place is an elaborate black outfit, with a fancy mask and wig, along with a very fine hat.

Oh, and a cape.

Honestly, it could totally be worse.

There is a tiny little renegade coming down the stairs, enigmatic smile permanently pasted on. Some of the movie-goers from Earth might be delighted to see her.

Him.

V!

princeinexile

Last year at Mardi Gras, a prince called Zuko got a bright costume -- a full dancer's regalia, in gold and red. It was beautiful and it suited him; proud and wild and full of fire.

Today, the boy called Li comes down and is as drab as he ever was in the blocky patterns of the Earth Kingdom's green and gold.

He looks-- off, somehow, though. A smile is still in place, but there is the occasional shift, a movement that seems off. Maybe it's the bland food he orders, and the tea he lets reach a certain tepid temperature. Maybe it's the straightbacked posture, that belies casual relaxation in the bar.

Maybe it's just that Li is Zuko, and he never smiled all the time like this before.

[Anybody who can sense pain / distress / agony / emotional disturbances, please ding AlmostAMurder before you tag our smiling looney, okay?]

killitwithfire

He's sitting on one of the couches, in the corner of it nearest the fire, all slouched down, with the hood drawn up over his face.

It's not exactly hiding, but it's close enough, he hopes. He's seen some of the fantasical costumes around, and almost wishes - almost - that he had one himself. It might help.

He may not be easily spottable, but he's botherable.

stbethadettes

(In Oldenbrook, Kansas.)

trustydriver.livejournal.com

In Kit Baxter's world, it's Wednesday, February 20, 1935. Even if Mardi Gras was a big deal in Toronto, which it isn't, it's the wrong day for it. And even if it was the right day for it, Kit isn't much of a party person.

So when she walks into the bar, Kit is more than a little surprised to find herself in an elaborate ballgown, with an equally elaborate updo that requires rather more hair than she had five minutes ago.

"...the heck?"

gorgonfondness

Mia couldn't find her work and, knowing better from last time, expected that Bar was up to something.

She wasn't exactly expecting the dress, wings, and change in hair color once she left her room and hit the bar proper, though. Thank goodness she didn't shrink to proper fairy size, too.

"It is cute, Miss Bar, but I don't see what you want me to do as a fairy before going back to work," she says, twirling a now-teal bang of hair in her finger to better examine it.

Honestly, if it wasn't for Bar, Mia might not have any fun at all.

fallen-april.livejournal.com

April is a bit annoyed with her outfit.

Possibly because she's not sure what her boyfriend would think of it. Or of her wearing it in public anyway.

But she's gone upstairs to change twice and Bar changed it back. So she's sort of given up.

So... Boho dressed like a hooker inna bar.

Bother at will. Try to pick her up if you dare. ;)

a1enzo

Sprites are not familiar with the concept of holidays. (Parties, yes; special occasions, yes; holidays, no.) They are familiar with abrupt changes of clothing, but they're usually voluntary.

"Dude! Why am I Matrix?!"

There are a few differences: his icon is still standard black-and-white and his trousers have their usual red-and-white stripes. Presumably Bar does not want to get him in trouble for impersonating a Guardian, even a cadet. Still, awesome!

Enzo shrugs, then approaches the Bar in an exaggerated swagger. Pitching his voice as deep as possible, he says, "I/O shot, please."

An Ada Lovelace appears.

"Aw, man..." he whines, but takes it anyway. It's still tasty, if incongruously pink.

Current Mood: prematurely aged

mendanddefend_archive

Bob comes down the stairs from the rental rooms, his new Flying V slung over one shoulder.

As he steps off the bottom stair, his clothing suddenly shifts. Now he's wearing a denim jacket, a flowered shirt, a pair of flared jeans, and a red headband. He looks down and finds that his guitar has changed, too--it's covered with psychedelic flowers and paisleys.

"...groovy."

He strolls over to the fireplace area, plugs in his amp, and starts laying down the opening bars of "Purple Haze."

thirdbetrayer.livejournal.com

Gin, fortunately (or unfortunately, depending) has managed to escape any sort of odd costuming whatsoever. And is, as such, celebrating, by way of a cup of tea (with whiskey in, not like he'll let on if you ask him) and some rather suspiciously pink and glittery cookies that bar gave him.

Every now and then, smile still firmly in place, he pokes one.

It sparkles invitingly up at him.

Gin isn't exactly sure if he should trust them or not, so he's taken to eying them from over the rim of his cup, ready to escape if they should make any sort of hostile move.

fighting_mad

Thankfully for everyone who might come into contact with her, Plourr seems to have escaped today's bout of costuming. Dressed in elegant, subdued browns, with the imperial seal of Eiattu at her throat, she is curled up at one end of the sofa in front of the fire. Her boots have been kicked off haphazardly and lie directly in the path that someone might take were they to wish to sit in a nearby armchair.

She has a book open in her lap, but it's dull and she gave it up ages ago in favor of watching the fire, face pensive.

bohemian-mark.livejournal.com

There is a teddy bear on a table. One might notice that he's been there for a while. What might be the most amusing is that the teddy bear is trying to work a camera that's just a bit smaller than itself. And really, should a teddy bear be saying some of those things? Probably not.

Mark inna bar. As a bear. Whoops.

sonofwhitecity.livejournal.com

All things considered, the Bar is pretty kind to Boromir tonight.

He still feels rather naked without his leather, though.

"It must be yet another holiday," he realizes with a sigh.

wizard_dresden

Friendly neighborhood bartender here.

And the specials?

SPECIALS
All beer is half-price

[ooc: mun calls slowtime on account of headache... apologies all.]

dontloselight.livejournal.com

[pre-milliways: a man searches for the light within him. He is not a hero, nor does he wish to be.]

Cloud is a man of very few words and truth be told, it isn't particularly easy to surprise him. So when he enters the bar proper over the other side of the door which closes gently behind him with a click, his expression does not change -- he is still unnoticeably surprised, and mostly careful.

He observes the furniture and the patrons -- far too many of them -- with a distant interest. He would move, but he isn't particularly sure where he should move to. He isn't even sure where here is.

Huh.

Anyone dare to...welcome this newbie?

[ooc: just a note that this Cloud is Kingdom Hearts Cloud, not FF7 Cloud. Please read Cloud's userinfo for more details!]

command_dot_com

When Dot came down earlier for breakfast today, she wasn't zapped into a sudden wardrobe change like so many other patrons. Thus, she assumed that she was safe from the current bout of temporary insanity.

Perhaps whatever was causing this was just luring her into a false sense of security, as such was not the case when she came back down again. She found her clothes and hair having suddenly shifted to the an off-the-shoulder shiny purple dress, with her hair tinged yellow-gold and matching streaks of color on her face.

"Oh what now..."

At least your entire format hasn't been affected dear.

Current Mood: confused

wyrd-fox.livejournal.com

Well, someone's gotta keep up the tradition. In comes FX, in full Mardi Gras regalia, with lots and lots of beads hung over his arms.

"Party time!"

not_that_spike

Fuck Mardi Gras. They don't have it on Mars and it's almost like Bar knows better than to screw with him, at least not right now; he's not going to stand for it. Instead, his ass is parked at a table not right in front of the door but with a good view of it, about halfway between the door and the portrait leading back to Tom and Door's house. He's got a cup of coffee, a small bowl of shikonberries, and a pack and a half of cigarettes.

One ashtray is mostly full already. He's pretty much absorbed in The Tao of Jeet Kune Do, even though he practically has the damn thing memorized. It's one of those ones he can read again and again and again, because when a guy adopts a spiritual mentor, the learning never stops. The book is old and well-worn and has a look about it that says it's much loved, and it is. It's one of his favorite possessions, and he's not real big on possessions: he cares about his lighter, his gun, his jacket and tie, the Swordfish II, and a few books.

Every time the door opens he glances up at it -- almost carelessly, almost like it's just old habit -- before going back to his book. Right now he's reading the section on Preliminaries, because he's teaching Ingress and she's just a beginner and while he'd like to spend time on the more Zen aspect of it, she's only a little kid. She doesn't have that kind of patience, but he does so he reminds himself that just because this is a spiritual practice for him, it doesn't have to be for her. It can be whatever she makes of it and whatever she takes from it. So he's back to basics, and the basics of Jeet Kune Do (beyond the spiritual) come from training, and he's refreshing his memory on exactly what the book has to say about that.

Training is one of the most neglected phases of athletics. Too much time is given to the development of skill and too little to the development of the individual for participation. Training deals not with an object, but with the human spirit and human emotions. It takes intellect and judgment to handle such delicate qualities as these.

Training is the psychological and physiological conditioning of an individual preparing for intense neural and muscular reaction. It implies discipline of the mind and power and endurance of the body. It means skill. It is all these things working together in harmony.

See, it's all related. It's all part of that same bigger picture. It's Zen, it's balance, it's water. It's... the door again; he glances up.

lethe-forgets.livejournal.com

It's the day with bells again.

Lethe clutches at her stomach automatically, almost surprised to find fabric there - feet still bare, dress still tattered - all in all, everything is going rather well and her smile is nothing short of victorious as she settles onto an armchair and tugs out a book.

It's only sometime after she's contentedly enraptured in tales of tiny princes and roses that a more festive outfit takes the time to appear in all it's jingly glory. She thunks her head onto the pages and rolls her eyes, curling her legs up a bit closer and ignoring the almost reflexive flush dusting her skin pink - it is, perhaps, a bit better than last time.

captainryan.livejournal.com

Captain Ryan has pancakes. He didn't order them, but he has them anyway. "I didn't ask for these," he informs Bar. The pancakes do not disappear. "I'm not eating them." He doesn't care what day it is. Nothing happens. He gives the wood an annoyed look. "They're just going to go to waste, you know."

Pancakes should not go to waste. Ever. Ryan doesn't seem to be aware of this. Someone should enlighten him.

maid-of-astolat.livejournal.com

Elaine's T-shirt still says "Milliways Barmaid--Hands Off!" but now it's very sparkly and pink.

"Oh, it must be that Mardi Gras thing again," she murmurs, as she goes to get a tray from Bar.

Your Server Tonight
is Elaine

She looks around for people to serve with a bright smile. It's hard to look somber when you're wearing sparkles.

callitavesper.livejournal.com

Life has been handing James a succession of bad hands lately, so when he walks downstairs in search of alcohol and winds up in splendidly tight 1970's attire, he bypasses the vodka martini and heads straight for a glass of brandy. Yes, the dated outfit is as significant as a fly buzzing in his ear compared to everything else, but it's still a fly buzzing in his ear when he's got other shit on his mind.

Seriously. There isn't much of him that can breathe in this outfit.

You can find him glowering at the fire from an armchair.

fallen-april.livejournal.com

[[After this.]]

April's been running around for an hour or so, talking to Boromir and packing an overnight bag. She was very pleased when she changed into normal clothes and Bar didn't change them back to the hooker-clothes she's been in all day.

She's also left a note for her friends (aka anyone who'd notice and care that she's gone).

( The Note )

And now she's standing in front of the door (which is actually there, that's part of the weirdness of it all), her bag over her shoulder, fiddling nervously with a silver ring on her right hand. She glances over her shoulder at the rest of the bar, then back at the door. She reaches out and turns the handle...

Whatever she sees on the other side causes her face to light up, and she steps through almost instantly.

The door closes with a soft click behind her.

necessary_child

Something happens, when Sam arrives as usual from London, but he doesn't notice it.

Until, that is, he starts to walk. He bounces! Not much, admittedly, because as a guy Sam's a pretty slim one, and skinny girls aren't normally known for their natural DDs, but there is definitely a detectable bounce in the region of his chest.

Devils don't bounce! (Okay, well, this devil doesn't.)

He looks down.

"~~It's like living inside a bouncy castle!~~ Fucking Milliways," says Sam Linnfer, in a noticeably higher voice than usual.

His mood does improve when he sees his reflection in the glass, though. Well, if he's going to be a girl, he might as well be a pretty one.

All he needs now is Jack Harkness, he decides. He's usually good at looking on the bright side of things, and some things, after all, you just have to try.

(OOC: Please, feel free to tag! Not plotlocked, at all. Sam just has a particular way of looking at things.)

(Son Of OOC: And it is gone 1am, and the mun, she must sleep! Slowtime is good for current threads, just as it is for any new ones if you still want to tag the girl!Lucifer.)

kurosakiboy.livejournal.com

He doesn't know what today is. Doesn't care much. Wouldn't care at all, really, if it weren't for the sudden change in dress upon his entering the bar. Gone are his Shinigami clothes, gone is the black, the sandals, even his sword. Not gone gone, he can still feel his spiritual attachment to it. It's just...not there. And instead of his usual outfit, he has...something very different.

The sneakers are alright. So are the jeans. And the black t-shirt. Those are all fine, all normal. But then there's the vest the big ugly open vest, baby blue with a blindingly-yellow, fluffy kind of collar. But he can put up with it if everyone else can. It's the hat that is the real horror. It's almost identical to the one Urahara wears, actually, in shape. Sort of like a wizard's cap but with the top half cut off and flattened. And the color. God, the horrible color. Blue with some crazy black design on it. It's horrible. It's ugly. The whole outfit burns the retinas of fashion designers who catch sight of it.

...he kinda likes it, actually.

And so, not grumbling for once, Ichigo makes his way to the bar, whistling.

What a nice day to have horrible taste in clothing.

ms-myers.livejournal.com

Nina Myers

a_poor_guardian

Archibald Craven, being a well-travelled man, knows a commedia dell'arte costume when he sees one. Not being familiar with the odder customs of Milliways, he's rather surprised to find himself dressed as Pulcinella when he walks through the door.

Once garbed, he might as well play the part. Hunching his back rather more than necessary, Archibald trudges towards the bar for a glass of burgundy.

destruction1_0

Destruction is at the bar.

He looks like he always does.

Really.

guppy_sandhu

Infirmary cases are like number ten buses around here. Quiet for a little while, then busy spurts.

As such Guppy is taking a brief break for coffee, his pager still linked into the appropriate scanner if required.

Actually the coffee is sitting in his hand and tilting slightly precariously as he dozes off.

iam-america.livejournal.com

Stephen's still in the bar. He's nursing both a beer and a tape recorder and is speaking into the latter in a low yet emotion-filled voice.

"I have been trapped inside this hellhole for what seems like weeks but is probably closer to days; more accurately, hours. Even as I speak I can feel my treacherous body weakening.

"I have to stop. I must conserve my energy. But before I do-- In case I never have the chance to say this again, tell my son, Stephen Jr., that I love him." His voice catches. "Be strong, son! Keep away from that Canadian salmon. Remember, it's your job to carry on Daddy's legacy.

"Tell Charlene I understand. I realise now how foolish I was, thinking you were pushing me away with the restraining orders and the change of telephone numbers... I understand now. You were just pulling you towards yourself. Perhaps in another lifetime..." He trails off with a tender sigh. "Well. True love never really ends, Charlene."

Then, as an afterthought, "Oh, and tell my wife she'll have to pick up my dry cleaning. Thanks in advance, honey! I'd do the same for you!"

The melodramatic tone promptly returns. "I cannot go on. I no longer have the strength to hold down the record button on this tape recorder. Stay strong, Nation..."