Jun. 25th, 2007

[identity profile] slasherofprices.livejournal.com
Mr. Skinner has been around. Honestly. Maybe you didn't see him, but he's been around. His invisibility might be attributed to his newfound appreciation for a varied wardrobe, or the fact that he isn't grinning 75% as much as he was before, or the fact that the grins he makes these days do not suggest that he is, in fact, an egotistical, homicidal maniac. They do, in fact, suggest that our dear Mr. Skinner is just like you: Normal. Friendly. Approachable.

Completely and utterly mind-wiped.

He's currently enjoying a nice, warm cup of coffee at a booth while racking his brain for any memories jogged by the name "Simon Skinner." Present count: 0.

[ ooc: fair warning--mun may be for bed soon, but slowtime encouraged and invited!]
aj_crawley: (Default)
[personal profile] aj_crawley
Crowley can't turn invisible, exactly. He doesn't have an invisibility cloak, nor any sort of trinket or talisman that'll do the job for him; neither is he possessed of the ability to make himself so through the quirks of - say - genetics, or radiation, or the bite of a super-powered insect.

But that's the thing about being a demon. When it comes right down to it, that thin little line between not being visible and not being seen dwindles into nothing at all. Because when you're a demon, and there are times you just don't want people to notice you,

(times such as those, perhaps, when you pause every few steps en route to your usual seat in Milliways, alternating between cheerfully switching salt and sugar in their shakers, and gleefully unscrewing the lids of the condiments just enough, on every table between the door and the fireplace)

well... they won't.

Isn't that handy.

Crowley's seated at a table just outside the ring of armchairs and couches around the fire, sipping at a glass of wine and watching the effects of his handiwork.

[OOC: a.dlkfjs;dlfj GUYS. No more threads please. I die! Feel free to chuck condiment-related disasters into your own threads, though!]
aj_crawley: (Default)
[personal profile] aj_crawley
[OOM: A certain confrontation, a few Fridays ago, left at least two thirds of its participants in less than ideal shape. Or more. Cuts and bruises aren't always the only things that need fixing, after all.]
[identity profile] milkbonesoldier.livejournal.com
[OOM: According to the recording at the facility of the Terrifying Space Monkeys, one scientist had left the project some years ago. His name was Dr. Theodore Ormvist, and he's still out there somewhere...]

Life is about as normal as it ever gets for Harry Wells, which is to say that things are quiet on the farm and all right at the school. That's pretty well the end of normal, though, since the full moon's coming at the end of the week. He spent most of his day today putting the girls through an especially gruelling programme based extremely loosely on the Olympic biathlon (most biathlons don't have sniper teams lurking in the woods waiting for a crack at taking down your score by hitting you with nonlethal ammo when you're not looking). His own workout hasn't taken the edge off the rapidly rising sense that any given set of four walls is closing in on him- damned moon-induced claustrophobia- so at the end of class he sent the girls on their way and headed to Milliways, where he only stayed indoors long enough to get something to eat from the Bar. Right now he's out back, and he's got a football with him and a couple of possible goal lines marked off with sticks. It's safer than trying to stay indoors.
[identity profile] herstocall.livejournal.com
[Midsummer Summary OOMness: After Alucard arrived in Milliways, he and his Master were caught by the apples's spell. The next morning, a chance accident breaks the spell, or reverses it, and the two, flustered and startled, exit to their world. Following a mission, there is an arguement, and an understanding, of a kind, is reached. Spoilers for Hellsing 1x01. Warnings for... swearing, and adultness.]
themerlin: (Default)
[personal profile] themerlin
He tread down the stairs, unable to put it off any longer, the feel of his destiny calling him. He stared at the door for a long time, that night, as midnight came and passed, then nodded, slowly.

He turned to Bar and set three small packages on her surface.

"Dear lady, please pass these to those names in the notes accompanying them?"

They vanished and he smiled.

"Thank you. Peace to you, Lady Bar."

Then he turned once more to face the door. He was dressed as he had been all that time ago when he came in, and he stepped forward, now, making his way through the quieter crowd of the early morning.

When he reached the door, he opened it, glanced back, once, and then passed through, the door closing quietly behind him.
[identity profile] underwater-owl.livejournal.com
Random, Prince of Amber strides into the bar.

We mention the prince part today because he's moving like one. Furious, on his toes, like the world will fucking get out of his way if it knows what's good for it.

A deck of cards it clutched tightly in the palm of his left hand. He's settling into a seat and ordering, in clipped words, a scotch.
scurlock: (Default)
[personal profile] scurlock
[OOM: Somewhere near Santa Fe, New Mexico.]

Doc is on a train. A steam train, to be exact, and as he's making his way along the cars, eyes on the people in the seats, always concious of his guns and where he can ditch off the train without being killed from, as the machine rumbles across the midwest.

He's looking for his room on the sleeper car, having done his check of the train since the last stop, but instead, the door opens to Milliways. At least it doesn't totally surprise him this time, and he steps through with a smile tugging at his features. Especially when the Door stays put, this time.

Upon stopping by the Bar (and noting the strange signs, everywhere, and wondering what the hell is going on) and picking up the bottle of rum from Captain Sparrow (complete with duct-tape bow) Doc decides that he's hungry.

"Bar, could I get a copy of the New Mexican and something to eat?"

The bowl of chili, with slice of cornbread, arrives first, followed by the newspaper. Doc picks both up, sets some coinage on the wooden top, then heads for a table to eat his lunch and read.

Feel free to come say hello.
[identity profile] unwraith.livejournal.com
Michael hadn't slept this last night. After a cold vigil outside, he'd made his way back indoors and up to his room.
It took only half an hour for him to pack up the few things he'd want to keep, and dispose of the rest.
He left notes for Suzi Darley, Whistler, and the other friendly acquaintances he had in the bar. Simple explanations that he was leaving, and didn't know when, or if, he would be back. Wishing them all the best for the future, sincerely so.

He sat at the bar, taking a glass of Atlantean, and waited. He wouldn't leave a note for Rachel...some things could only be said in person. And they would be said before he went. They both deserved at least that much.

If she didn't already know that he loved her, all the eloquent writing in the 'verse wouldn't help.
But he had had to face too many hard truths about himself lately, and none of them added up to anything that let him think of this place as a home. His future wasn't here...and the door was calling.
[identity profile] sime-channel.livejournal.com
Suzi is in for interviews, with paper, pens, and tea.

((I regret that my personal life has me sufficiently twisted up right now that I can't hold Suzi's personality. Those people who have left to interview may feel free to tag, but if I hadn't managed to not hit "post" yesterday, I wouldn't be putting her in today. So if you're: Cloud, Illyria, Molly Hayes, Sam Linnfer, Veronica Mars, Filf feel free. If you're not, uh, later please. I'm really sorry.))

Exit post

Jun. 25th, 2007 05:28 pm
poisonwine: (Default)
[personal profile] poisonwine
There is an assassin queen sitting at the Bar. She has the skin covered book in one hand, and a sword in the other.

If you've sparred with her, or seen her practice, you'll know this isn't her sword. It's shorter, thinner, like a fencing foil made into a lethal weapon. It is also painfully plain, except for one hatchmark carved into the handle.

There's another person in the Bar who'll recognize it, though considering how hectic the one time he held it was, perhaps not.

She looks at, sighing. It has a twin, and those two swords have caused her more grief than anything else in the world.

With a resolute nod, she slides into a sheath that Bar gave her. It's covered in small, purple and blue flowers. Nightshade and Forget-Me-Nots, if you're a flower enthusiast.

When she stands, all traces of the friendly, cheerful woman most people in Bar know is gone.

Then, for a brief moment, it's back. Wad of paper is set on Bar. "Please deliver dese. If t'in's go bad, empty m' bank account 'n' use it t' support someone who ain't got no money. Wolfwood, if he's still alive, but it doan really matter who."

Then she stalks off. It's time to prove her worth as a leader.
[identity profile] puckishly.livejournal.com
Here's the thing: It's hard to find good help these days.

Particularly when "these days" is defined as "the period of time during which one's husband has gone all tabula rasa, rendering him essentially completely useless in all matters of childcare." And Puck and Lilly have been meaning to do this for some time.

At some point, therefore, the following sign appears:

DO YOU LOVE BABIES?

Would you enjoy a chance to take care of them? If yes, sign up here. Princess Aria Moonshine and Prince Adrian Sunbeam Goodfellow-Kane are in need of kind, considerate, and fabulous capable caretakers, and you could be one of them!


Below the sign is a clipboard with sign-up sheet and pen. Have at, Milliways.

[OOC: Interested? For more information, go here. Post now up; knock yourselves out.]
[identity profile] evryinchbut1.livejournal.com
There have been some rather chaotic goings-on in the bar lately, so Valerie's keeping a sharp eye out for anything odd as she ties her apron on and gets ready for her shift.

Well. Odder than usual, obviously.

Your server is: Valerie


Waitress on duty; feel free to flag her down.
[identity profile] abar-starclog.livejournal.com
Carl's in the bar, at a table, poking at his laptop. He's still working on that code for Enzo; so far, he's been focusing on the universal access part. He figures more people being able to partially cure others is better than only a few wiping the thing out.
At some point, he'll be stopping long enough to have dinner. But either way, he wouldn't turn down company - especially if it's someone else helping with the code problem.

(OOC: Anything still open/started after ten PM EST will move like the proverbial glacier, but I'll keep tagging till it's done.)
young_tmriddle: (Default)
[personal profile] young_tmriddle
He asked Bar for a book on magic. He received a book which normally he would have quite enjoyed. What he needed, however, was the Standard Book of Spells, Year One. He didn't understand one word of the book, and he knows, somehow, that that's not usual for him.

This amnesia thing is getting very tiresome. He wants to be himself again. Or at least not so bloody lonely.
collects_ears: (Default)
[personal profile] collects_ears
Bartender.

Drinks.

Hummed song that sounds suspiciously like 'Be Our Guest'.

Possibly.

"Tonight's drinks are D.O.A, Dallas Stars, Damn Good! and The Dash.

Here to serve.

"What'll it be?"
princeinexile: (Default)
[personal profile] princeinexile
Having recovered from -- a bit of testiness this last week, Zuko has been most absent. That's because he's been busy at Etna.

That'd be why he's staring at his nails as he walks out with a bag over one shoulder, wondering how the hell anyone stands having this black guck caked on them twenty-four seven. Certainly, a firebender is no stranger to soot and ash, but that still doesn't mean he likes it.

He's headed to the lake this evening. To swim. There are shorts on under those robes, y' know. They're comfy, and the lake is nice and cool after a week in a volcano working one's fingers to black nubbins at a forge because a pretty boy blacksmith got under your skin.
badinlatin: (Default)
[personal profile] badinlatin
Mal is back! And tanned!

He is also currently carrying toward the back door what appears to be a heavy wooden box. No Quidditch balls, but close.

Follow and find out.

[ooc: Falling over. My apologies; more worthwhile entrance posts later, I think.]
talkstohats: (Default)
[personal profile] talkstohats
Sophie's dress is coming along nicely, but she still needs every moment she can steal to work on it - and even then, she usually needs the time to be doing other things as well.

Which is why she's sitting now at a table in the bar, rapidly cross-stitching a hemline almost by feel while she looks over a list of Cesari's cakes on the table in front of her. There are other lists below that. Weddings are difficult.
mogget_cat: (Default)
[personal profile] mogget_cat
Even in the warm summer evenings, the fireplace is lit. Probably because some of the patrons would complain if it weren't.

Or perhaps to keep the rainbow-colored fish that live in it alive.

Either way, the warmth would never keep Yrael away. It's always comfortable to stretch out on his back in front of the fireplace with a book held up so he can read, as he is, tonight. Edielweiss the calico has taken his stomach hostage and is curled up on him, possessively guarding the claimed stomach. She may be asleep, but it still counts as holding it hostage.

Yrael doesn't really mind.

Tonight's reading is Cardiovascular Physiology by David E. Mohrman. He has a highlighter handy.
guppy_sandhu: (Default)
[personal profile] guppy_sandhu
Guppy is by the lakeside, taking his shirt off. Which in itself is worthy of note because he has quite a nice chest, even if it is devoid of anything more than downy fluff.

With still no memory to speak of, he's bored and has decided to have a swim. He tests the temperature with his toe, then takes the plunge.

The only snag is he's forgotton how to swim. And he wasn't very good at it to start with. He comes to the surface gasping and spluttering and flailing.

Shit, how do I swim? ...push the water down, find something to grab...

He goes under briefly until his feet find the bottom. He pushes up hard and comes back to the surface, taking another gasp of precious air. He stretches and grabs at a nearby rock, holding on for dear life.

It's not too far from the shore, so he tries to keep calm and think how to get back.
[identity profile] missginnytonic.livejournal.com
Ginny is in the bar. like she tries to be every week on this day. she's feeling friendly. She very likely would share a drink with anyone. or anything. if they wanted to
[identity profile] ahogarse.livejournal.com
Summers in Spain, where Santi comes from, are hot, dusty things that get into your nose eyes mouth and leave you parched, inside and out, it feels like.

It's not brutal, here, not unforgiving.  It's not the kind of heat that's going to kill you.

But with the sun so high in the sky, the days so long, the nights humid, even though he's standing at the edge of a lake, on lush grass, parts of Santi can still taste the dust.
wolflord_andain: (Default)
[personal profile] wolflord_andain
[Very, very OOM: In another world entirely, Galadan indulges his penchant for intrigue and plots. And success, of course.]