(no subject)

[called_lioness]

[ooc: It's late for entrance post, but Lucy's in anyway for anyone who wants her. She'll be back other nights.]

Yesterday she and Caspian talked.

And it's decided (and she's happy for it) and it still means--

Well, it means the thing it must.

It means good-bye.

She spent yesterday with her husband; she spent today with her horse, who she can't take with her.

Tonight she's watching, just in case she spots anyone. There are many she'd like to, and some she knows she likely won't.

But you put the effort in, either way.

What's this?

[nosalmonscrubs.livejournal.com]

Jackass is a horrible show. In fact, it's a doctor's nightmare. Most of the stuff on there is reckless and just completely unnecessarily. Izzie doesn't usually watch it.

However, Alex is always telling her about it and somehow he's managed to put an episode of it on her iPod. He must have worked with George.

So, she's in a booth with a beer and fries before her. She was going to leave it, but after finishing the last chapter of her latest book, she got bored. So, now she's watching someone freak out because the naked midget in their trunk got out. It's not extremely funny, however, the reaction of the people actually watching the live act are.

She's completely botherable.

(no subject)

[stilljustandrew]

[Millitimed to sometime last week:
"I'll apply / To your eye, / Gentle lover, remedy."
- Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night's Dream

"Because the remedy is the experience / This is a dangerous liaison / I said the comedy is that it's serious / This is a strange enough new play on words...."
- Jason Mraz, The Remedy]



(...Or to put the same thing another way: the antidote to love-in-idleness finally gets around to both Andrew Wells and River Tam.)

(no subject)

[weeper-of-blood.livejournal.com]

There are many reasons why Le Chiffre is sitting at the bar, perched on a stool he looks ready to fall off of while leaning on the surface heavily. Many reasons indeed. That doesn't mean he's willing to tell anyone.

Actually, it's entirely possible he lost the ability of speech sometime back during that eighth shot of Prepečenica Rakia, but it might be worth poking him to see if he's still conscious. He may bite if provoked, or just fall asleep. It's a risk worth taking.

(no subject)

[geeky-agent.livejournal.com]

[OOC: Once she has some free time, Chris makes an important phone call.]

...maybe he's used to it, but that doesn't make him feel any better.

[thegreatmachine.livejournal.com]

It's a hell of a thing to have someone try to kill you.

You're standing there, you're talking, and some nutjob pulls a bow and arrow--a bow and arrow--and tries to pull a bad impression of William Tell. He was still grinning as he turned to Wylie... but that doesn't mean it isn't hitting him where it hurts.

That's why he lets the expression fade from his face as he realizes where he is. No constituents, no aides here... if he doesn't have to have the facade up right this moment, he isn't doing it.

Christ. A bow and arrow. What was he, the Sheriff of Nottingham now? Jesus...

He shakes his head and aims for the bar counter. Screw "morning". He needed a conference with Jack Daniels ASAP.

(no subject)

[gone_byebye]

Ray's most recent encounter with Matt Parkman was more than a little disturbing. He's been working on his tech projects since in an effort to not think about it too much, but sooner or later even he gets 'screwdrivered out', so to speak. He's put the nearly-complete cross-door data squirt and the still-in-testing suspensor harness away, along with the questionably workable but never yet actually tested de-digitizer device.

Right now he's outside. Not thinking is probably not going to help matters at all, but if he's going to work through the sort of mental foofaraw that Matt Parkman dropped in his lap... well, silent meditation's okay for that, but it doesn't really resolve anything. It just leaves him with the image of his own world being up to its neck in the paranormal, and the government scrambling like mad to catch up before things go to hell (possibly literally). People make bad, bad choices under those circumstances. Someone's gotta head the inevitable off at the pass. A lot of someones; you can't just leave that in one person's lap...

He's already started on that, he figures. The National Paranormal Activity Survey is under way, but that's a case of learning to know your possible enemies, and he doesn't know where they'll end up going. On the other hand, he trusts Detective Chen and the rest of the Spook Squad to be decent New York cops in the face of the paranormal, at least for now. And whatever Matt Parkman might think of his nephews, Ray figures they're the next generation of protecting the people of New York. Maybe the world, someday. But he can't go home to see those nephews until he's done with his projects, because the Bar'll just stick him in the wrong universe somewhere- so until then, he's gotta make sure he's the best teacher they can get. Even if he is about as Force-capable, or psi-capable, or super-powered as a pasteurized process cheese food slice*.

Which is, all in all, a fancy way of saying that Ray is out back by the lake, lightsaber in hand, practicing against the training drone with a look of concentration to rival certain super-powered geek boy alleged terrorists.


*Actually, he's slightly less capable than one of these, as there's a small chance of the chemicals in said alleged food products awakening somebody's latent mutant abilities.

(no subject)

[masterofsoresu]

The stranger who knew Obi-Wan eventually separated him from Matilda and is now explaining to him some things about this strange place where he's found himself. This man Donighal seems to be telling the truth and nothing but, as far as Obi-Wan can tell (there's some sort of fuzzing in the Force that makes him hard to read), but Obi-Wan gets a sense nonetheless that what he's being told falls somewhat short, in its composition, of the whole truth in all its glorious aspects.

Be that as it may, Donighal has explained the nature of the place (a resort at the end of time, where one can meet and dine with a fascinating cross-section of everyone who's ever lived), its rules (all of which sound easy enough to follow), and even the oddly angular letters in which everything seems to be written (starting with the "alphabet" letters for the name "Obi-Wan Kenobi" and building his reading comprehension from there).

Now, they're drinking caf (well, Obi-Wan's drinking caf; his interlocutor is having tea of some sort) at a table together, talking about nothing in particular, being botherable.

[OOC: One mun, two pups. As usual, if you want to tag one of them in particular, please to be specifying; else, whoever has the most to say to your pup will return the tag.]

(no subject)

[hearthethoughts.livejournal.com]

Secretary Parkman is ever watchful. He's watching the corners of the bar like a hawk. He's ready and willing to shoot anyone who so much as looks at him funny or thinks at him funny.

The reason for this is simple. Sitting next to him with a pad of yellow paper and a box of brightly colored crayons is a boy in a red shirt.

He is blissfully unaware of his father's state of mind. Matthew Parkman Junior does not read minds. He draws pictures of stick figure dinosaurs and big buildings.

Occasionally he squirms like he wants to get away, but his father has his arm firmly around his son's shoulder.

(no subject)

[alorn-bear.livejournal.com]

Nadaam (Mongolian: Наадам, games) is the national festival of Mongolia held from July 11th to 13th. The festival is also called "eriyn gurvan naadam" (эрийн гурван наадам) meaning "men's three variety of games" or "three manly games." The games are Mongolian wrestling, horse racing and archery, and are the only ones that are held throughout the country. Despite the name, women participate in the archery and horse-racing games, but not in Mongolian wrestling.

Belar's currently the God not only of the Alorn peoples of Gara, but of a tribe of about twenty thousand Mongolian nomads. He's always been a really hands-on kind of God, at least when he's been allowed to be physically present among his people. So guess where he's been today, and what he's been doing?

One tall blond White guy in full-on Mongolian nomad holiday regalia, horsebow slung across his back, in the Bar. Grinning fit to have his face fall off, too, since his people were doing really well at the horse racing last he checked. We'd suggest you sit down and say hi, but he's likely to offer you some of his alcohol if you do, and you probably don't want to know what it's made from.

Even if he did get it from Bar.

(no subject)

[neartoinsanity.livejournal.com]

John is down in the bar this afternoon.

Clean and dressed casually, thanks to Bar. No more scrubs with crosses on them.

He's smoking a cigarette while sipping a cup of coffee, a pad of paper in front of him with notes he's scribbled down. Things about Hobbs End and Cane.


[OOC: Part of the Not Going to Millicon plot. Feel free to tag him if you're interested! :) Previous threads in slowtime will be tagged soon. Mun is feeling very under the weather.]

(no subject)

[princeinexile]

Zuko doesn't bother posting himself where he thinks he's going to get sympathy and new friends; he has one decently made knife which he is currently sharpening, and keeping himself from burying it into, say, Katara.

He doesn't look too depressed -- but his maimed face has never been easy to read. He doesn't act hurt -- but he's been quiet and withdrawn since he was fourteen. He doesn't seem like he needs a shoulder -- but you know, that's exactly the person who does need one. Not the people who have loads of friends -- who make their decisions for them.

His eyes are dull, his shoulders hunched, his body language all wrong. In truth, Anath Dorje's gift was a mild ache compared to how he feels right now. The rhythmic motion of blade against whetstone is basically to keep him from doing anything else. Scrape, scrape, scrape -- the knife is not as raw as his nerves are now.

[Will be in and out till about 5:30pm EST, and then I'll be at work and chained to my computer terminal for eight hours! Back now and for the rest of the day!]

first lines

[ana-pascal.livejournal.com]

Some books have memorable first lines, and some don't.

You know about the first line or two of a story, the ones that either hook you in or make you wonder why you're bothering to read.

It's a surprisingly important thing. Unfortunately, the opening line to this story isn't particularly intriguing, but embarrassingly simple-- a door opens.

Ana steps into a place that isn't her pantry, with a wooden spoon and saucepan, and the simmering smell of melting sugar that is beginning to caramelize. She holds the spoon like a cudgel until she knocks back into a chair and stops cold. Where am I? Huh? What's that? Turning to look at the window and the extraordinary view behind it.

"...Well, that's new."

[ooc: AUGH. Need to call slowtime with all threads, sorry.]

(no subject)

[much.livejournal.com]

The door opens, and an outlaw enters. He seems marginally bemused to find his imaginary piece of heaven reappear no in a barn this time, but in someone's cellar. He'd almost forgotten that dream he had about a bar where one could watch the stars die...

...yet here it is again! Just when he was getting really hungry. How lucky is that?? The outlaws are blessed today!

He slips in and to the magical but not evil Bar, where he collects a mug of ale and a plate of mutton, and settles into a booth to watch the observation window. He sprawls with his legs up on the booth seat as if he owns the place.

Lord Much has arrived!

And this being a dream -- a dream where good things happen -- perhaps every now and then, his eyes wander a bit, back to the door, maybe hoping to see someone walk through it, maybe registering just a little disappointment when it isn't the one he'd hoped to see again...

(no subject)

[qsilver-lab-rat.livejournal.com]

He's the Invisible Man. That's TOTALLY why you haven't seen him around.

Totally.

It has nothing to do with getting licked by Bigfoot.

Totally.

That said: Agency agent at 3 o'clock lounging on a couch reading a philosophy magazine.

(no subject)

[http://users.livejournal.com/_to_the_bone/]

Hello bar, have a Jack. Coming through the door with a bag over his shoulder, in a long black coat. Looking like he was walking somewhere else and isn't exactly sure how he feels about ending up here.

First Entrance...

[no-sin-but.livejournal.com]

So, a one-eyed man walks into a bar.

And, no, he doesn't say 'ow', because it's not that kind of bar and weren't you paying attention?

But, he walks into a bar. Neither tall nor short, but he's dressed in black clothes that, once upon a time, were nice. But now the velvet is worn and stained and, really, the one-eyed man needs a bath. Or two. And new clothes.

For the moment, though, he stands in the doorway, swaying slightly, and looking rather...

bemused.

[ooc: and I love you all but I have to run home, am happy to do slowtimes or fade!]

(no subject)

[runmakitarun.livejournal.com]

[OOM: The storm rages.

The storm that's suppressed the fighting in Bahamut should break soon, but Makita finds something hiding in the snow which could bring disaster.]

The way she moves as she comes through the door, smoothly and silently with every sense alert, is a pretty good indicator that Makita did not expect to find herself in Milliways. There's a moment of disorientation during which she goes for her pistols, but she catches herself with them only half drawn.

A quick look around to get her bearings and Makita nods once to herself. The usual grin which accompanies her return here is entirely absent as she moves purposefully up the stairs without stopping to drop off her gear.

When she comes back down she's carrying a single box of ammunition. It's about the size of a thick paperback book, and it's marked with translucent red bands. Makita sets up at a table and begins going through her gear. The look on her face is one she doesn't wear often in the bar.

Makita is preparing to kill someone.

(no subject)

[song_tra_bong]

Mary Anne comes downstairs with a piece of paper in hand.

"Bar darling, you mind delivering this to Random for me?"

The note vanishes into Bar's surface and Mary Anne heads out the front door.

~~~

Several hours later, she comes back in looking a little sunburned, but content. She takes a seat at the bar, orders something cool, colorful and alcoholic, then spins around on her barstool to look around the room.

[ooc: As of 1:45 AM eastern time, this post is open for tagging.]

(no subject)

[slightlymonkish.livejournal.com]

[OOM: Somewhere in San Francisco, hearts are beginning to shatter as a mind splits in two.

Warning for disturbing imagery.]

(no subject)

[hero_farmboy]

In order to stave off boredom, Clark has decided to get ambitious. Well, as ambitious as he feels like getting around here. He asked the bar for a few footballs (the American kind), a bit of netting and a fair sized hoop.

It didn't take long to rig up outside - hang the hoop from a tree and the netting behind the hoop - and for the past little while, he's been perfectly content tossing aforementioned footballs through the hoop from a good distance.

Clark almost forgot how much he missed this.

(no subject)

[underwater-owl.livejournal.com]

Random, disheveled and happy looking, picks up a note from the bar.



Three seconds later he's on his feet, searching, knives in his eyes.

Fuck. Fuck. Family, fuck.

(no subject)

[damn-sunflowers.livejournal.com]

This place again.

How come he don't never know when it's gonna show its ugly ass? It'd be really annoying if the food wasn't so good. Plus, it's been a while since he had a bath.

First things first, though: food. He sits down at the bar and digs in his pocket for a couple coins he won wrestling beetles; he puts one of 'em down on the bar and orders up a pot of sake and a bowl of dumplings.

His katana's still within easy reach, right across his back. Some things never change.

(no subject)

[grimsister.livejournal.com]

Nico likes to present a certain image at all times. It's usually helped by the goth look; a good glare is always enhanced by black kohl, and usually the stiletto heels are at least imposing; at most - usually after somebody's been on the recieving end of a kick from one - terrifying.

But a flying kick can be remarkably thrown off by the sudden disappearance of the intended recipient, and the appearance of a wide-open door. This is when four-inch heel are really not ideal.

"Oh, what the-!"

Nico, meet floor. Floor, meet Nico. Milliways, meet blistering and freaked-out glare.

"Oh my god. What."

Image? Is now one of small, scared and dishevelled sixteen-year-old girl.

It won't last.

[OOC: I must now fall asleep. Slowtimes all around are highly encouraged, as is poking me if and when I forget to tag them! Goodnight!]

(no subject)

[sylvie-barker.livejournal.com]

[preMilliways, Sylvie's had a busy day]

The door's pushed open. One might catch a glimpse of bright sunlight and Missouri's streets before it swings shut behind the woman who's entered.
She seems unsurprised to find herself in a bar. Since she'd been at the entrance to her favorite pub a second ago, that's understandable.

The surroundings garner a frown from her. When did they redecorate, she wonders? And the place looks larger than she remembers.

She instinctively tests the scents on the air, while walking to the bar...

Well, shit.

Bars are a public space. She'll find out what she may need to know a little later. Damn if she isn't going to have that drink first, though. So much for a break.

(no subject)

[will_scarlett]

Will's been spending most of his days either swimming in the inlet or doing sword and archery practice, so hasn't been sitting in the Bar that often.

That's why he's making up for it now by sitting in a booth with a tankard of ale, and some wedges.

Lots of new faces and he's also keeping an eye out for Marian or Sir Guy, he'd feel better if he knew what happened between them.

(OOC: Mun is back and up for tagging.)

(no subject)

[milkbonesoldier.livejournal.com]

It's been a long damned day at the Academy. Small group tactics in the morning, one-on-one and many-on-one unarmed combat in the afternoon- oh, the girls aren't likely to be able to kill anything supernatural if they're weaponless, but let's be honest here. If they don't learn to beat the shit out of the enemy long enough to get up and find a damn weapon, they're in for a whole new world of pain. So- full-speed unarmed hand-to-hand, only the barest minimum of pulled punches.

He's going to sit in the vicinity of the Bar proper and let those two ribs on the bottom finish healing. Also he's going to ignore the horrible itch that only happens when a tooth is regrowing. Damn things take days.

(no subject)

[a_poor_guardian]

In the ten months since he returned to Misselthwaite Manor, Archibald Craven has awakened to other responsibilities besides caring for his children. Today he has tended to one of his long-ignored duties as the Master of Misselthwaite, visiting his tenants and caring for their needs. For the most part, the tenants are a healthy, hard-working lot whose difficulties involve leaky roofs or, at the worst, some trouble with alcohol. Mr. Craven called for his workmen to fix the damaged roofs, and spoke rather firmly to the drunken tenant in the village. To his surprise, he found that he rather enjoyed the day.

By now Archibald is quite tired. He feels he deserves a glass of wine at Milliways, and perhaps some of the bar's other amenities later on.

(no subject)

[soapcarvedhands.livejournal.com]

He's crazy, he's blond, he's shy, and he's totally at your disposal.

Come say hi to Harding!

(Which is to say, there's a tall, slender blond man picking his way through a plate of tea sandwiches--what? he'd liked them!--and sipping, quite appropriately, a mug of Darjeeling.)

(no subject)

[zapgunfh.livejournal.com]

So, Buck moved to a booth sometime in the recent past. Maybe he even left and returned, who knows? What is known, is that he has a number of empty space booze containers around the table, and a full one that will soon join its consumed siblings.

Anyway, he seems to be in a better mood than when he first entered.

(no subject)

[evryinchbut1.livejournal.com]

Your server is: Valerie

Waitress in the bar; feel free to flag her down.

[ooc: Out on errands; back soon. Back!]

(no subject)

[there-is-a-me.livejournal.com]

Spoon has shiny things. Spoon has sharp shiny things. Spoon has a pile of sharp shiny things, a pile of not-so-sharp and not-so shiny things (and yet, somehow, all the more malevolent for that), and a pile of armor. He's trying to meld them into a coherent whole for great ease of hunting.

Mostly this involves loading the armor onto something vaguely Spoon shaped and glaring at it a lot.

(no subject)

[leftthecradle.livejournal.com]

You know the drill...the Door opens.

Well, here's a face that hasn't been seen in a while. Not only that, but he appears to be in an unusually bad mood.

The Ranger pauses as he strides through the Door, but then stalks out the Back Door to the lake area without even a glance at the people around him. He had left his previous location with a determination to get away and regain his equilibrium and, by Valen, he was going to do that.

He strides into the treeline without pause. Once there and out of the immediate view of the Bar in general, he stops. Anyone who happens to be passing by might be surprised to see his body...dissolve. It whips apart in a fury of iridescence, only to reform into a hovering sphere of white light, occasionally shot through with other colors.

Perhaps not the most inconspicuous way to attempt centering given the falling twilight, but he doesn't particularly care at the moment.

(no subject)

[the_seafarer]

There are still chores to do, people to speak with, rides to take and waves--now salt as well as fresh--to sail, and so Caspian has been busy, busier than usual, mayhap, but there is still and always time to sit a while in his favorite chair by the fireplace. It's the one that faces the sofa, and he sits there with a cup of tea and a leatherbound book balanced on his knee.

He'd been reading, but he isn't any longer. Instead, he is watching the people, with interest and a little sorrow and a smile that touches his lips more often than doesn't.

And if he sees a friend, or two, or several, well. There's always time for a talk, isn't there?





[OOC: A side note: If you or your pup would like to discuss stable matters, now is a good time to do it. He and I will also be around a few more times before Sunday.]

(no subject)

[ahogarse.livejournal.com]

The lake is haunted.  You know this by now, don't you?

The lake is haunted by a little boy, down by the water, fishing around in the reeds for bugs and beetles.

[ooc: given that for no apparent reason I have started typing in french instead of spanish, except that it's late, I'm thinking it's bedtime.  Slowtimes abound >.>]

(no subject)

[slasherofprices.livejournal.com]

When Simon Skinner came downstairs today, he saw something that made him very, very pleased: the door.

But before he gets the hell out of dodge: a drink. He doubts he'll ever have a finer drink in Sandford, as much as it pains him to think that. If you want to celebrate his newfound freedom with him, you can find him at the bar.

(no subject)

[alwaysroomforhope]

[OOM: It's really over.]

(no subject)

[velocitygirl]

Sitting at the bar is Inyri Forge, with her head down on Bar's top. The past few days?

Have not been good ones. You'd think, that with Zekka Thyne dead, things would be better.

Turns out, it's not true.

She's botherable, though!

(no subject)

[hapan-heiress.livejournal.com]

The door swings open, just as ornate as the first time it was, but this time it wasn't from a closet.

This time, she came in from, presumably, her mother's room, from the way she was talking. "Mama, I want a--"

She breaks off as she notices where she is, and it's definitely not her Mom's room. "Yay!" She beams, as she grabs a hold of her skirts and goes skipping into the room, towards Bar.

Where she happily orders some ice cream. Dinner what.

(no subject)

[bigheadedchild.livejournal.com]

There's a boy with an abnormally large head lurking sitting in a booth. He hasn't been seen lately, mostly due to his mun not braining him being preoccupied with thwarting Zim.

At the moment though, he's fiddling with something that looks like nothing so much as a high-tech, electronic... Tome.

It is, in fact, a spell-drive. It it both high-tech and magical.

And it has a few cast-points left.

If you step close enough, you might hear him muttering to himself.

(no subject)

[walter-sparrow.livejournal.com]

He comes through the door already looking slightly apprehensive. He'd been waiting for his wife to finish a cake- it was one she had to have done by six, and he'd gotten off work early. He didn't want to bother her, so he'd been waiting outside, and there was a door, and- well. He likes exploring.

A bar is a good place to wait, isn't it? She'll find him in a few minutes, hopefully. It's not like it's far.

Walter sits down and orders a soda.

(no subject)

[mutinyandmurder]

Charlotte comes down the stairs, expecting this night to be like any other in the weeks she has spent here.

But tonight, something is different. She sees the door, which she has not seen since she arrived here. She stops and stares for a moment, then goes carefully to the bar.

"I'd like some dinner, if you please," she says. "If that goes where I think it does, I will not say no to a meal before I leave."

The bar complies with a hearty bowl of stew and a crusty loaf of bread, along with a glass of cider. She starts to eat almost automatically, watching people come and go. She had almost given up on being able to return home. But she had adjusted. Even here, she had found a place.

What she faces in the future does not seem nearly so frightening, now.

(no subject)

[argyle_princess]

[OOM: Break.]

(no subject)

[alwaysroomforhope]

For once, Steph doesn't vant to be alone. She's in the bar, sitting in one of the booths against the wall -- sitting on the table, in fact, knees tucked under her chin and back against the wall, watching people pass.

Her Security badge is visible, pinned to her shoulder.

[EPs late at night are always a good idea! ... or not. sorry! i'll catch up inna morning. <3]

(no subject)

[morelikeasponge.livejournal.com]

There's a ( note for Kaylee )