milliways_bar | Feb. 23rd, 2007

Feb. 23rd, 2007

Out of Milliways: An email is sent, and many replies ensue. Rated SG for Surprise Guest Appearance.

night-hibiscus.livejournal.com

(Time is a funny thing. For instance, for some people, Thursday is the day after Saturday.)

Spending the night in a barrack is a lot more comfortable than spending the night on a thin bedroll on a rocky highway. And sitting around watching soldiers install cannons on the cliffs is a much more leisurely way to pass the morning than fighting fiends.

Yuna could get used to this Operation Mi'ihen business.

She's ambling down the beach towards the mess tent, fidgeting with her puzzle cube from New York, when she slips into Milliways again.

The food's probably better here, anyway. Good deal.

watching_you

[OOM: For Veronica Mars, the last few months have been routine.]

fallen-april.livejournal.com

Sometime in the early hours of the morning, after falling asleep for a while in a booth, Princess Sarah Marilla Lucy Pevensie Blythe wakes up and blinks at the door she came through. She wants to stay, but... if she stays, she won't get to go to first grade, and she won't get to write her books and be famous and maybe be in Mr. Mark's movies. So, with her bag of books in tow, she opens the door.

Interestingly enough, at the exact same time, someone opens a door into the bar. The scene on the other side is a strange overlay of a little girl's bedroom and an old industrial loft. As Rilla steps through the door leading into her room, April steps into the bar.

There's a brief moment when they're between the bar and their respective times, when Rilla looks up and April looks down, and their eyes lock, and April blinks in surprise at the familiar face and the familiar bag of books that she notices with a start has the Milliways logo on the side.

And then they've passed, and April turns to look at the little girl again--

--and there's only a blank wall. She smiles a little, fondly, and presses a hand to the wall. Old, long-forgotten "pretends" bubble to the surface of her memory - faded and spotty, but enough to know that she wasn't seeing things just now. She flops into a booth and sends a waitrat off for chocolate chip pancakes and a chocolate milk.

So. There's a boho inna bar, looking much more at peace with life than she had before, eating the same food she was eating yesterday (though it was years ago for her).

Botherable.

Ask her how her trip went, if you knew she was gone.

sime-channel.livejournal.com

Suzi has been around the past few days, but today she gets an entry post! And, due to the fact that her player is still humming bits of it, Suzi is listening to Handel's Julius Caesar (as performed by the Seattle Opera) with a set of headphones.

It's no Wagner, but. Oh. So. Pretty.

focusandcontrol.livejournal.com

Outside, walking through the back area, Scott was thinking. Old training kept his steps sure, even on unknown ground, and kept part of him aware, even as his mind was turning over several thoughts.

Ever since coming to this strange place, he had found that the more questions he got answered, the more questions he had. About this place, about what happened to him, about the people here and the way it was run, about dangers, and about allies.

He had met a few interesting people, and even they brought on more questions. He wasn't sure what to feel, and it was an odd thing for him. He had spent most of his life sure of himself and his mission, his role in life. Suddenly, he was cut off from home, from his people, with his wife and nothing else of the past.

It felt a little unstable. Not to mention his powers being gone, and nothing, not even the headaches to let him know that he was still the same.

A thoughtful Scott wandered in the back area, troubled.

unwraith.livejournal.com

Michael's in the bar, after a night half spent asleep, half trying to convince Fi and the newly named Race not to tear the room apart. He's not sure how he got talked into adopting yet another pet, but the pup seems to approve of the new arrangement. The Fiend and the German Shepherd actually get on fairly well.

Fi's asleep upstairs. Michael's downstairs with Race, feeding him before all three go outside for a run.
Bother away.

1st_starfighter

In front of the fire, Alex sits, trying to read a book on spaceships.

All too often his gaze falls away from the book and catches the flames, and then stays for a little while, until he realizes what he is doing, and shakes his head, glances around, and goes back to trying to read. Several bottle of soda sit on the table, as well as the remnants of breakfast, and a couple more books.

Alex is just trying to enjoy a book, but his thoughts keep dragging him back to home, and to those he left behind. He shakes his head, often, trying to focus, and not doing so well. And noises, motions, and the fire itself, keep distracting him.

futures_of_ash

Rachel had a habit of clinging, when she needed something solid. When she needed something to reduce stress, tension, fear...but rarely to people. People left. So she clung to memories, to routines, to the feel of small things in her life.

A particular habit of hers was to touch things, and today was no exception. she came in off the lake and passed Bar entirely, ignoring the proffered meal in favor of settling at a table and running callused fingertips over the wood grain. It was soothing to stare at. It was real.

So, a distracted security member was in bar proper...

[Open to all, eventual slow]

wingless-clan.livejournal.com

"Stupid, stubborn, thick headed, stone skinned, idiotic Male" Elisa snarled to herself, stalking through the door and spinning about to kick it closed with a violence usually beyond her. But, it was suppose to be her apartment. No one was suppose to see her fuming.

Only when the door had rung closed and faded away did she take in her surroundings and cut her tirade short. Of all the...

Elisa sighed, stuffed her hands in her pockets, and walked quickly to the bar, there to thunk her head gently against the firm surface.

Oops?

slightlymonkish.livejournal.com

[oom: You too have rock hard muscles with the Monk Home Gym! Now available for only 4 easy payments of $999.99.]

Some time after working himself into a painful sweat, Monk stumbles downstairs in some SFPD sweats.

He lands in a booth, exhausted and still somewhat breathless.

Maybe he overdid it?

A waitrat scurries over and shakes his little head at him, retrieving a big glass of ice water for our poor, worked out hero.

"Ow..."

benloserz.livejournal.com

Enters the Plain Common Guy, a.k.a. Benjamin Winchester, from the cold of Michigan to the less-cold of Milliways. He is a bit startled, since the door did not connect to his world over a couple weeks, but it did return at a good time.

Damn physics lab. Ben needs a break and some hot cocoa seems like the right thing to start it with.

(Mun leaving for work, but tag away, slowtime is love)

blue_raz

Raziel sat on the floor of the bar in a dark corner, his wraith eyes really the only thing visible. He rested the side his head in his hand stairing at the floor. He the the other clawed hand on his skinless blue leg.

feminine-menace.livejournal.com

People typically see thrashers as shiftless, mooching good-for-nothings, and YT knows more than a few who are. But she does not fall into that category: she is a Kourier, a professional woman, and takes great pride in that fact. Also, she actually enjoys her job.

So when she has to take an enforced leave of absence from work, as she has been for the past few days, she tends to grow restless and dissatisfied. Sure, she can take her plank Out Back, and the smartwheels handle the grass like it's asphalt. But it's not the city, or the highway, with cars to 'poon and a myriad of hazards to negotiate. There are none of her own kind to mingle with. And the weather doesn't suit her: it's winter here, not at all like the southern California climate she's used to.

Another issue is that of money—she's not making any. She does have a fair amount of cash on her, and lots in the bank from a recent side job for Cosa Nostra (happily, the Bar accepts debit and credit cards). The prices at Milliways are pretty reasonable, too. But she doesn't know how long it'll be before she gets out of here, and her reserves certainly have a limit. It's a self-image thing, too. She feels anxious if she goes too long without earning some bread.

Fortunately, she's found a possible solution: she has noticed that some Milliways patrons serve as bartenders or waitstaff from time to time. After making a few inquiries, she has learned that the Bar pays people for this kind of thing, or at least puts positive credit on their tabs. Signing up is pretty easy, too, you just have to ask.

And, if she does it all on a skateboard, it's kind of like being a Kourier, isn't it?

[OOC: YT is taking your orders today, folks!]

Current Mood: productive
Current Music: The Moody Blues - Blue Guitar

oh-wowee.livejournal.com

Near the fishtank, there sits a rock star.
He's singing and playing to the fish. He likes singing to them, because they're the most attentive audience one could get at this bar, and he liked how they came up and seemed interested in his playing.
He also had a flyer already written, set beside him on the table, written on it was something like this:

Guitar Wørkshøp
Every Tuesday nights
With Tøki Wartøøth
Ands øthers!
Før all guitar players øf every styles, ages and ability
Cøme has fun!

He was excited about this idea! After all, he'd met a lot of guitarists, and wouldn't mind jamming with everyone.

For now, however, he was entirely botherable.

teh-data-fork.livejournal.com

Adam flops onto a couch by the fire after a long day at work. The New York units of CTU are reporting increased terrorist chatter, his boss is being an asshole and his subordinates are a bunch of incompetent hacks.

As far as he's concerned, anyway. Come bother him!

oh-wowee.livejournal.com

There's now a swearing Rock star, fumbling to tack up the flyer on the bulletin board as fast as he possibly could.

Guitar Wørkshøp
Every Tuesday nights
With Tøki Wartøøth
Ands øthers!
Før all guitar players øf every styles, ages and ability
Cøme has fun!

And as soon as it's up, he runs towards his door and slides through it, cursing under his breath. Apparently, Toki had forgotten about something that the band was going to do that night.

gorgonfondness

Mia is no longer a fairy.

She's managed to buy the dress, as she liked it so much, but the wings are gone and her hair is its normal black once again. She's sitting by the fireplace in the fairy dress, playing with her hedgehog in her lap as he examines the new clothing.

Her work is next to her and every now and then she makes a mark on it.

It's very clear that her mind is elsewhere.

Apparently, she's better at being a normal girl than she thought.

a1enzo

The current icon shows how a zipboard - two flying discs connected by ball-hinged rods - is meant to be ridden.

Its owner is currently doing a very awkward handstand and attempting to get airborne by hanging from the rods by his knees.

Please, come distract him before he deletes himself.

Current Mood: creative

not-lazy-steph.livejournal.com

That pink hair was a familiar sight to some, to be sure, and the singing was the same.
Of course, the apron and chef's pouf were a new addition, as was the mixing bowl

"It's a piece of cake to bake a pretty cake
If the way is hazy,
You gotta do the cooking by the book
You know you can't be lazy
Never use a messy recipe,
The cake will end up crazy..."

She blinked, realizing where she was, and then grinned, bobbling her way over to a booth, still stirring away, humming now though, instead of singing.

oh-wowee.livejournal.com

A little boy wearing a thin blue coat and tan slacks, carrying a small cord of firewood, comes through the door, a dusting of snow on the top of his light brown hair.
"Der hvor er jeg? Denne er ikke meg hjem." *(1) He said to himself, chewing on his lower lip in worry. If he didn't come home with the firewood soon, his mother would be fierce.

He didn't like it when she was fierce.

Then it clicked. This place was shiny. And full of very, VERY weird things.

"Jeg må være i Valhalla!!" *(2) He said, dropping his firewood at the door with glee. "Jeg må døde av vintern kulden!" *(3) Leave it to a young Wartooth to be happy about dying.

He knows English, not as well as most kids his age from Norway. And he only learned his native language a few years previous, as his parents had taken a vow of silence previous to his birth. Needless to say, he's not very used to speaking in either, but that doesn't deter him from trying, goldarnit.

(1 - Where am I? This is not my home. 2 - I must be in Valhalla! 3 - I must have died of the winter cold! (if you're norwegian, just pretend it's proper norwegian, because I'm using a crap translator.) Also, since it's Bring your Pup into Bar as a Kid week, I'll totally get in on it.)

explorertruman.livejournal.com

Truman came downstairs, calm, but pensive. He briefly walked over to the Front Door, almost debating on something. His hand even touched on the doorknob, and he started to open it. But he stopped, with a marginal flinch (From the draft or memories, who knows?), and turned away. He missed the snowflakes that drifted in as the door closed smoothly shut behind him.

He then decided to go with sitting by the Observation Window as usual. He asked for some hot tea and cookies from one of the waitrats, and then sat watching the universe end outside. The pot of hot tea, and plate of assorted cookies were on a table by him, and he likes to share.

cat_wth_panache

Puss in Boots is sitting in a chair by the fire tonight. He had intended to curl up with a good book and enjoy the warmth here while it was cold outside. The book he has though is a book of Fairy Tales and it's not enjoyment so much as anger that he's getting out of it.

"That is wrong...that is not right..." He mutters as he flips through the pages. There is a string of spanish cursing and then Puss exclaims loudly, "THIS BOOK IS FULL OF LIES!"

wheelsy_sheriff

Bill is in the bar tonight and has got himself a table, a bottle of grape soda and a book of word searches. Sooo much easier then crossword puzzles, and look, if he can't find something this has got the answers in the back.

Hey, it's not cheating if they give them too you.

a-fell.livejournal.com

Aziraphael blusters in from the wet London night, shaking his umbrella out the front door before letting it swing shut.

He ambles to Bar, smiling and pink cheeked. "Could I have a pot of Peach White Tea, my dear? I'm feeling fruity." Bar obliges with an inner giggle, and Aziraphael makes his way to the usual table, pulling his long coat off and letting it drip onto an adjacent chair, then rummaging for a book. He opens the book, and settles in.

He's rereading Tom Jones, and he's laughing within 45 seconds.

unwraith.livejournal.com

He had spent part of the later morning outdoors, with a pup that was lively enough to give even Michael quite a workout. Afternoon, they retired indoors for a while. Michael worked on the Sword's schematics, and a few other problems related to the project.

Finally, when even he couldn't keep concentrating on blue lines and equations, he left a

( note ) for Rachel Grey with Bar, and took himself off.
He'd be around if wanted, upstairs for the most part. Botherable at any point.

naminemory.livejournal.com

Naminé is in the bar tonight, a slightly crumpled piece of paper in her hand.

Her sketchpad is closed in front of her on the bar's surface next to a pencil. The pencil's tip had been broken off (her own fault, for when she read the letter, she accidentally snapped the tip of lead from it) and she did not bother to ask Bar for a pencil sharpener. She can't concentrate on anything else right now, anyway.

She is waiting for someone, biting her lip anxiously. She knows the outcome of the future for the most part (at least she would have, if certain things hadn't happened); nevertheless, there is now cause for concern in her present state.

wellthrownstone.livejournal.com

You would think, with Garion up in the infirmary recovering from his ~~stupidity~~ wounds, he wouldn't be able to bartend. You'd think he would have told Indy or Mike or someone that he wouldn't be able to make his shift due to grevious bodily harm. You would think that since he just today has become able to speak without some manner of pain (either from his jaw or from regrowing teeth), he would have sent a note or something.

You underestimate the degree of responsibility a Sendar (or a Sendar-raised young man) feels towards his work.

As such, "Garion" is behind the bar, shining glasses and wiping the counter as per usual. If there's a shadow that creeps down the stairs and around the walls and behind the bar and if the bartender has a somewhat disconcerting tendency to flicker once in a while and if you notice that while his mouth is moving, his voice isn't something that requires the use of your ears, well...

Drinks anyone?

kayip.livejournal.com

When Behrooz first walks through the door, he blinks around a little, like he's adjusting to the light. But where he was coming from wasn't that dark - it just feels like it's been a while since he's walked through a door and found it wasn't just where he meant to be going.

It's only been a few days, really, but apparently, that's all that's needed.

He closes the door a little slowly, as though still making up his mind about whether to stay, but ultimately does. And instead of taking an out-of-the-way booth or table, he heads right up to the Bar. He only orders some tea, though a small plate of sweets appears, as well. At the moment, Behrooz seems more interested in staring at them than trying them.

stubborn-annie.livejournal.com

Harry's away on business, she's told the neighbours; he should be back soon enough, and he'll take appointments to shoe horses and do other metalwork then. They're all right with that. Wells knows his work and there isn't a horse anywhere in Yorkshire that won't stand still for him. Annie, however, knows all too well what business Harry's away on, which is why she's got a Rob Roy and an expression of I'm-not-going-to-think-about-that on her face.

She could probably use a distraction.

not-lazy-steph.livejournal.com

Some time after this, and this, and this, and not so terribly long after this, a pair of rather floured and probably sugared kids emerged from the kitchen with a MASSIVELY TOWERING CAKE on a plate.

Seriously, how the hell did they manage that with one bowl of batter? It's a mystery, but they did, icing and decorations and everything.

Come have some? There's more than enough to go around.

stupid-scar.livejournal.com

It's been about a month since Harry recieved a certain letter. He'd pondered and contemplated what to do about it, and then ultimately forgot, for reasons that have a lot to do with microwaves, and Doritos, and small-scale destruction of inexpensive drugstore items, and fairy lore, and how not to make toast.

But we won't get into that.

Certain events, by which the Narrative means mun stopped being a flake, led the Boy Who Lived to finally decide to do something about the note, sans ~~his royal entourage~~ ~~his posse~~ ~~his personal Redshirts~~ Ron and Hermione, even though he knows they'd be a bit put off to think he'd gone to face a potentially deadly foe without anybody to stand in his way.

He leaves a note with Bar:

Dear "Vulpes",

I'm here if you are.

H

...because really, what else does one SAY to an annonymous letter claiming to have information and then not explaining how to get it?

Harry orders a mug of butterbeer and takes a seat at a table.

alorn-bear.livejournal.com

Belar generally finds it easier to concentrate on his duties after a good day's worth of physical activity, which is why there's been no sign of him at Milliways most of the day. When something's eating at him, there's this Alaskan crab fishing vessel he knows that always needs another hand, and you don't get much more hardworking than that on Earth in his experience.

... okay, he's a little weird, shut up. He's sitting behind his usual sign now:

ANSWERING PRAYERS
BACK IN 15 MINUTES

The sign decrements every fifteen seconds or so, counting down to zero.

guppy_sandhu

Guppy is sitting in one corner of the bar, doing the crossword in the back of the Holby Gazette.

'6 across. Timidly lays (7)'

rigthegames.livejournal.com

Somewhere in the universe, a door opens.

A small boy stumbles through, like someone on the other side was pushing him, and immediately spins around to tug and rattle on the doorknob, mouth pursed in silent concentration. It takes a long moment for the fact that this doorknob isn’t the doorknob it’s supposed to be to register.

He looks down at his fingers, then up at the door, and, slowly, he turns around to stare at Milliways. There’s almost something strangely familiar about his eyes, ‘though the face they’re in is a lot, lot younger.

[I, for one, welcome our bandwagon overlords.]

river_meimei

River has staked out one of the low coffee tables near the fire. She's sitting on the floor between couch and table, bend over a number of lumps of modeling clay in various colors.

It's not really clear what she's building. Possibly it's abstract art. She's working intently, though, and glowering at the clay as if she could shape it satisfactorily if she just stared hard enough.

renegade-enzo.livejournal.com

Matrix wanders down the stairs, and heads over to the bar. He'd spent the night last here after getting a room key from Bar.

...It was probably a good idea, especially considering the condition he was in, and what a certain Game Sprite would do to him if she saw him like that.

Anyway, one large, green sprite sitting at the bar, eating what appeared to be ramen out of a bowl with the word 'RAM' on the side. There are still a couple of teal colored bruises on his face and arms.

He's botherable, if somewhat tired.

dead-comrade.livejournal.com

So what if you can see the darker side of me? Nothing will ever change the animal I have become. . .

Krauser comes down, glances across the bar, and crosses quickly to Bar to recover his weapons.

. . . help me believe it's not the real me. . .

--woah, what?

. . . somebody help me through this nightmare, I can't control myself!

No, no. That's not right at all. All that aside, Krauser's already got his mind on the hunt ahead, already reorienting himself to the corridors and turns of the place he left. Hopefully, the wierd of this place won't catch him again before he finds the infiltrator.

Once again there is pain. I bring flames, I bring cold--I'm the Blood Red Sandman coming home.

Now that's more like it.

The door closes sharply behind him.

argyle_princess

Hannah Griffith has coffee and chocolate chip cookies, a magazine and her iPod.

That all adds up to a pretty good mood.

Botherable. And, due to the fact that she likes her music on the loud side, startlable.

kitchen_maid

Amy has found a comfortable chair, flagged down a waitrat for tea, and is amusing herself with people watching.

The End of the Universe really is an excellent place for people watching.

Conversation is also welcome.