milliways_bar | May. 6th, 2007

May. 6th, 2007

there-is-a-me.livejournal.com

( A note left at the bar for Supergirl. )

[OOC: Millitimed to earlier today when it's still light out.]

She's had a punching bag in the garage for a while.

The thing is--she doesn't have to be inside.

She can go outside, and right about now, she really doesn't want to be trapped.

So she lugged one out to an area somewhat near the lake, because throwing knives may be fun, but right now, she just wants to hit something.

The bag is not exactly the most satisfying target in the world, but on the bright side?

It doesn't protest. And she can be at this for a long time.

That seems like a really good plan right now.

argyle_princess

[OOM: Problem.]

futures_of_ash

Outside was always the best place to find Rachel in the early mornings. It was usually a good bet that she'd spent the night outdoors, and she'd had more reason to than most recently. Unlike usual though, she was not out on the lake waters, no, she was at the tree edge where shadows and branches crept into the morning light...

She was stressed, and one good way to deal with such was to move and so she was, feet slipping and spinning, bare toes feather light on the grass and moss as she danced with the wind teasing through the trees. Occasionally she flickered with flame, and there was no pattern to her steps...but the point was to move just move, as if nothing else mattered...

...and sometimes, for a few heartbeats...nothing else did.

mendanddefend_archive

After his... interesting conversations on Friday night, Bob decided that it's high time he got a better handle on how computers work from a User perspective. That way, he can actually explain it to people when they ask.

Thus, we find him in a corner booth, eating a plate of chips and reading Absolute Beginner's Guide to Computer Basics. There's a large stack of similar books on the table next to his plate.

Current Mood: curious

precocioustilda.livejournal.com

For a change, Matilda is not inside and doesn't have a book or any form of food or drink.

Instead she's outside, sitting on the edge of a bare patch of ground with a crate of supplies beside her, making fireworks. The actual assembly is done ten feet away in the middle of the patch by way of a concentrated Look. When each firework is complete, she recalls it and tucks it carefully away in her bag.

Even for Milliways, a six-year-old calmly assembling homemade explosives is a peculiar sight. Come ask her what she's doing!

tosharethesky.livejournal.com

Helva was so close to finishing the other project she was working on, and the XH834 was flightworthy again. She found herself getting impatient. This was not a good idea; 'impatience' and 'delicate work' were a bad combination.

So, she forced herself to leave the ship, and bring her hologram into the Bar for an hour or two's break. She enjoyed the place, even at its craziest. The other patrons were a draw, as well.

livingclockwork.livejournal.com

Then there is me, that is Alex. I had just ittied back from some of the starry ultra-violence, and decided a cold milk-plus would by a dobby ending to the nochy, so Your Humble Narrator slides into a booth, and soviets a cold odin.

{OOC: I'm attempting to play Alex in first person, so this very well might be bloody shambles. :D}

works-in-space.livejournal.com

Kirk didn't miss the bureaucracy. He missed the journey, the exploration, evn the danger. But he really, really wanted very much to avoid the endless paperwork. You would think that someone would have figured out a better system for making sure a starship was properly supplied than an endless litany of forms. He hoped the quartermaster had her own endless litany of forms to send to her superiors, but he suspected she might actually enjoy filling them out.

So any interruption will be, at this point, more thna welcome.

[ooc: mun on and off line during the course of the day - tags will be replied to asap]

not-a-surgeon.livejournal.com

She'd done a lot of work. She'd gone through trial after trial, and had had some interesting explosions. Now, she was reviewing some hard copy notes she'd made, mostly for the sake of relaxing.

She was damn tired, and she was still disbelieving and...

And she still had a lot of work to do.

"All right," she murmured to herself, "all of this came out right. But there's still that..."

dats-dildoes.livejournal.com

The rockstar was still around, really it was anyone's guess as to whether or not he'd gone home ever.

Just at the moment he was perchedat one of the smaller tables, feet resting on his amp, currently turned off, plucking away at the guitar in his lap, brow creased in outright concentration.

Of course, the wide selection of empty booze bottles lying around might account for the lack of concentration at the moment.

corsec-jedi.livejournal.com

Corran's in a corner booth, sipping at his Whyren's.
He hasn't been here in a while. Life is finally seeming to calm at home, so his arrival here isn't a big disruption. He looks around, hoping vaguely to see a familiar face, check in and see what's new.

On the other hand, there's a dead doc in the corner who doesn't look entirely amused. In fact, Ton Phanan is outright bored. He's laying with his back on a chair, head hangoing off one side, feet off the other, trying to see just how fast the blood can run to his head. Passing out might actually make life here exciting for a day or two for the socially-challenged cyborgian doctor thing.

Then there's a stupefied Myn Donos by the fire. Back ramrod straight, face completely expressionless, he still hasn't left since the horrors of a few days ago. He's just staring deep into the fire, wondering...

Well, since we've mentioned fire, there's probably been some notice that slight flares are erupting from yet ANOTHER table in the bar. It's probably a serious lack of surprise that Kell Tainer appears to be responsible for them, a hand-held spot-welder at work on an odd conglomeration of parts. Even he might not know what he's working on.

[OOC: Mun is atoning for periods of great absences! Come hither, and get yer owed/wanted threads! Or sit back, and he'll probably come to you.]

gone_byebye

Ray comes in from out back, wiping his hands and smelling vaguely like a butcher's shop. "Bar?" He asks. "Assuming that they sell dermestid larvae to researchers without an academic address, may I have a copy of the 2007 Carolina Biological Supply Catalog?"

One eventually appears. It is several inches thick.

"Thank you, Bar. I appreciate it."

nitro-is-ace.livejournal.com

This is Ace.

This is Ace, sprawled on the couch, with one of her favorite ring and wire logic puzzles, and a chocolate shake.

She's pretending it's summer outside. Thus with the shake. She still can't understand why it has to be Scotland outside and not somewhere tropical.

notjustatoaster.livejournal.com

OOMs: Helo is watched by the Cylons and later Helo makes his move while Sharon procedes with the plan.

The door to the Bar opens and Sharon crawls through. She's covered in blood and not very coherent. She's mumbling but you'd be hard pushed to make it out.

She crawls far enough for the door to close behind her and then she lays her head on the floor. A small stream of blood flows out from beneath her face but she is alive.

stilljustandrew

[OOM, millitimed to very late on the night of April 25th: Andrew's ready to talk now.]

ahogarse.livejournal.com

There's a ghost, peeking in the doorway.

A teeny ghost, short and small and completely lost under his sheet, which is very nice. It even has the bottom cut in raggedy, ghosty-edges, from which underneath two less than good feet are poking. Probably it's best not to look at the feet.

Anyways, he's just peeking. Not in, by any stretch of the imagination, because he doesn't want to frighten anyone (he's very frightened) but... curious, like.

It looks definitely very, very interesting.

there-is-a-me.livejournal.com

Spoon has a translator! Spoon has, actually, been playing with the translator since he and Christine finished training it to get human and yautja languages. Then Spoon went in and started feeding it canine as well. He's pretty sure it's got pickups he doesn't understand, because every now and then it rattles off yautja things at him that he thinks might be body-language translations.

Right now, though? Playing with it. Totally. The clicking and such is very interesting. He's got no idea why Spoon, for instance, takes so long to say. (Answer: translations aren't perfect. It's saying curved broken piece of shell.)

hero_farmboy

The last few days of Clark's life have been blissfully uneventful. No one's gotten hurt or died and there haven't been any more Phantoms hunting him down for revenge. It won't last long, he knows, but he's been enjoying the mediocrity of farm work and annoying Chloe at the Planet.

He's also not adverse to enjoying a good cappuccino, especially when it's better than what they're serving at the Talon these days. One is ordered from the bar and then he finds a quieter table to settle at, so he can go over some of the farm's finances.

Ah, math. Clark couldn't be more content to be doing something so dull.

stuck-mynock.livejournal.com

Atton may not look like the most cheerful thing ever as he comes downstairs, cursing quietly as he realises he's late, and writes up the Specials, but he does, at least, not look like he wants to kill everything that gets in his line of sight. Which is a vast improvement from last week. He's smiling, a bit, though it can't be seen as he flicks through the book of cocktails.

Specials.
Chocolate Bomb.
Chocolate Buzz.
Chocolate Beverage.

"Free chocolate with every drink." Atton says when he's finished writing them up, putting the book aside and heading behind the Bar, giving the patrons a quick grin.

laceandarsenic.livejournal.com

A purple haired girl and her deinonychus are sitting by the observation window. There's a glass of cherry coke on the table and a plate containing the remnants of a burger and fries. The dinosaur is sleeping on the floor beside the sofa and the girl, Gert, is stretched out on the sofa reading a book she found lying about the bar. Her face is set into a deep frown, either from concentration or because she's unimpressed. Either would be true at this point.

old-lizard.livejournal.com

Chinthliss is at a booth, with a glass of Scotch and a rather ~~smug~~ thoughtful look on his face. He'd welcome company.

unwraith.livejournal.com

Michael has been sharing in Rachel's edginess, the past few days. He's kept to himself, not entirely trusting his temper in crowds, pushing himself hard in the training circle.
When he looks at the door, it doesn't vanish, but it varies. It might be his, or the one he'd glimpsed before, writhing, and silently bleeding, pain woven into the atoms of it. Rachel's, calling to a hero to cross the threshold.

That has held him from attempting to leave, until the matter's resolved.
Tonight, he's indoors, watchful, but calmer for a day on the range.

iwenttomissouri.livejournal.com

Missouri enters the bar grumbling, "If she doesn't want to hear about whether her husband's really strayin' she should damn well not ask me."

It hasn't been a great day. She won't be listening to anyone's thoughts or reading anyone's condition tonight.

Unless she has to. Sometimes you do what you have to do.

will_scarlett

Will enters from outside, smiling and looking a little wild, the day has been long and good and began with a dance in the woods.

The bow is put away and Will stands at the Bar, watching before moving into the rafters and looking down at the world below. His feet dangle down as he sits, full of energy, playing with a penny, hopefully no one will walk into his legs.

his-sarah-jane.livejournal.com

[OOM: Sometime this evening, Sarah Jane goes to tell John her rather unexpected news. And decides that he'd look very pretty in pink.]

callitavesper.livejournal.com

[ In flat 007: James and Sarah go to sleep. No, srsly, they go to sleep. After being sappy with each other, of course. ]

cheevy.livejournal.com

While his older self is far away and elsewhere, some 50 years before his birth gallavanting with a wizard and a Victorian gentleman, a door in the Bar wall opens.

Inside scrambles an excessively small child, aged about eight or nine, who falls into the bar and slams the door behind him. He leans against it, panting. Now that he's standng still, it's easy to tell the kid lives at the bottom of the food chain. He's dirty, hair uncombed and uncut, dressed in not quite fitting clothes and sporting some lovely bruises on his face and arms.

When he turns around, a book grasped to his chest, and sees the bar, he promptly gives a soft squeak and scrambles to hide under the nearest table.

badinlatin

Mal's been out riding.

This may or may not explain his asking the bar for a new t-shirt and Mal ducking behind the bar to change.

What? He was sweaty.

He's smiling though, when he writes Earth-that-Was beer, 1/2 off on the specials board.

Bartending = Open For Business.

his-sarah-jane.livejournal.com

She had come downstairs looking for James. To look for James and maybe get a cup of cocoa to bring back upstairs with her. But somewhere along her search, a seat by the fire had begun to look appealing. So did the idea of looking through a bridal magazine, just to see how much wedding fashions have changed since in the twenty-first century. No planning yet, but a little looking never hurt.

So: one Sarah Jane over by the fireplace, smiling contently as she sizes up the gowns on the magazine pages.

skidrowseymour.livejournal.com

Seymour is in the bar. He's sitting at a table. All his fingers have Band-Aids on them. He has a bottle of Coke, which is stopped halfway to his mouth.

The reason? Seymour is staring at the book he'd been reading - it's a textbook, with the cover not immediately visible - with mingled fascination and horror.

He remains in that position for a half a minute. Then he sets his Coke down, and shakes himself like a dog removing water from its coat.

"The things I do for friends," he mutters uneasily.

He'd welcome a distraction.

dr_temperance

No bones on Brennan's table tonight. And no case files either. Just a cup of coffee, a half-eaten sandwich, and a large stack on manuscript which she is industriously red-penning.

Writing a murder mystery is a lot like reassemling a skeleton. You have to make sure all of the pieces are there, and that they fit together properly. It's a very logical process, and therefore one that Brennan is good at (the New York Times Best Sellers List tends to agree).

This is what happens when you tell someone like Brennan that she needs a creative outlet that doesn't involve exhuming bodies.

princeinexile

[OOM: In Yorkshire, Zuko gets some exercise as he decides the best way to get back on his face is being a sneaky, backstabby bastard. ]

paladinsuitsyou

The world is divided into two kinds of people: Cake people and pie people.

Cake people love the crumbly texture, the rich flavor, the mounds of sweet icing.

Booth is not one of those people. He loves pie, with its tender flaky crust, its variety of fillings (though he's partial to fruit) and the way it pairs with ice cream. Ice cream is much more suitable with pie than cake, he believes.

But he believes that cake and pie people can live (and eat) in harmony, so he wouldn't mind if one of them sat down for conversation and desserts.

guppy_sandhu

[oom: After the still-in-slowtime showdown, Guppy has to face to powers that be, and the power that was.]

The doctor is in

Quiet, in one corner, with a sandwich that he nibbles occasionally. Guppy is just watching the bar go by really.

He'd like company; he has cake.

kurosakiboy.livejournal.com

Ichigo has been out of the bar for a while now; he's not quite sure if it's been on purpose or simply out of his hands. He just hasn't thought about coming here; he has other things on his mind, more important things. Events are unfolding, the clock is ticking, and he has to be ready.

For the moment though, he's just taking time for himself, relaxing in the bar. It's not something he'll have a lot of time to do soon, so he's trying to enjoy himself.

someboywonder.livejournal.com

So, every other time I've come here, it's been while in costume. It's been as Robin, teenage vigilante, prowling the streets by night, living a secret life by day. Nobody here (well, nobody who doesn't know from before I came here) knows about my real identity.

So when I walk into the bar in my civilian clothes, no mask, no cape, I'm a little worried. I don't panic, exactly; I'm able to keep my cool, shift my school bag on my shoulder, look like I belong. There's no way anyone here knows everyone that comes in and out of this place, so I should be able to fit in without a problem. The door is, when I glance casually behind me, gone, but I've been told it can happen. I try not to worry.

On the outside, I'm just Alvin Draper (like I'd use my real name), normal teenage guy, here on his way to school; on the inside, I'm Tim Drake, Robin, and I'm flipping out.

That's my life, never a dull moment.

bringonthewonder

Angela has settled into a confortable chair, ordered a glass of wine, and gotten out her sketch pad.

Tonight she is drawing hands, from memory, with long fingers and what appears to be a rubber band around one wrist.

It's nothing that can't be interrupted.