milliways_bar | May. 9th, 2007

May. 9th, 2007

[OOM: Back in Seattle at last, Frank Black learns some disturbing things about what Jordan's been up to recently.]

gothymcgoth.livejournal.com

After about a week here, she's gotten kind of used to this place. Well, kind of. The Window still freaks her out. Might explain why she's out back, staring up at the stars. "So, I'm stuck here, at the end of time, without my family, but Harrys here, but's he's a jerk (what else is new), and i've been really slow at metting people."

She scooches up so her back is against a rock, not the ground, and stares at the bar itself. "On the plus side, my family isn't here, Harry is, and there area lot of new people."

A spark springs to her eyes, as she realises. "And it gives me time to practice."

gotham-knocking.livejournal.com

He's showered, he's shaved, he's rested and ready to avoid going back to Gotham and to the heat and to the unpacking. He's Alex Knox, and he's loafing at the Bar, reading the sports pages for July 9, 1990, and trying to figure out just why his new newspaper devotes so much space to the World Cup and the Tour de France instead of baseball. (What can we say? Sometimes, he's SUCH an American.)

Come say hello.

[ooc: slowtime possible]

milkbonesoldier.livejournal.com

[OOM: While Zuko has been ninjing about in Yorkshire, the Wellses have been meeting with a government messenger about matters of considerable importance. Millitimed to the night before this past full moon.]

Wells ducks into the Bar from a particularly grueling day with the girls at the Academy. There's been sword work going on- a lot of sword work- and multiple instructors to boot, but that doesn't make his part any easier. It just means that he's got to work with them on everything that doesn't involve the use of three feet of steel. Still, he's all right with that. Just as long as he gets his pint and a good spot to sit down for a bit. Lycanthropy doesn't do much for easing the burn in the muscles after a full day's endurance training.

skidrowseymour.livejournal.com

[ Out of Milliways: Seymour finally gets exactly what he wants.]

A young man with Band-Aid covered fingers enters Milliways. He is smiling. He walks forward without looking where he's going; when he bumps into people – and he does – he murmurs a vague "Sorry," like he's speaking from far away. You don't come back to earth (or Milliways) easily when you're on cloud nine.

He finds the nearest couch and flops down onto it, grinning. He's feeling so many things he's never felt before, not really, not this strongly. Eventually he looks around, because he has to find people, strangers or friends or anybody, and tell them that...sometimes things work out right.

cheevy.livejournal.com

[OOM...ish? You'd think that people would have had enough of silly love songs...]

Current Music: [there should be a tag for "this puppet's mun is a huge dork"]

visible_sariel

When Sariel comes through the door today, she's carrying two or three datapads in the crook of one arm and a wooden box that looks about the size of some sort of gameboard under the other. She's come to if not expect, then at least be reasonably sure that the door will simply swish closed behind her and stay there, silver-grey against the far wall until she leaves again.

She's halfway to Bar when she happens to glance casually back. And stops. And stares. And then gets a half disbelieving, half distinctly irritated look on her face. "What... why... oh for gods' sake, Bar! I already went through this once before! Does it have to happen a second... Oh *bugger*." She hadn't been yelling, certainly, but she wasn't whispering either. The last phrase trails away, ending on a sigh.

she proceeds to flop into the nearest of the seats at the bar. Those datapads and that gameboard-type box end up on the counter itself. The disbelief and annoyance mingling on her face have been replaced with resignation, though the occasional mutter is still audible every now and again, sometimes in English, sometimes not.

Because Sariel? Is bound again. Lucky her.

Come ask about those datapads, or whatever the heck is in that gamebox, or just join her in grumbling at the vanishing door.

Current Mood: annoyed
Current Location: stuck inna bar

organicmeatbag.livejournal.com

Revan is not supposed to be in Milliways. He is supposed to be waiting for Kira on the planet he has been stuck on for the past seven months. But he cannot help it that the door into the local tavern leads instead to Milliways and he cannot help it that Milliways can provide the same lunch (if not better) that he was going to be getting at the tavern.

And so, smelling and looking much like one does after working on a farm for several hours in the sweltering heat, Revan hesitates on the threshold before letting the door close behind him as he steps further in. He heads straight for Bar, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt, and settles at the counter, ordering up a nerfsteak and a beer.

He'll only be around as long as it takes for him to finish the lunch, but he's botherable in the mean time.

there-is-a-me.livejournal.com

Spoon and his regular assortment of fluffy puppies enter the bar. It's a good day, verging on a quiet day; Spoon's had a lot to think about and has been doing a lot of thinking. It isn't bad thinking, but he does fold in a little bit while he's remembering things. Not, always, because remembering is bad...but it does take a lot of effort.

So he retreats to the bar, for a pot of chocolate flavoured tea and some time where he can curl up without the smell of goats in his nose to turn trivia over in his mind. He never thought that trivia would be so important.

ahogarse.livejournal.com

If you walk along the lake, you'll hear it. The strong, pronounced, drip. It's not the water lapping at the banks, at the rocks. It's too wrong to be that.

If you look, just there, you'll see it. The fine mist of blood in the air, the faint outline of a sort of shape.

Santi is there.

nitro-is-ace.livejournal.com

One cranky kitty on a couch.

Actually it's Ace, curled up with a hot bowl of tomato soup with those little fishy crackers in, but she has spent a good portion of today completely soaked to the skin (if one defines 'today' as 'time spent between waking up in Yorkshire and the now where I'm eating this soup', which is a bit longer than the normal afternoon.

explorertruman.livejournal.com

It's been a while, but this explorer and Hitchhiker's been out and about. But today, he's in the bar, whistling a sea chanty. Figured to order an exotic looking seafood dish, and some rum to sip on the side. Also some water since he's a lightweight on drinking.

Truman was sitting at one of his usual tables near the Observation Window, sometimes singing different chanteys between bites.

evryinchbut1.livejournal.com

Your server is: Valerie

Waitress on duty; feel free to flag her down.

mendanddefend_archive

Hey, there's that blue guy again. He's got a chair pulled out away from the tables, the better to play his (acoustic) guitar.

At the moment, he's just idly plucking the strings, not playing anything in particular. Anybody got any requests?

Current Mood: contemplative

mnt_mike

"You can't be serious!"

"One thousand. Like the number that comes after nine hundred and ninety-nine?"

"Woah. That's kinda hardcore. And all this for a girl? She better be some girl."

"What? That's a whole lot of cranes, is all I'm saying. A whole lot of cranes with a whole lot of chances for papercut. A risk you don't just take for anyone."

"Oh woah woah WOAH! I do so have a romantic bone in my body!"

"Figures of speech totally count!"

"I will not grow up. In fact, I flatly refuse to grow up! What do you think of that?"

Mike suddenly finds himself wearing his red polar-fleece footie pajamas. The ones with the snowmen on them.

"Cute. Real cute."

He attempts to fumble with the zipper, but it doesn't budge.

"You so do not seriously expect me to do Happy Hour in these, do you?"

"Bar?"

"Hello?"

"Nuts."

A familiar flowing script begins to fill the Specials Board as all the bar napkins are slowly replaced with squares of brightly colored paper.

For every 20 cranes you fold,
My Monkey will make you a drink free of charge.
Sincerely,
Bar

notjustnarrator.livejournal.com

Outside, draped across a large boulder near the lakeshore, is Nick.

His eyes haven't moved from their spot on the moon for the past half hour.

He's thinking.

Every so often a noise rouses him back into reality, but he does not blink, no - all he has to show for his consciousness is a twitching hand.

Things have changed. They changed in the blink of an eye and to such an extent that none of it has actually hit Nick until now, and his mind was left reeling from the impact.

Gatsby would get a kick out of all this. So would Tom, and Daisy, and Jordan - especially Jordan - and they would all say they never expected him to get tangled up in something so damn complicated, you were never like this, Nick, and he'd retort with a haughtily bitter oh, but I'm used to it, and they would all frown and retreat to their own little worlds.

And some years down the road, Kick will describe Nick (and herself) as "gorgeously imperfect."

For now, though, he remains Nick Carraway, unconscious of any gorgeous quality but all-too aware of the imperfections; Nick Carraway, thinking and waiting; Nick Carraway, laying outside on that rock by that lake in that strange place away from everything.

gavemea_45

[OOM: A surprise discovery in Chicago leads to a discussion that's maybe not as much of a surprise as it should have been.]

an_evening_star

(OOM: In which the star makes a decision, closes a door, and isn't particulary certain about anything.

Millitimed to about forever and a half ago ... *sheepish*)

f33dm3.livejournal.com

[Later tonight: A special episode of CSI Skid Row.]

mogget_cat

From here...

Shifting into human-shape as he reaches the counter top, Yrael asks for pen and paper. Soon, notes have been written and have been left with Bar, addressed to certain people: ( Svava, Rachel, Belladonna, Kyo, and anyone else who considers themselves a friend of Yrael )

The task completed, Yrael turns as the letters disappear into the woodwork and looks over his shoulder at Axel. "Well, there is no time like the present."

schrute-space.livejournal.com

[OOM: ...To be announced.]

Once again dressed in his Staples uniform (complete with nametag), Dwight enters the bar.

Much to his dismay, he hasn't had a chance to really investigate this place and figure out what is going. Though he never told anyone about it (no, not even Mose) he did write down an extensive report afterwards detailing everything that happened. It was coded of course, Dwight Schrute is no fool.

He was working on a few theories now, written down in the small notebook he now held in his hands. Through careful deduction, he'd narrowed it down to a few ideas.

Namely:

1.) Alien space craft
2.) Unknown part of the Harry Potter universe
~~3.) Elaborate prank by Jim.~~
~~4.) Nefarious trick by Andy.~~
5.) A surprise/scheme by the documentary crew.
6.) A government plot - CIA possibly involved.

It would take a lot of work and a keen mind to get to the bottom of this, but he was up to the job. Starting at the most natural place, he went up to the bar and scrutinized it. It looked ordinary enough - Dwight knew better though. The wood was smooth, he noted, running his fingers on it.

As a test he gave the bar a light knock. Nothing.

He tries again, a harder rap this time. Still noting. Curious, he reaches around the bartop and gives it a light tug. Not even a creak.

"Sturdy," he mumbles approvingly before pulling on the bar with all his body weight.

[OOC: I must beg slowtime, I need sleep. Thank you all! :D!]

guppy_sandhu

The doctor is in

Guppy is in a booth near the infirmary, absently dipping marshmallows into a gooey mars bar he found in his pocket.

After a while he puts a second sign up under the first.

New? Confused? Just want company? Free tea and marshmallows.

***

John Steed is looking unusually smart today, even for him, as he enters. It's been a long day of escorting very important people to places they don't really want to go, which isn't the best of fun. Still, it takes a lot to put him out of good spirits, and he settles in one corner with a newspaper, humming in what may be an irritating fashion.

tristranthorn

[oom: Tristran wakes up to some grave, and terrible realizations.]

Most of the bar patrons who have met Tristran Thorn will probably be used to seeing him attached to a girl. Most of the patrons who have met Tristran will also notice that since he's been attached to this girl, he's never really had any reason to look as though his entire world is about to crash on him in 2.5 seconds.

So when Tristran comes down from his room, eagerly looking about the space with wide eyes, fists clenched by his sides, it is strange to see such a panicked look upon his face.

After a study of the room and no sign of a glowing, sulky, blonde-haired star, he slumps down in a booth with a warm mug of something, a very distressed look upon his face. He isn't exactly the sort to panic -- at least not out right -- but he's growing dangerously near to that point. No amount of warm food and drink can calm his nerves.

He lets out a breath. Oh, things are not going well. Not well, indeed.

[ooc: all are welcome to tag! I'm finally done with exams and my brain is ready for rp. yay!]

dragonofgrey.livejournal.com

Draco was lounging in one of the comfortable chairs near the fireplace, clearly pleased about something. Been a fun week, and he was in a good and relaxed mood. Idly fiddling with some charms, like an ice dragon.

It's a rare sight, for he seemed to be...dare we say it? Truly happy at once.

action-antihero.livejournal.com

Jack rubs his eyes, a low-level headache thumping at his temples. Looking up from the file folders containing the evidence in the Palmer assassination case, he takes a look out of the glass walls of the Situation Room at the bustle of the CTU bullpen. It's been three days since Palmer's death and they've managed to find a couple people who'd worked with their shooter, but not the person who'd hired him.

It should be reassuring that there haven't been any attacks since that day, either, but somehow it doesn't feel like that, at least not for those at CTU. Outside its walls people are starting to go out again, to think that maybe it was over. Inside CTU, it feels more like the eye of a storm.

Jack looks down at the crime scene photos from Palmer's hotel suite, at a picture of blood staining the off-white carpet, trying to forget that it's the blood of someone he respected. Of a friend.

Damn, he needs a break. Standing, he heads for the staff room and another cup of coffee, but when he opens the door, it's not the staff room he sees.

Milliways, however, is much better. For one, it has booze. Which is why at the moment he's over at the bar, sipping a scotch and trying to relax.

[ooc: Will have to run between 11:30 and midnight EST, but can slowtime!]

will_scarlett

There is a door. Will sees it as he walks across Bar and runs through the crowd up the stairs to his room. When he descends, he wears his cloak, his old shirt and the look in his eyes is dangerous and wild as he moves through the Bar.

At the door, he opens it and the sound of hunting horns and the clash of steel sound in the distance. Will crosses himself then draws his sword, stepping through the door saying,

"A Locksley."

callitavesper.livejournal.com

Life, for Bond, is exceptionally well these days, better than it has been for years. Of course, you couldn't tell that much has changed by looking at his face, though it's not as stony as it usually was before. You can tell he's in a good mood, but how good of a mood is hard to say. Perhaps, as you find him sitting by the fireplace reading an unforgivably large biography of Howard Hughes, he may be in a good enough mood to talk without being too reserved.

Then again, old habits such as perpetual reservation are hard to kick.

not-a-surgeon.livejournal.com

The wireframe rotated on her laptop screen. The circuit displayed was progressing nicely. Keystroke by keystroke, it was growing, and yet, according to the smaller diagram at the corner of the screen, when crafted, it would be the size of a BB, or perhaps slightly larger.

It was a dream, but so far, all of the circuitry was going to be doing what she needed it to do. This was going to be a success.

inadell.livejournal.com

Back in England it's hours before the jump into Holland for every member of the 101st Airborne. This is why Lieutenant Harry Welsh is sitting at one of the tables stareing down at a piece of paper that has written across the top "Dear Kitty," and nothing else.

The little Irishman just stares down at the paper with his pencil taping the table with a very even 'thump-thump-thump' that could drive any patrons close to him insane.

Harry's face scrunches up slightly in thought. He'd promised Kitty he'd write every day and when he was one letter short he learned just exactly how much she was keeping him to his promise.

So anyone is welcome to give the short, gap-toothed Airborne officer a nudge to make sure he gets his letter written.

tibetanmethod

On the other side of the door, there's whistling that gets louder and louder --

(somewhere, beyond the sea)

-- until the front door opens.

"Oh."

Cooper's got his jacket slung over his shoulder and his sleeves rolled up -- it's hot today in Twin Peaks, surprisingly so.

Pursuant to that, he tilts his head, and then heads over to the bar. "I realize it's been a while," he says cheerfully to an inanimate object (but what a shiny, maple-y inanimate object she is!), "but if you could see your way to passing along a nice slice of cherry pie with two scoops of vanilla ice cream on the side, not touching, and a fork -- no, a spoon -- and maybe a nice, ice-cold glass of milk, measuring about twenty ounc-- "

"Thank you very much."

And now he's giving said inanimate object a big thumbs up.

FBI-style.

feminine-menace.livejournal.com

YT's actually started reading The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. Considering where she is, she wonders why this didn't occur to her before. But, well, she's reading it now, and it's given her what may be a Bad Idea.

That's why she's sitting at the Bar, uncertainly eyeing a martini glass that sits in front of her. The glass contains a liquid as bright yellow as the apparent slice of lemon stuck to its rim. The liquid's faintly glowing, though, and you can't say that for the lemon.

You get three guesses as to what her drink is.

Current Mood: quixotic

precocioustilda.livejournal.com

There is a Matilda in the bar. She has installed herself in a booth with a clear view of both the back door and the stairs, and has the space in front of her arrayed with papers and oddments. She appears to be constructing something; whatever it is, it involves a small motor with accompanying battery and wires, a trough of transparent plastic, and a glue gun, plus assorted less identifiable bits.

For once in her life she's doing everything by hand. Occasionally she picks up one of the many pens and pencils strewn throughout the mess and scribbles something down on one of the pieces of paper similarly arrayed, though there appears to be no logical organization to how and when she does this.

Please do come and ask her what on earth (or the planet of your choice) she's up to. She'll be glad for the company.

prydeful

[OOM: After talking with Kaylee, Kate considers the collar. And makes a choice.]

kitchen_maid

Most of the time, Amy deals very well with the things she has to deal with as a queen. Even when they involve spending hours discussing details about the colors of napkins for a state dinner and how they should be folded.

Today, though, she's tired and not feeling quite well, and certain that if she sets foot outside her room, someone will ask her about shapes for marzipan or soemthing. Perry's tied up in late night Council sessions (and she hopes, given just how late those tend to go, that they involve something slightly more pressing than table linens and candy), so she's wandered into Milliways to find tea.

Company is, of course, also welcome.

Unless you want to talk about napkins. She has to draw the line somewhere.

hatchingviper.livejournal.com

((OOM: It's hard to be a teacher, man. Sometimes you screw up while teaching someone Occlumency. You get curious. At just the wrong moment, you forget you're not willing to run right through your student's mental defenses, and you end up with someone who is just not interested in your staying healthy.

Rated S for STOP THAT, G for Gore, P for Paralyzed Again?, A for At Least My Brains are Still in My Skull, and T for This Doesn't Look Like it's Gonna End Well.))

chelleuncurled

Michelle's been not so reluctantly drafted back into CTU. She's been helping Nadia and Milo go through the extensive list of suspects and tracking communications.

The last few days have blurred together and she opens the door to the parking garage, expecting to find her car and at least four missed calls on the cell she left in the glove compartment.

Instead, she's in Milliways and as she sits down at the bar and orders a chocolate milkshake. She can't drink and she can't smoke but at least she has an excellent excuse for craving certain foods.

She also has a plate of carrots.

gone_byebye

Ray's been a very busy man in his world today, between a bust in New Jersey, a false alarm in Yonkers, and analyzing the results from that foam insulation Detective Chen brought him. That doesn't mean he's forgotten his obligations, though. When he comes into the Bar he gets a glass of his usual green stuff and sits down at a well-lit table with his holocomputer and several spools of interestingly-colored wire.

A lifetime of miniaturizing electronic components for the sake of man-portable high-energy physics suits you well for wire braiding and weaving, even without resorting to assistive hardware. Having some eye-swimmingly complex schematics in front of you to follow with the eight or nine different types of wire doesn't hurt in the slightest, either.