milliways_bar | Mar. 11th, 2007

Mar. 11th, 2007

A night in the cells, a healing, another friend in Security,and Nottingham beckons, a month passes and Will approaches a door to meet with Tuck on a rainy summer night. The door opens halfway and a long, low whistle can be heard then Will walks in wearing a long brown cloak dusted with raindrops and carrying a wooden staff. He walks through the door confidently and says,

"Tuck, we're goin' to be late,"

Then just stops as he looks around. Doors didn't open to here anymore or was this a dream again, Will's not sure and stands lost and unsure. He hasn't even taken his hood off, just a figure in a cloak, blocking the door and looking lost.

obnoxiousadams.livejournal.com

[OOM: After leaving Milliways, John has a talk with Ben Franklin, and Richard Henry Lee sings about Virginia and breasts!]

Hey, Milliways!

Heeeeeere's Johnny.

Again, God help you all.

The door swings open rather violently, revealing John Adams in a very wet pair of pants with a very red face.

"I," he says, trying to take deep breaths as he seethes in the doorway, "HATE VIRGINIANS."

Anger management? What's that?

As he stomps his way toward Bar, little puddles appear under his feet. Today, he's without jacket or cane. It was too damn hot for his jacket and his cane was sent, javelin-like, at Lee's head. Franklin wouldn't give it back.

"Give me a room and some liquor. Now."

From Bar, John gets a key, a glass of Scotch and a new pair of socks.

Looks like someone's planning to stick around for a little while!

[ooc note: Mun will be around sporadically all day, as she's still battling this bastard of a cold.]

b-a-summers.livejournal.com

Buffy's a little late. Mostly because the mun's an idiot and thought it was Friday. Nevermind that the clock in the corner now says, 'SUN."

Oh well.

However, it's one of those nights where Buffy knows that she's not going to get to stay here much longer without having to go back home and deal with the inevitable fallout from her actions.

So she steps behind the bar, no specials, and ties on an apron, tying her hair up too, to keep it off her neck.

"Happy Saturday, Milliways! Happy Hour from now until the end of my shift. All beers are half price! What'll it be?"

[OOC: And I'm out for the night at 5am on the button. I'll pick up tags tomorrow!]

Current Mood: contemplative

nitro-is-ace.livejournal.com

(OOM: Earlier this evening, Annie Wells and Ace take a traumatized Spoon back home. Sometimes, though, things go better than you might have thought.)

stilljustandrew

In the Security Office, earlier today: Wellses.

futures_of_ash

Rachel was not knitting, she didn't know how. Nor was she reading, writing, cooking, cleaning...

Sometimes it was simply hard to be fidgety. She needed to be useful, and yet...she wasn't on shift, and there wasn't exactly a call for her type of help at the moment.

A hero at loose ends could get into all kinds of trouble, Rachel? Well, she was sitting on the observation window ledge and playing with molten glass.

[Open to all, slow eventually]

themerlin

On a table, in a booth, a small cauldron merrily bubbles as Merlin mixes and adds ingredients from a small pile.

Each one is prepared carefully. Some herbs are chopped, a small stone is ground down, a silver spoon is carefully polished and cleaned, and other things are similarly set ready, then added to the cauldron. With each thing added, merlin speaks quiet words, and the cauldron glows faintly. All the while, Merlin consults a small book bound in red leather and a silvery metal.

He smiles as the potion slowly takes shape, humming as he drops the last of the ingredients, some polished scales, into the cauldron and whispers two words. There is a slight flash, then the cauldron is merrily bubbling once more, and Merlin sits back, satisfied. Now, all he can do is wait for it to be ready.

Freed from a need to concentrate, he looks around the room and smiles, watching the crowd.

focusandcontrol.livejournal.com

Scott was downstairs, reading a book bar had provided for him. Advanced Aeronautical Engineering, 2010 Edition, had apparently been her choice of good breakfast material. He agreed and was glued to reading, wondering at the advancements and changes a few short years were bringing in jets and technology to go in them.

Nearby was a plate of half-eaten breakfast, slowly cooling, which he was, even more slowly, making headway on. Every few minutes, he would remember it was there and take a bite, then get caught up in the manual again.

He was a geek for planes, and that was all there was to it.

asar-suti.livejournal.com

Once more, Asar-Suti had a sign on his table:

Talk to me about gardening!

Otherwise, he was again curled up comfortably in his favourite chair by the fireplace, with a fat magical book and a large purple mug of coffee. And cookies that Gil refilled yesterday. The cookies, though, he would share.

[[OOC: Locked to the remaining people interested in gardening or magical herbs, as per Friday's note - not just those that already replied to the note, your charrie can apply spontaneously if you missed the original announcement. Slowtime welcome!]]

cursedrider.livejournal.com

There is a saying. Pride goeth before a fall..

If that applies to Johnny Blaze, we're not paying attention to it. Somewhere an old man makes plans and machinations against his son, who's plans against his father are coming to fruition. A rider will be summoned.

Johnny Blaze? Knows none of that. Because despite the freakiness of his earlier trip, he has his sign. And he made it!. 300 Feet! A world record!

He's practically dancing as he twists into the bar, oblivious to his surroundings.

He freezes Mid-Dance Step, "....This again?"

Oh well shit.

Johnny is a man who believes in signs. Which is why his happy expression has vanished completely as he studies the patrons going about their business. S'This a good thing? Or a bad thing?

He is still staring as he stumbles into a chair and asks, (With no small amount of nervousness) for a glass of water.

old-lizard.livejournal.com

Chinthliss appears in the bar shortly after dawn, his time. It'd been a long night, between 'casting to reinforce the house wards at his house in NYC, and more mundane work. He has never understood American tax laws. He has no interest in the subject. Some horrors are better left unexplored.

"Hot otherworldly tea, and some miso, lady Bar?" he requests.
He gets them, along with a book titled Magical Defenses for the Layman. He checks the author and date.

The name's unfamiliar, the book would appear to be from two or three years in his future. "Hai? Very well. Thank you. "

Books are never unwelcome. He's startled by the apparent subject matter. If she thinks he should have it, he won't argue.
Why, he'll find out when he needs to, he expects.

Taking them to a table, he sits and digs in.

there-is-a-me.livejournal.com

After being drugged, after showing off the goats, the pells, after dancing and eating and going out to do his usual work-out, all six hours of it even if they were after dark, after all of that Spoon felt...

Can't really call it himself when you need that many foreign chemicals just to survive, can you? No, Spoon wasn't feeling himself, but he was calm on a level that wasn't the false level of drugs and when he slept (in the living room, in a pile of puppies) it wasn't any worse than it ever is.

Medication before breakfast, watch Ace tease the fucking Billy, and he only stops with a drugged version of panic when opening the door home shows the inside of the bar instead of the kitchen. He makes a questioning whine to the woman and the dog, and simply stands there.

dragonofgrey.livejournal.com

(IM and OOM: After Draco's released from the Cells, he heads out back for some flying. Reunites with Miniver. There's divebombing, embracing, pouncing and chasing. All the way back to his current room, where there's clean fun and not so clean fun in the bath, and finally a restful night's sleep for the first time in three days.

Warning

in the second link for intimate scenes)

milkbonesoldier.livejournal.com

Archie was as good as his word. Baby let Wells out this morning without any kind of fuss. He went from the cells straight to the outdoors, figuring he'd get breakfast after a good, long run; that's where he is now, coming back into the Bar after several miles' worth of laps around the lake. Shower first, then food, but he's in now with everyone else.

cheevy.livejournal.com

Here is a Miniver, in the bar, at a booth, with tea and a book. Anyone who watches long enough will notice that he seems to be reading it... oddly. For every two pages he turns, he turns one back and reads it again.

He's got a long white wand on the table beside his cup. Every now and again, he puts the book aside, picks it up, and waves it at the saucer with a variety of interesting results, none of them so far intended. Just now, the saucer is looking rather wilted and curiously fuzzy, and a nearby spoon is wriggling about every once in a while and... cooing.

He hasn't blown anything up yet. The betting is open as to how long it takes before he does.

princess-midna.livejournal.com

Feeling a little bit mischievous today, Midna is hanging around in the rafters of Milliways.

Above the heads of others.

Having discovered a wonderful toy called Silly String...
.
.
.
At least the waitrats don't have to clean up all the string...

captainryan.livejournal.com

[OOM: Ryan has a bad reaction. Warnings for violence.]

Captain Ryan stops at the base of the stairs to look around the Bar. His eyes skim the crowd three times before he finally enters, looking jumpy. Twitchy. It's not the same sort of twitchy as he gets around the full moon because he doesn't look like he might eat your face off. No, this is more a...watchful twitchy. But just because it looks like he might not bite doesn't mean he won't if you startle him. That's probably not possible with how much he's watching the room.

He looks like he hasn't been sleeping, or if he has, sleeping poorly. Maybe it has something to do with his heavily bandaged arm.

[OOC: ~~And mun is away for dinner~~.Back!]

stuck-mynock.livejournal.com

Atton's in one of those moods today, the ones where he has even more trouble staying in one place for any significant period of time, can't stop smiling, and is a lot more inclined to drawing silly pictures.

Thus, the Specials board has 'RUM' in bold, multi-coloured letters, and a picture of a bottle with an evil grin looming over a stick figure.

"You get an extra discount on rum if you can draw a better picture of an Evil Bottle."

over_europe

Here is something the bar has never seen: A clean Lewis Nixon. Not only is Nix clean, but he isn't carrying a rifle (which, admittedly, he would go without occasionally while he was in Normandy), and he wears crisp brown Class A's, tie and cap and shiny buttons and all, rather than the familiar battered combat uniform. He stutter-steps as he comes through the door, surprised to be back here after so long.

Nix grins and, removing his cap, heads for the bar. He has had a haircut, though he still could use a shave, and on a whole, he's relaxed. Easy. No maps today, and he isn't likely to fall asleep at any tables (not that he has ever done that here). A sojourn at the Bar at the End of the Universe before a weekend spent in London— that sounds like a fine idea.

He settles in at the bar right quick with a beer and a newspaper (c. 1944, thanks to Bar), and his good mood is almost palpable. Company wouldn't go amiss, not in the slightest.

gone_byebye

Ray's a little twitchy today, possibly with good reason. He's almost dead certain Zed's gonna make his move against the Black Oil soon, and, well... you'd be a little twitchy too if your name was on the roster for a thing like that.

He's sort of wondering if genuinely Force-sensitive Jedi get this kind of twitchy, and the answer keeps coming back 'no', so he's trying really hard to meditate himself into peacefulness. Ray being Ray, he's doing this by watching the Window and contempating the multifold manifestations of the End of All Things, and Ray being Ray, it seems to be working.

He'd probably be fun to interrupt, though.

dragonofgrey.livejournal.com

Draco was flying out back again on his broom. Enjoying the sense of freedom in the air. Letting everything fall away. Any confinement was torture.

Which meant he had to do whatever it took to *never* end up in Azkaban. Or his breakdown last year would be nothing compared to what that place would do to him.

But he wasn't going to think of that right now. Just the feel of the wind.

bring_a_sponge

[OOM: The day has finally come. No more planning, no more recruiting, no more working through possible scenarios. Just one more briefing, a few final questions.....

And then it's time to show the Black Oil just what happens when you mess with Agent Zed.]

[ooc: If you're curious about this whole Black Oil business, but haven't read any of the earlier posts, then no worries, this one should tell you everything you need to know. And if you have been reading them, this one will draw everything together. I'll be posting the rest of the OOM over the next few days.]

waylostandfound.livejournal.com

A Millitimed Nathan was out back, waiting for the London trip. He was standing on the ground, but he was looking to the sky. Noticed somebody with pale hair buzzing around... on a broom of all things.

But he was also feeling the pull. Of the wind. The sky calling. He should resist. But he didn't want to. Not entirely. Well, who would notice him here? No pundits, no press. No questions to be asked. Not to have to think about his brother who he can't do anything for right now.

Just let go. Tempting... And he rose in the air, smoothly and silently into the sky. Giving in.
Just another secret to add to the pile.

gorgonfondness

Mia is almost done with present making. She again has two boxes sitting by her hand, one still for Simon, but now the other is for Garion.

A piece of clay is being worked in her hands, but no definite shape is coming out of it yet.

What oh what will she make for Guppy?

Maybe someone could make a suggestion?

l33t-mouse.livejournal.com

A woman walks into the Bar.

Now, this in itself is not unusual, because lots of women walk into Milliways. But most of them are not purple-skinned redheads packing a set of samurai swords. This is probably the first time such a person has entered the establishment. Then again, this is Milliways. You never know. The woman is holding and looking intently at something that - for those who know the Star Trek canon, or happen to live in it - resembles a PADD. This distraction keeps her from noticing that she's stepping into a place that isn't normally behind the door she just entered.

Behind the woman, on the other side of the doorway, is what looks like a particularly squalid urban alleyway. In the doorway's right corner, the lower edge of a neon sign flickers as cheap, old neon signs tend to do. This backdrop is visible for about three seconds before the door closes.

The woman finally looks up from the device in her hand. She blinks a couple of times, takes a good look around, and then frowns. "Please tell me Al redecorated."

Mouse, Milliways. Milliways, Mouse. Play nice.

EDIT: [OOC: I need someone who knows the Milliframers (but who isn't a Milliframer themselves) to step in here, please - Mouse is not going to be Bound but she needs a reason to spend time here.]

Current Mood: confused

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

Jack Frost is in the bar, with a glass of water and a book of poems that he's still working his way through.

Occasionally, he will pause, and reread a verse. Contemplate a line. A word.

He's going to have to write this one on the window.

callitavesper.livejournal.com

James is what we'll call restless.

He may not look it, as he's staring directly out the Observation Window without moving a muscle, but then staring at a perpetually moving light display is one of the last refuges of boredom, isn't it? So he's at the table by the Observation Window, the one he hasn't sat in for a while, the one he used to smoke at before popular demand said he shouldn't.

He's thinking a trip home may be in the cards, and soon.

[ ooc: i will be shoving james out of the bar soon--maybe tonight, maybe later, but soon! he'll be back, though. thursday-ish. or however long i can go without playing him.

and now i vanish for great 'sleep.' james bond mun will return in 'tagging you back tomorrow'! ]

Current Mood: restless

agnes_nitt

Sunday evenings tend to be slow. It's one reason that Agnes usually likes this shift.

Tonight, though, seems slower than usual. It's one thing to have only a little to do. It's another to have next to nothing. She tried to eat, but half her meal is sitting at the corner of the table, cold and forgotten. She got a deck of cards from Bar and had been playing a solitaire version of Cripple Mr. Onion, but even that lost its appeal pretty quick.

Her eyes keep darting to the blank wall where the door should be, but nothing ever changes. Something tells her it's going to be a loooooong night.

badinlatin

"I know, I know already..." Mal seems to be mumbling more to himself than anyone else around him as he hops behind the counter and declares himself on the blackboard:

Horribly Late Specials:
Any drink with something related to time in the title is half off.

Take advantage.

[ooc: On 'jacked internet and on meebo with no real AIM. Meebo is strange. I am not ignoring you, I promise. :-* ETA: The 'jacked internet is now no longer possible to be jacked. In slowtime for any who want to.]

kryptonkara.livejournal.com

The door opens on a quiet, dark hallway and a bright burst of primary colors which promptly shoots through the door and into the bar proper.

There is a small sonic boom which accompanies this. Whatever it is, it's fast.

Once the door is kicked shut, the colors - the girl slows and touches down on the ground, absorbed in brushing a light dust of concrete from her shirt as she mutters darkly. She's pretty, for a sulking teenager, with long blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and a costume which should really have some tights and a sweater added to it.

" - I'm gonna kill him, kill him so freaking dead it's not even funny," she says, as she swipes as a stubborn patch of dust on her sleeve, and finally pulls herself up out of her self-absorption to look up at her living -

- somebody else's bar. Oh. Huh. She does a rapid visual inspection of the bar, taking in the various bizarre people/animals/plants/minerals/things, the window, and the total and continuing absence of her apartment

"Okay, what the hell?" Kara says, taking off to hover a foot or so above the ground. "Oh my God, if the landlord gave my apartment to a fricking night club while I was gone, I just, gah. I'm going to start frying people, swear to God."

Supergirl, welcome to Milliways.

[OOC: This isn't just Supergirl's first entrance into Milliways, it's her mun's too. Hi! I'm liquidlimerick on AIM for pinging purposes, and I'm very open to corrections/advice/plotting/just plain chatting.]

bastardwisdom.livejournal.com

Pete is swearing quietly under his breath as he stalks in. It cuts off abruptly as the noise of the bar registers. The man's blue eyes narrow faintly, sweeping swiftly over the bar as he takes note of his surroundings. There is a flicker of recognition in his eyes, but no relaxation - this place is not, as yet, either considered familiar or safe.

After a moment of thought, he does at least deem it momentarily more pleasant than where he'd been. Time to stay a while, then.

And so he takes up a seat by the observation window, lighting up a cigarette and settling in to try and figure out how the damned thing works. As this will bring nothing but frustration, a distraction of some sort will be welcome.

takiena_called

[OOM: Best friends bring the worst news. AKA, the calm doesn't come after the storm]

Finn walks into the bar, a look of relief passing briefly over his face before he starts to search around the main room, impatiently. As he finishes his loop around the main bar (clearly not having found whoever he was looking for), he is striding at a much faster, edgier clip than before.

He runs up the stairs, and knocks urgently on Henry Wellard’s door. Finn hears noises from the rooms around them, but none from Henry’s. He’s not there.

He’s back down the stairs and to the outside, yelling “Henry! Where are you?” over and over again as he walks along the lake (he doesn’t understand the bar’s geography, not really—he’s only been to the outside once). His voice breaks off, finally, and he walks back inside.

Finn’s shoulders are slumped as he walks to the bar. He knows Henry is here—he can’t leave, he said, he’s dead—but even more than that Finn knows that he can’t stay. His legs are restless to be moving along a Road, and they haven’t stopped urging him down it for all the walking he’s done.

He asks the bar for a pen, inkwell, and paper which it gives him. He dips the pen in the inkwell and begins to write in a neat but hurried hand, crossing things out with growing frustration.

Enry Welyd,

I ~~looked~~ ~~couldn't~~ didn't find you. I need to go leave. I'm sorry. Goodbye.

-Finn dan Sh

There’s a blot of ink there, and an irritated scribble. And then Finn thanks the bar, asks it to be delivered, before he turns and heads to the door.

The fifteen-year-old boy straightens his shoulders, takes a deep breath (he does not want his mother to worry, so he must hide his own fear) before opening the front door and leaving.

It’s not the last place he’s going to say goodbye to, today.

bigheadedchild.livejournal.com

"---No, wait, Gaaaaz! Give that back!"

Is what you might hear, as the small boy with an abnormally large head steps through the door. "Hey--"

Whatever he might have said next is lost to history. as his eyes grow wide. And wider. His gaze flicks around the bar, taking in the myriad patrons, each colourful in their own way... and clearly, not all human. And they land on The Window. ~~Of Doom.~~

His eyes grow wider still, and there's a little squeaking sound emitted from his throat.

An arm snaps up, lightning-fast, one finger pointing.

It may be noted, that he's gaping. And staring. And pointing.

For a moment, Dib wonders if he may have died, and gone to heaven.

...Not that there could possibly be a heaven without Zim strapped to an examination table, his fleash peeled back, and his slimy, pulsing, alien organs on display. But that could very well be in another room.

He glances back, finally, and sees through the still-ajar door, his living room. His notably Gazless living room. He glances about again, and then reaches into a pocket, to produce a somewhat rumpled and grimy bit of scrap paper, which he slips between the latch, and the doorjamb, and rather experimentally closes the door.

When nothing happens, he opens it up again, and sticks his head back into his living room.

"...Hey. This is pretty cool. Interdimensional wormhole in my own living room. ...I wonder if Zim has anything to do with it."

jedi-exile.livejournal.com

There is a Jedi in the bar.

At the bar, to be more exact, curled on a barstool, stabbing at a cherry with a toothpick. A barely sipped drink lingers at her elbow and she looks terribly bored.

Pokeable.

song_tra_bong

Mary Anne was playing solitare earlier, but that got boring. So she switched to building a card house. When that fell down, she went back to solitare. Then a few hands of blackjack against herself.

Now, she's just shuffling continuously while she watches the room. She probably wouldn't say no to an opponent at cards, or just someone to talk to.

watchmakers_son

He took a room upstairs after all, once he'd been officially released from the infirmary. For Sylar, the patient of Dr. Tam and recent victim of who knew how many medical experiments, it showed an understandable reluctance to go back to his own world right away.

(For Sylar, the man still struggling to locate an understandable frequency within the bar, it gave him some more time for study, uncomfortable as it might have been. Others like Dr. Tam had to exist, ones that he could see and hear as clearly as those outside. It would only be a matter of finding them.)

Once, he came downstairs, made a quiet request of Bar, and took the clothes she produced back up to his room.

Now the tan work shirt's folded atop his table, the Primatech baseball cap resting on top of it, but he's already put on the boots, work pants, and white dress shirt. He's also stuck a small band-aid over the stitches on the back of his head.

All that's left is to finish his tea.

greatestgenius.livejournal.com

A small, crab-shaped window'd door opens.

A small short bundle of 12 year old and a long pink shock of hair bounces into the bar.

"EUREKA! I knew if I just studied chaos theory long enough, I'd find a way to anchor a door to this place!" She then pontificated to herself upon all the theories and physical improbabilities against getting a door to the End Of The Universe.
This is Washuu.
Washuu is a scientist.
Washuu, in all her infinite wisdom (or so she claims to have) had been certain there was something to find at the end of the strings of theories she was currently working on.
She didn't know there was a bar there, though.

"Holy what in the!?" Was her next line, realizing that, in fact, she wasn't alone. Very not alone. And that she was very very much in a bar.

"Well, that certainly doesn't fit into my equations."

teh-data-fork.livejournal.com

Adam has long been an advocate of the Not Falling Asleep In The Bar cause. He's got a whole list of reasons why it's a really stupid thing to do. (He's even written it down.) If he catches people sleeping in the bar, he's been known to wake them up just to tell them what morons they are, especially now that he's running into nasty dangerous villains all over the place. (And he doesn't even know just how many terrorists are running around.)

So it's a testament to just how much work he's been slammed with in the past few weeks that he's sitting curled in the corner of a comfy sofa, leaning on the armrest with his ever-present computer in screensaver mode on his lap, positively out cold and dead to the world.

Come and poke at him.

yukon-2019.livejournal.com

That pink haired girl hasn't been here for ... she has no idea. In fact she`s not even aware of having missed more than a few hours in the Bar. She`s dancing along the lake, humming and giggling, stopping from time to time to smile brightly at the water. Or the trees. Or the brave buds showing up everywhere. Or even people - and that`s unusual, for she`s a shy one.

Lucy`s happy, no doubt.

Being all of a jitter, it`s possible, that she`ll pop off as suddenly as she`s appeared. But right now she`s here. Um ... there. Maybe hopping in the Bar later.

bannion_sight

OOM:
When the wandering fire
Strikes the heart of stone
Will you follow?

The Longest Road

impulsivekid.livejournal.com

"Yeah, thanks all the same Tim, but, well, I've got plans. Talk to you later?"

He listens to the reply, phone pressed between ear and shoulder as Bart backs into the bar.

"Right, all my love to Cassie and the rest."

A shake of his head as he hangs up. Then notices the bar, and smacks himself in the head.

"Dang, my shift!"

In a blur, his name is up on the board, along with his drink specialty: The Robin.