milliways_bar | May. 13th, 2007

May. 13th, 2007

Millitimed to during The Brawl.

"I guess we're in a wait state until they log off in there," says Enzo as he and Dani pick themselves up off the ground where they fell when Matrix ejected them from the bar. "I don't think we can get home from out here. What do you wanna do?"

Current Mood: anxious

the-h-star-r.livejournal.com

Homestar Runner is annoyed.

And oddly propeller-cap-less.

If he ever finds that pirate....

Well, if Homestar had a fist, he'd be shaking it right now.

"The Bar, it's time for a break. And a new propeller cap. Get out Frank, wouldja?"

The blender comes up and Homestar hits Grind.

And in a FOOP!, he's gone.

kayip.livejournal.com

[OOM: Two minutes to midnight. Warnings for disturbing psychological content.]

iambetadraconis

Five servings later, Rabastan's enjoying some downtime in the bar. There's no fighting going on, and, aside from shrimp projectiles, which he likes, because it's not being withheld from him by a stingy bar, he's feeling good.

Or he was until Rodolphus crawled over on his break.

"Why are you here?"

Rat!dolphus gives his best green-eyed stare. He's been working on it too. 'End of my shift,' he seems to say.

"Can't you enjoy your off-time somewhere else?"

'I feel like spending it here.'

The rat pulls out a cigarette that's as long as his body is and balances it against a convenient ashtray. It's cumbersome. And somewhat amusing.

'Light it, sod.'

"I don't take orders from rats, brother. I give them orders."

'Where was this attitude of yours when it was important for you to have it?'

Wolfy glare.

'Light the damn cigarette. I'm on break.'

"So you can use me to put it out? I don't think so."

'Why would I do that when there are more painful ways I can kill you with? Besides. I can barely lift the damn thing, so how can I put it out in your shirt pocket?'

The cigarette's lighted despite Rabastan's chagrin and the rat takes a draw from it.

'Much better. I might make your demise a little less painful.'

"You look like a Muggle lab experiment, you know that right?"

[Kinda double pup post, but Rabastan's the only one who can return a conversation with you.]

Current Mood: annoyed

cheevy.livejournal.com

Tonight, very late, there is a sleepy Miniver in the bar. He seems to have fallen asleep in a booth. There are a few books on the table -- spell books, he's been studying. He actually looks a little like a high-school student. He's a few years too old, but he never did get past 10th grade at home anyway.

Someone should probably wake him up.

Or mess with him.

The risks you run falling asleep in the bar...

morelikeasponge.livejournal.com

[OOM what happened a couple of nights ago: Kaylee asks Peter for advice about boys.

Well, one boy. Man, maybe. Who happens to eat brains.]

precocioustilda.livejournal.com

[OOM: After discovering that she is somewhat crap at electronics, Matilda has decided to remedy this via her usual method: books and practice.]

Matilda is sitting outside in a great big bare patch of dirt with scorch marks on it. She has a crate of various electrical bits beside her and is busily wiring things to a breadboard according to a circuit diagram scribbled haphazardly in her notebook. There are a lot of LEDs involved.

runmakitarun.livejournal.com

As sometimes happens, Makita has commandeered an out of the way table and has her gear spread out across it. A heavy combat rifle, two automatic pistols, a small holdout pistol, an extremely large special munitions pistol, at least a dozen grenades marked with various colored bands, and a gleamingly clean combat knife get final checks.

She sits, staring eyes flickering over them, but not doing anything for long minutes. An interruption would probably be welcome.

[ooc: This is an EP after which Makita will be doing plot-type things. There will be a backroom post forthcoming. If you want to talk to her before things kick off? Now is the time.]

goodbyesandusky.livejournal.com

Mother's Day was always a bit of a downer for Clive, and he knew what day it was because he'd brought his planner, not that time really mattered since it would still be the same day he left once he got back, he just liked to know.

In any case, there was a fashion designer taking over a booth, working on designs and sipping occasionally at a chocolate chai. He was distracting himself with work, as he was prone to doing.

He'd be more than happy to answer any variation on: 'what the hell is that?'

asar-suti.livejournal.com

Between the night and the morning, there was a somewhat purple deity at the bar, drinking a glass of wine all by himself, and thinking.

withamagicword

( Perhaps all things must come to an ending. )

((ooc: Closed to just the participants))

Current Location: lakeside

cf1.livejournal.com

It is a nice day; too nice to be inside.

Besides, exercise is good as well: Cait has to prepare for her eventual return, to help her friends. Or at least she tells herself that.

You see, the idea gives her an objective, something to focus on. But someone should tell her that things she remembers from action movies are not real good sources of fighting skills.

inadell.livejournal.com

Harry Welsh hadn't planned on staying in Milliways for a long time with the jump being so soon. He just had a few things to drop off to Bar for safe keeping should something happen to him. She would make sure that Nixon got the items or Dick depending on who arriaved first...should anything happen. Welsh didn't plan on it though.

Instead of instantly going back out to England he had only to discover that his radioman from first platoon was out of commision for a while. Broken ribs would keep him out for weeks even if time did stop on the other side of that damned door. Then he'd have to make sure George was fit enough after all of it to be able to go and...sometimes Harry wondered why he didn't just keep the man banned from coming here. Luz always seem to find some sort of trouble to get into.

Which is why the paratrooper and all his jump gear (parachute included) is out back by the training racks where he's set up a makeshift shooting range. Everything is piled in a heep not to far away with his helmet ontop of the pile. Neatly arranged close at hand is an assortment of weapons that Harry is triple checking: m1911 Colt .45 handgun, a trench knife with brass knuckles built into the handle, his m1 Garand's bayonet, an assortment of gernades, his switchblade knife, and all the ammo that he'd need.

Harry kneels a goodly distance away from the targets- pieces of wood ontop of various sized items- aiming the m1 at the first target, but not fireing. Just stareing and thinking.

Anyone is more than welcome to come watch, learn, or poke around his stuff.

mandalorianheir.livejournal.com

And there is a Mandalorian in the Bar...well, outside somewhere, getting target practice after cleaning his gun. Weapons need mantainance and practice to remain useful, and Fett is sure certainly not going to get out of practice.

there-is-a-me.livejournal.com

Spoon's giant bag of rabbit bones is still a giant bag of rabbit bones. His not-so-giant bag of beads is rather larger than it was. One here, three there, those that the kid Hektor did. Spoon has also discovered that Shakespeare is easier if you're doing something with your hands. So its The Taming of the Shrew and the carving of dead bunnies (not demonic) from the smoking man over next to the fire.

The puppies are wrapped up together being a grey ball of fluff. They do that.

will_scarlett

After talking to Makita, Will needed to move, so he went outside to the heavy bag and just started hitting. He's been out there most of the day now and his shirt's off showing the world his long lines of scars on his back as he just keeps hitting.

The motions are elegant and fluid, quick punches, hard and brutal, constantly in motion as he tries to not think about all the What ifs? Please distract him from his own thoughts.

bugsandslime

[OOM: Washington D.C. Dr. Jack Hodgins knows that something is up at the Jeffersonian. Something weird. But thus far, his powers of persuasion have yet to yeild satisfactory answers.]

stuck-mynock.livejournal.com

Atton's been around. Out back, in the less-visited spots of the lake area, or up in his room, or, occasionally, in some of the corners of the Bar. He's not exactly been very social, lately, but now that he's got everything he needs to get done done, he's more than happy to head over to the Bar for his shift.

Specials.
Sugar High.
Sugar Kick.
Sugared Rose.

Atton moves behind Bar, grinning at any nearby patrons, before pausing, going back to the Specials board, and drawing a stick figure of somebody with large, brightly coloured eyes, spiky hair and electricity (or those might be very jagged snakes) around him. In case people don't know what sugar is.

malloyisrich.livejournal.com

Wayne enters through the Panco bathroom door as usual. He barely looks around, just heads straight through the room to the actual bathrooms on the other side.

A minute or so later, he comes back out and has a seat at the bar. I mean, this place is here, right? It's obviously meant to be used. "Hows about a beer?" he asks.

The drink is served alongside a scrap of a note. He looks at the elegantly scrawled letters on the slip of paper, then reaches down and zips up his fly. "Thanks."

bringonthewonder

Angela came in for coffee today, and some breathing space, and found both at a table in the middle of the bar. There's been way too much to think about lately, really. The usual stresses of work, and the pressures of dealing with death and distress and doom on a daily basis.

She worries about Brennan because Brennan doesn't worry about herself, and there's been a lot of stuff to deal with lately. And more coming up -- it's been almost a year since Bren buried her mother, and Angela wouldn't think that was a quiet grave, not with Bren's father occasionally turning up and setting fire to his enemies.

There's Hodgins, who isn't going to go on being distracted from the fact that two of his coworkers keep vanishing from the office. To say nothing of the fact that he keeps throwing around the word "love" and she's not sure how she feels about that, though she's fairly sure she should figure that out.

And, far less significant, though no less worrying in its way, she's had "Come On, Eileen" stuck in her head for the last six hours.

Really, what exactly had she done to deserve that?

mendanddefend_archive

Bob's been deliberately avoiding the bar for the last couple of cycles. Given what happened the last time he showed up, it's understandable.

But Milliways is one of those places that it's hard to stay away from. So here he is, dividing his attention between a datapad of sensor readings, a "PCs for Dummies" book, and a heaping bowl of RAM.

Care to distract him even further?

[ooc: This is Bob's last visit to Milliways before diving headlong into canon. If you want a casual chat with him, now's the time.]

Current Mood: pensive

dontloselight.livejournal.com

There is a stoic young man sitting at the bar, alone, with a drink before him.

Once in a while, he'll take a sip. And then he'll glance up on the occasion, for no real reason at all. Just curious, really.

He isn't much for conversation, but that is no fault of his (well, not really -- he's just horridly anti-social). You're welcome to try and start one up, though. He's not the biting sort.

bugsandslime

This time, when he saw Angela head for Limbo (known officially at the Jeffersonian as Bone Storage) he'd followed her.

Dr. Jack Hodgins was determined to get to the bottom of the subtle weirdness going on at the Jeffersonian. And if a little cloak and dagger was called for, so be it.

He hadn't anticipated finding a strange door in Limbo.

And he certainly hadn't anticipated......this.

There's a bar. Full of people. And things?

It could be as packed as the Mall on Memorial Day weekend, and Hodgins would still be able to pick Angela out of the crowd in a matter of moments. Yes, there she is. And having coffee with Dr. Brennan at that. Hodgins makes straight for their table.

[OOC: Plotlocked for his first visit. But Hodgins will be in again, and will be curious to meet Milliways patrons!]

badinlatin

Inara's not sure who to blame for this.

Maybe Bar.

Specials:
Anything with Sambuca -- 1/2 off

It seems Mal's found a new favorite. At least for the week.

[ooc: Fade on all threads? Mal will be in either tomorrow or Tuesday. Thanks!]

truequest.livejournal.com

Zelda is sitting at the bar, though you might not recognize her. She’s not wearing any of her usual clothing. Just a plain cotton dress. No crown, no jewelry…just an ordinary nineteen year old.

A nineteen year old with more than a few problems on her plate. She's sitting with a cup of tea, and a large map of Hyrule in front of her.

Her feet are dangling off the edge of the bar stool, bouncing as she hums absentmindedly.

She leans down to look at the map closer and accidentally knocks her teacup off of the bar. It shatters on the floor. "Oh dear..." she says to herself quietly, before stooping to begin picking up the pieces.

guppy_sandhu

It's been a very long double shift in Holby, not that Guppy feels he can complain. After all, he notes with a twinge of guilt each time someone complains about the wait, he was the one to deprive them of a consultant, albeit fairly.

After the athelete's foot in cubicle six and the hopper in eight he calls it a night, wondering if he can invent a scanner for malingering time wasters. As he sets up his sign in the bar (still not convinced that all of the brawl victims have overcome the embarrassment to seek treatment) he orders a black coffee and sprawls inelegantly on a sofa.

The doctor is in

***

Snowball is out back, humming quietly to himself as he takes care of some unruly long grass.

untraitor.livejournal.com

[Pre-Milliways: We came to a farm outside Sassinoth...]

. . .Thessicher turned away from the door with a fearful, weasely look that Estraven failed to note. The exile set foot inside the door, head bowed out of habit, watchful of his every step, and the door slammed shut behind him. He raised up his head and his pesthry fur-lined hood...

...and saw no farmhouse before him, but instead what seemed to his eyes to be a public kemmer-house. Turning, he saw that no door was behind him, nor his friend.

~Genry?~ he bespoke after a desperate moment, but there was no reply. And so slowly he turned back to stare into the crowd with a shrewd gaze.

To all who would look upon him, they would see a small, dark figure (his height surely under five feet) bundled in clothing fit for an arctic winter. His skin was dark, his face round, and both in form and feature he would seem both man and woman; and neither; and if he could be said to resemble any race, those from Earth might have thought him one of the native peoples of the North, the Innuit perhaps. Man I must say, having said he and his... Not for any length of staring would an onlooker be able to say with absolute certainty this man's gender.

He pulled back his hood in what seemed to him a tropically heated environment. His hair fell out thick and dark, and his expression was unreadable...

gotapenny.livejournal.com

So Guppy had offered to help Luz out into the bar proper for a smoke since he was itching to have one. At the time he had declined the offer but now..now he was feeling up for another adventure outside of the infirmary. When he thought the coast was clear (and fully expecting any concenquences from his actions) he snuck out of bed chest wrapings and all and headed out.

It still hurt to take to deep of breaths but George just had to get away for a few moments. He wasn't the type to take being stuck in one place for long time easily. So this is why we have a barefooted paratrooper wearing Army Hospital issue PJ bottoms and robe holding a pack of Lucky Strikes in one hand and a Zippo lighter in the other.

Anyone is welcome to either guide him back to his bed or keep him company before he's draged back.