milliways_bar | Jun. 20th, 2007

Jun. 20th, 2007

Bar was in the habit of feeding Rachel things laced with vitamin powder. Not that the red-head ever complained really, she just...was sometimes amused by the type of foods that she could come up with so doctored.

Tonight there was a plate full of many small, dollar coin sized...pancakes.

In varying colors.

So, a lean, tired looking woman in full red leather bodysuit was poking at a plate, almost disappointed that the pancakes were not poking back.

blue_raz

Raziel clawed his way out of the floor and shook his entire body. Bits of material flew off, and the strange, decrepit, human shape begin to take on the form of the skinless body Raziel had.

He looked around the bar.

someboywonder.livejournal.com

I'm not really the type of kid to frequent bars or clubs or any of those places. Not unless I'm there to beat up some gang members, or maybe to have a little chat with Penguin if I'm with Batman, or something like that. What I'm saying is I don't ever go to bars on my own time to drink or gamble or socialize or whatever it is that draws people to a bar. That having been said, my stay here has been pretty bearable. I've been bound for a while now, about a month I think (Steph says time outside is frozen anyways, and my experience with this place backs that theory up, so I'm not freaking out too much) and while I'm starting to feel cooped up, I get to hang with Steph a lot, which is cool. Spending time with her now makes me feel less guilty for what happened to her (though I still plan on changing that in my time, but that's a whole 'nother story).

Basically, Milliways has treated me pretty decently. I hang out with Steph, talk with Oracle, wander around the bar, both in-costume and out of it, and sometimes I even go outside to hang out out there. I try to stay sharp by practicing some training routines I know every morning, but I feel like I'm getting kind of soft without having arrested anybody or broken someone's arm lately. In some ways, however, it's nice to suddenly have my life screech to a halt and not have to worry about a million different things.

For now, I'm trying to make the best of my situation. I'm in uniform, since I feel more comfortable in public with it on, but I'm seated at the bar instead of perched up in the rafters. It's still weird for me, being right out in the open like this instead of hiding in the shadows, but Steph's told me a hundred thousand times that I don't have to worry about that here, and so far she's been right about this place, so I trust her.

I mean, nobody's shouted out "Look, it's Robin!" and tried to shoot me or arrest me or get my autograph yet, which is a good sign, right?

puckishly.livejournal.com

Puck is not in the habit of trying the door.

For one thing, it is the mortals' door-- or, well, not strictly theirs but at least it is not his-- and for another, it never has opened for him. But every now and then, boredom or curiosity will motivate him to attempt it: He'll turn the knob and push, or pull, but nothing ever comes of it; after a moment he shrugs, as if to tell the door you win, and goes about his evening.

Tonight, Puck ambles to the door in much his usual fashion-- as usual, not really expecting it to open.

But this time, it does.

This time the door swings gently open, as if of its own accord, to reveal a narrow alley and, beyond it, the bustle of a bright, crowded, noisy street. Puck blinks at it for a moment.

Without taking his eyes from the view through the door frame, he rummages in his pocket and comes up with a pebble, which he tosses at the open door. Predictably (if you're the type to expect it), it sails straight through.

... So it does legitimately go somewhere.

Puck sidles cautiously up to the door and sticks a foot through, then pulls it back quickly. When that appears to result in no maiming, dismemberment, or wormhole weirdness, he puts a hand through; it's withdrawn just as quickly, with no visible ill effects.

... Hmm.

Slowly, carefully, holding the frame for an anchor, Puck puts his head round and looks back and forth-- before ducking back into the bar.

The coast would appear to be clear.

With a shrug, as if to inform the universe that all right, have your own way, but don't expect him to care, he slips through the door, sidling down the alleyway and disappearing quickly round the corner.

There is a soft click as the door swings shut slowly behind him.

[OOC: No tags plz.]

gonna_live

[After Kaylee finds out whether or not Sylar likes pie, she reports the results of her experiment to Peter.

She will be a fully qualified geneticist in no time at all.]

cheevy.livejournal.com

As it happens, Miniver still hasn't been back up to his room since returning from Estsanatlehi's home.

It really, honestly, truly is because he just dozed off down in the bar the previous night and ended up sleeping down here. A total accident. People do it all the time.

And if you believe that, the mun has some land in Florida to sell you.

But anyway... he's still in the bar, looking rumpled, tired, and still reading that old tattered book with the cover letters rubbed off. He's once again squished into a booth seat with his feet up on the bench, paying not a lot of attention to what's going on around him.

At this rate, he's going to have this book MEMORIZED.

wolflord_andain

[OOM: In which old foes meet, and while harm cannot be undone, some hurts may be eased.]
Millitimed to Saturday, June 16

puckishly.livejournal.com

[OOM: Back on his own world, Puck shops for hard-to-find items.

Also known as "flower-picking."]

benloserz.livejournal.com

The population of plain common guys in Milliways just went up by one, since Ben entered. For once, the Bar is a completely welcome sight; he needs peace to study the book he is carrying, Practical Fencing. The cover is interesting, showing a silhouette of a swordsman, and clearly visible to anyone walking by the booth he claimed.

twoeyesonthesky.livejournal.com

Quinn hasn't tried to go home yet, largely because he's not really looking forward to going home to a castle full of angry Americans and wounded men. He's going to have to go back soon, though, he knows that. So for now, he's come downstairs to check on his posting about medical and healer types, then get an apple (it's going to be years before he sees another one, if they ever get to the point of seeing them at all) and a seat at the Bar.

blackholesandrevelations

[OOM: Not all news is good news. John and Aeryn find themselves running out of time.

Time flies. Time bandits. Time heals all wounds. Except these, perhaps.]

milkbonesoldier.livejournal.com

Harry Wells has something of a reputation for his profanity, but generally he's relatively civilised about it at Milliways. There's women and children about, after all. Today? Not so much. Today the cloud of words that shouldn't be heard by little ears practically precedes him into the Bar. Possibly this is something to do with the weather back home; he's drenched to the skin and his boots are making squelching noises as he enters, and if one looks out the door, a truly vile-looking mix of rain and hail is hammering down on the countryside.

Wells stops to shake a few pellets of ice out of the back of his shirt before sitting down at the Bar and saying, "I need a fucking towel."

synapse-circuit.livejournal.com

Now that J.C. has Wells' permission to use the punching bag, he is taking advantage of it. Wearing a pair of kickboxing gloves and sneakers instead of his usual boots, with his long-sleeved shirt and coat slung over a nearby branch, he attacks the heavy bag with punches and kicks. The black t-shirt he's wearing reveals the silver traces on his collarbones, the grid of metal filaments in his left arm. The metal in his skin flashes and gleams in the early afternoon sunlight.

For the past hour he's been going at the punching bag with a level of energy and intense concentration that suggests a troubled - perhaps even angry - mind. Although both his skin and his shirt are soaked with sweat, he doesn't seem tired, or even getting on towards tired. He could do this for hours, and with the way he's feeling, he just might.

Unless, of course, someone or something interrupts him.

slayer_fray

( Moving Day )

Steph moves into 132! Mel helps... um.. spread her packing around the suite in a mess.Warning: This is a Steph and Mel thread.

undignified

Wes Janson is still in the bar; he did promise, after all.

He's spent much of the last few days sorting out his room -- he hasn't been in it for two months. "Sorting it out" eventually involved making two piles of things against the far wall: one small pile, mostly consisting of random items of clothing; and one considerably larger pile, with clothes and toys, including a stuffed bunny which sits proudly atop it.

He's downstairs, today.

On the table in front of him are several action figures, all of which he was attempting to make a note of on his datapad, just for reference. It's really easy to get distracted with action figures, though, by doing things like putting them into compromising positions and snickering.

This ... would be what Wes is doing.

slightlymonkish.livejournal.com

It's been a long time coming, Monk thinks as he eyes his door.

He's in uniform again, but has swapped his Milliways Security badge for his SFPD badge. That, along with a note, has been left with Bar.

The note reads:

To the Security team & everyone else,

I'm going home for a little while. I shouldn't be gone for too long.

Thanks for understanding.

~ Det. A. Monk

He checks his gun one more time as he moves to the door, clenching his jaw at the sound of the screaming and gunfire that's coming from the other side.

Without looking back, the door swings open for him and he dives out onto the streets of San Francisco, to his Captain's side once more, and after the gunfire ceases, he will return to Trudy's side.

sime-channel.livejournal.com

Suzi and all of her gear is situated for day three of interviews. She's got her list of who has yet to talk to her out, and is ready and waiting.

Today she's got trin tea already made. It tastes terrible, but it's better than the headaches.

there-is-a-me.livejournal.com

It is still raining in Yorkshire. This is obvious by the three dripping, soppy forms that come in from the muck, mud, and rain.

They do not smell like goats based on the fact that the rain washed the smell away. Spoon's got a slicker on, but the puppies?

One hopes nobody was standing too near them when the twin hurricanes Raisa and Stepan went off, really.

velocitygirl

[OOM: Tycho Celchu pays a visit to Inyri Forge in the cells. Things aren't good yet. But hey. It's the cells.]

ladysilverwheel.livejournal.com

Well.

Arianrhod's first few days here have been quite interesting.

Some experiences were pleasant, some not so pleasant, and so she's perched gracefully on a rock outside by the lake, mulling things over.

do-not-falter.livejournal.com

[oom: Seems not everyone is happy for him.]

Link hasn't been in the bar too much lately, but for right now, he could use some time away.

At the moment, he's sitting outside by the lake, laying his back against a nearby tree. He's rather quiet, just sitting and staring out over the water.

He looks like he could perhaps use some cheering up.

will_scarlett

Will is outside going through his sword forms.

There's a lovely clearing he's found that's on the edge of the wood but a little off from the pells and punching bag so he can move without worrying about anyone else.

The sword moves through the air in an elegant and quick series of motions, Will is not the fastest or most beautiful swordsman in Milliways, but he is one of the finest in Nottingham.

gorgonfondness

Mia has another bouquet of roses.

Mia is outside once again.

Mia, however, is not trying to freeze the roses this time. Instead, she is practicing her form with the staff, the bouquet set aside with the apology card and today's gift(an anklet to match the bracelet she got yesterday).

And she looks very different. She has her hair back in a bandana, which is just necessary for this sort of thing, but her clothes...

Jeans?

A sleeveless shirt?

Soft, flat shoes?

She looks like a muggle.

a_poor_guardian

Archibald Craven has always been a selfish and self-indulgent man, and there have been very few willing to challenge him when he went into his darker moods since Lilias Craven died. In the days since he quarreled with Lucy Pevensie he indulged himself first by shutting himself up in his rooms and later by expressing his will rather forcibly to the servants and to anyone else who might have gotten into his way.

After a week of this, Archibald's mood has somewhat improved, but he is not likely to be particularly polite to people he encounters tonight, especially if they happen to be blonde, female, eighteen to twenty-five years of age, and dead.

dr_temperance

Dr. Temperance Brennan is in the bar, intently studying a periodical. Not one of her usual ones--not Modern Anthropology or The Journal of Forensic Science. But this one, in its way, is no less interesting.

Even after a recent, in-depth discussion with Hannah on the nuances ascribed to physical appearance in their society, Brennan had still felt like she was on uncertain footing when it came to understanding the multitude of differences in popular terminology. She'd thought perhaps the People Magazine issue (bearing the headline "Hottest Bachelors") that she'd picked up at the drugstore might shed some light on the subject.

But if anything she's more confused now than she was before.

herostanding.livejournal.com

"Oh," murmurs Jacen Solo as he steps through the door. "Milliways, isn't it?"

He was expecting the corridor outside his apartment, and he almost walks right back out -- he needs to catch Admiral Niathal before she's tied up in meetings for the day. But of course, time stops here, and it occurs to him that he hasn't had any caf yet this morning.

So he finds a booth and calls a waitrat over; he talks to it for a moment, smiling a little despite himself, before actually ordering his drink.

His smile remains as he sips it.

bringonthewonder

Angela has a small pile of receipts, a calculator, her checkbook, a bank statement, and a bottle of red wine.

Isn't that how everyone reconciles their checking account?

mnt_mike

Answers Dot Com says that an unreliable narrator is..

a narrator whose account of events appears to be faulty, misleadingly biased, or otherwise distorted, so that it departs from the ‘true’ understanding of events shared between the reader and the implied author. The discrepancy between the unreliable narrator's view of events and the view that readers suspect to be more accurate creates a sense of irony.The term does not necessarily mean that such a narrator is morally untrustworthy or a habitual liar (although this may be true in some cases), since the category also includes harmlessly naïve, ‘fallible’,or ill‐informed narrators.

The narration brings up this literary convention for one very important reason.

At this very moment Michaelangelo, one half of the Barman dream duo of Milliways Bar, is standing behind Bar with a rather large grin on his face. He's just finished filling in the Specials Board with the following message.

Five Dollars Can Be Yours!
Ask me how.

If the narration were to mention how frightening such a prospect of taking, what appears to be a five dollar bet, from a man smiling like that, would you believe them?

Guess it would depend on who you found more reliable.

dragonofgrey.livejournal.com

A mildly Millitimed Draco (Only because wand shopping's still to be done) was out back near the woods. He spied some familiar faces, but giving some space. Mia asked for time, and he was giving it to her.

Looked like he got some sleep at least, and eating normally. And did that stone just turn into a snake? Dressed in wizard robes, though still had a rapier strapped to his belt as well.

The wizard is back, baby. (Catch him before the Amnesia apples do!)

a1enzo

...since this one is a small window, much like those from Windows 3.11, and is hovering a few inches in front of the board. It's normal text, though:

NEEDED: Programmers to find out why our virus cure didn't work and fix it. Also to make it so people besides Guardians can use it. See Enzo Matrix. (I'm the green kid.) I have the file but I don't know what language it's in.

guppy_sandhu

The doctor is in

Guppy's glad he waited before going home for his shift; it was a tough day and if he hadn't been fully on the ball there would have been problems.

Right now he's studying for his surgical exam, draped over the book in the posture of someone who has long since run out of positions in which to comfortably read (including both the upside down ones).

blue_ajah

Moiraine is ensconced at a corner table, with a book of poetry lying open before her and a cup of tea at hand.

It is a quiet evening for the Aes Sedai, apparently.

krazyglusurgeon.livejournal.com

He's armed.

He's prepared.

He's ready to kick some terrifying space monkey ass.

That said, he's just waiting for Spoon and Sarge. Not as if the end of the universe did appointment setting. Thus he's enjoying a light meal, just some broth and a bit of bread so that he wouldn't get hungry. No Guinness for the moment; he'll have pheromones hitting him from all directions so he doesn't need anything else messing about with his brains.

Just waiting for Spoon and Sarge.

hippodamio

In the world beyond the opened door there is firelight, and the sound of men's voices, but all of that is filtered through the flap of a makeshift tent. Hektor blinks a little, for the goddess has taken him by surprise again. "Well," he says, "this will do well enough; I have got to get this stuff fit for my uncle, anyway."

He bows to the Bar, fist on brow, and comes away with a rag and some pots. One contains beeswax, and the others similar stuff. He sits himself cross-legged by the fireplace with a clinking of metal on metal, and falls to working the dirt and worse away from a leather helm whose sides have been reinforced with the tusks of boars.

masterofsoresu

Jedi inna bar, looking for someone. Maybe it's you, maybe not. Maybe you should come see him anyway, who knows?

gonna_live

Well. Not dead yet. And so far as Kaylee knows, nobody she knows is dead yet, either.

(Except, of course, for the acquaintances of her acquaintance at Milliways who happen to be dead. This doesn't count.)

Kaylee feels that this is a plus.

She's sitting by the fireplace with a book. Every so often she'll aim a glance at her belly, with an expression caught somewhere between that's so cool and that's so weird.

watchmakers_son

[(Not Quite) Out of Milliways: Just over a week ago, Sylar was thrown into the cells.

He's had a few visitors since then.

(Some threads have already been posted to the bar; others are still in slowtime.)]