milliways_bar | Jul. 15th, 2007

Jul. 15th, 2007

waylostandfound.livejournal.com

The recent days have left Nathan troubled and confused. First Peter, and then a man who looked, talked, and acted a lot like him. Another politician even. And getting news the explosion was going to happen, didn't help.

And yet it made things simpler. He knows his brother will survive. (But scarred, and hard and cold.) And he'll be President. (But something went wrong, but he can change that at least, right?)

He was sitting at a corner table with a scotch in hand, the surface devoid of the usual papers, and notebooks for writing down campaign ideas and speeches. He was trying to ignore the view of exploding stars nearby.

It wasn't working really.

treading_dawn

[OOM: By the lake, questions are asked, answers are given, and there is some comfort to be had.]

last-king.livejournal.com

It's late, but Tirian doesn't seem to mind that.

He's settled near the fireplace, with a peace and stillness he's never had in Milliways before, holding paper and pen but not writing anything yet.

Goodbyes aren't going to be hard for him, but knowing what to say is still a bit of a puzzle.

called_lioness

[OOM: After speaking in the bar Friday night, Mary takes Lucy to the garden.

And they move one step closer to saying good-bye.

Even if they don't want to.

Warning for that pain that has to come with saying good-bye to someone you love.]

gonna_live

[After the latest round of suckage of the future!!!!, the upset mechanic flees across the lake shore, and the Winchester follows.

Oh, yeah, and the other Winchester, too.]

die-tician.livejournal.com

Dr. Sable dashes in, clearly expecting to find someplace else behind the bar's door. When he realizes where he is, he merely lifts his narrow eyebrows, straightens his suit jacket, and continues toward the bar. He's soon lounging at a table with a glass of carbonated water and his newest gadget: a slim, black iPhone.

It beeps and chirps pleasingly, even when it's not precisely working.

forgottenfeline

~~Because his mun can't sleep~~ Kyo is in Bar.

He's doing his English homework by the fire. Or at least he was.

At the moment he seems to be drooling on it.

Come wake the silly boycat?

dust-to-order.livejournal.com

((millitimed to 'sometime last week' as in, when Sooraya wasn't off looking for trouble in the form of possible US soldiers or dragons))

Sooraya comes downstairs, and for once she doesn't ask Bar for food or drink.
Instead, she has magazines, and a newspaper from her world, the Daily Bugle. She's reading through them, a faint frown line visible.
Preoccupied, but she's botherable and might welcome distraction.

sylvie-barker.livejournal.com

After she found the door a second time, Sylvie decided not to return home immediately. A member of her pack doesn't turn tail and run.
She liked what she'd seen of the place so far, anyhow. So she'd chosen to look around, inside and out.
She's at a table near the back door, due to visit the outdoors before long.

the_seafarer

He'd woken this morning from dreams of green waves and white foam, of curlews dipping and of a great white sun rising, and seen Lucy sitting already awake with her back against her pillow, and she'd looked at him with a little smile and clear eyes.

Today is the day. They hadn't had to speak it, hadn't said anything at all, but they'd sat together for a long while, with their hands clasped together on the cover of the bed they share as husband and wife.

Today is the day, and yet there are still chores to be done, people to speak to. There are also notes to be written to those who remain unseen, and gifts to be given, and Caspian is starting to write, on a table near a window, with a cup of tea steaming before him.

[OOC: This is Caspian's second to last entrance post: if you would like to speak with him either of them are taggable. Please see the the note in the Back Room for more information.]

call-me-kick.livejournal.com

[Not-exactly-OOM: Up in room 210, Nick and Kick talk.]

[OOC: Two pups, one mun who will be around sporadically all day! Also? Nick does not have a beard. Silly icon!]

It's well past noon when they reappear in the bar proper, very well rested and dressed in fresh clothes.

Kick, already feeling at home, hops onto a barstool and a shortstack of pancakes with a glass of milk appears without a word from the child.

Amused (and relieved), Nick gets a cup of coffee and a blueberry muffin. His bruise is gradually fading and doesn't hurt anymore, which is a very Good thing.

The pair is in high spirits, today, and Kick is very eager to make more friends. (Nick is mostly just glad that she's not afraid of anything.)

So come say hello!

supaahiro

He's not liking this at all.

But it's the first time in a long time that he could get an Asahi beer without having to teleport home to get it.

Hiro drinks; the chipper, chubby Japanese man that the bar's patrons are more familiar with is no where to be seen. The brooding man all in black has more in common with, say, Wolverine then it does with the Hiro Nakamura of the past.

lord-of-dreams.livejournal.com

Take a story, and bind it into a book. There is a cover, a title page, credits, and the information which a publisher adds. Dedication, acknowledgments, and the chapter heading before the story begins. Stories never begin in the beginning. They start in the middle; one trick first time writers are told is to put the second chapter first.

Stories do not have beginnings. The most common thing said when someone is trying to explain something is I don't know where to begin. Where does the story of a life begin? With the birth? There are nine months of growth before that. With conception? That implies that the past has no effect on the present.

Somewhere there is a book. This book has a beginning, a middle, and an end. This book holds the story of the universes. The beginning is not here. The end is not yet. The middle is too large to contemplate. The book is full of chapters, paragraphs, which hold parts of the story. They may never connect in a way that the reader expects, but they are all part of the story.

Endings are a bit easier to define. Some define an end to a life-story as death. Some define it past there. All stories share the beginning, but endings are private.

Say goodnight, Gracie. The End. Wake up.

Sometimes you can see the end before you get to it. You turn the page and realize there are not many left before you reach the back cover on this fragment of the story. You hold a friend and realize that when the hug stops they will drive away forever. You see a flash and know that tragedy has struck. You look ahead and see the diploma waiting for you.

Not all endings are for the worse. Some are a form of freedom. You see them coming, and you can not help but smile for what lays ahead for the heroes.

Most endings include a period of goodbye, and Dream is fond of stories. In one way he is a story himself. Morpheus, Dream of the Endless, has passed the end of his story and marks time at the End of the Universe. From here he has watched the ending of many stories, and the change of many more. In one way he is the stories he watches.

An end is near, and it is not his end. That end is passed. It would, however, be a small and petty thing if he who had held the story and helped a woman force her story to linger were to allow this ending to happen without noting it in a greater way.

Dream is seated in his throne, a glass of white wine held in his snow-pale fingers, watching the bar and the stories within it. It is not often he manifests without being called; but he is here. One he has called his own, one he has called a friend, finally gets her long deserved and desired ending. Dream is here to say goodbye to Lucy.

He is manifest in the bar, however, and that means that he is willing to speak with those who desire to speak.

a_poor_guardian

Archibald Craven, master of Misselthwaite Manor, is sitting by the fire, drinking a glass of burgundy while perusing a catalogue of rare books presently for sale.

[OOC: ~~The player is going to dinner. All tags will be picked up when she returns~~ ~~Back!~~ Off to nurse a headache. See you another day!]

sed-en-ta-ry.livejournal.com

Darcy was looking decidedly more piratical when she swept into the bar that evening, in fact, she hadn't been expecting to find the bar at all, which might explain the look of surprise.

She swore a moment later, in a very rude and unladylike fashion upon whipping around to find her door gone.

She wasn't the sort to throw tantrums, not really. She made her way calmly and collectedly to the bar and asked, equally calmly and collectedly for a wet towel, please and thank you.

Those prone to noticing things might notice the smear of blood up one cheek that she hasn't gotten to yet, busying herself with washing her hands and arms. They might also notice the singed skirts and the smell of old-fashioned gunpowder and smoke.

azure-mercy.livejournal.com

[OOC: Millitimed to after this.]

When Zhaan comes in from outdoors, still smelling a bit of the antifungal spray she had to use on her plants, the first thing she does is write a note to Simon Tam:

( Leave of Absence )

The second thing she does is go to the infirmary and mix up some antifungal medicine for herself. And the third thing she'll have to do is swallow it, which is harder than it sounds.

masterofritual

Lying on the cool floor of a prison cell was a welcome relief from the uncomfortable heat of the Kitchens. It did have the unfortunate side-effect of being extremely uncomfortable after a while. Perhaps Steerpike had discovered an advantage to the Great Kitchen after all? At least it had sacks of grain and other things to sleep on.

Nevertheless Steerpike is a curious boy, who has no intention of being kept in a place he does not want to be ever again, and while the door to the gaol is shut to him, the window has a certain alluring charm. He could get used to this escaping lark.

Of course, when he popped his head and shoulders through the narrow opening, he had rather expected to see more of the sky and what lay outside the castle rather than the inside of a certain Bar. It is perhaps this surprise that cause him to lose his balance and tip out of his cell and into Milliways once more.

Try not to trip on the tangled bundle of gangly arms and legs by the Door.

deserved_it

A lot of people are leaving tonight.

Only, if you look at it another way, a lot of people will be arriving elsewhere tonight. And arrivals should be greeted.

Eustace has emptied out his room in the House of Arch -- not that he'd ever collected much in there -- walked through the stables, and finally arrived at the front door.

There's a smile on his face as he looks around the bar a last time; then, with no hesitation, he opens the door and steps through.

There'll be people to welcome in that green land, soon.

All that's left, when the door closes, is a scent of lilies, and an errant wisp of hay on the floor.

stuck-mynock.livejournal.com

So, when Atton heads down for bartending, scrawling 'RUM' on the Special's Board as he passes, he gets a bit of a surprise.

A note and not, if his expression as he reads, then gets a newspaper from Bar, translated into Aurebesh, and subsequently reads, is any indication. The note is carefully, meticulously folded up and tucked into his pocket. The newspaper is crumpled up in his fist, and when he opens his hand, ash comes pouring out to settle on the floor behind the Bar.

And then he waits, for patrons to bartend to. Admittedly, the look on his face, like he would very much like to brutally murder anyone that gets in arm's length (and a few people who don't), may be bad for business.

mistressmaryquitecontrary

Mary Lennox has to be in the bar. There may be news; it would be stupid not to be around to hear it. (The way things have been going, she thinks, it's almost certain to be bad. Still, it is better to know than not.) And anyways, she has realized that she does not know when Sunday is, and though it would be easier in some ways, it would not do not to be there for it.

So Mary is in the bar, at a table, with a black expression to suit her black mood. She wants to be shouting, or hitting something.

What she's actually doing, however, is studying an eighteenth-century map of the world with a fierce intensity. It helps to feel she is doing something.

literallyrotten.livejournal.com

His second morning in the bar, Darren Nichols had decided he'd rather not get up and face day.

Which is why he doesn't make his way downstairs till it's evening, and he's absolutely starving.

He's wearing the same clothes as yesterday, which is to say, leather pants, an olive shirt, a pin striped jacket and a chintzy, beglittered, tassled scarf. And a pair of sunglasses. Yes, indoors. Deal with it.

He is also looking at the bar from a distance, covering small amounts of fear with an expression thick with disdainful mistrust.

aerora.livejournal.com

Here's someone we haven't seen in a while.

Sora comes into the bar, Keyblade over his shoulder, and walks towards an empty booth. He settles himself into one of the seats with a sigh, then flags down a waitrat for a slice of pizza and a glass of juice.

He isn't waiting for anyone in particular (really), and he is a little bored and homesick as well.

Anyone is welcome to try and cheer him up, or entertain him.

first-sixth.livejournal.com

Tommy's in the bar again. He's sprawled across a sofa this time, and appears to be dozing lightly. The fact that he's still loosely holding his pen and a clipboard mean that sleeping likely wasn't his plan. He probably wouldn't mind being woken up, so long as it's done politely (or at least gently).

Fair game, this one.

[EDIT: First thread contains adult content! It does, however, stack before this point and so does not show up on the initial comments page.]

highking.livejournal.com

The room in the House of Arch that was his is empty now. The things in it have been returned or dispersed, with a few exceptions.

One is the bundle of books that Peter now leaves on the bar for Professor Kirke. The other is the sword on his hip.

That's staying there.

Peter takes his tea to a booth by the windows and looks out over the water.

night-hibiscus.livejournal.com

Yuna is sitting on a couch; for the first time in a week, she's dressed as she was when she entered.

As a summoner. Duty calls.

For some time she sits quietly, praying under her breath, her prayer beads clicking gently. It takes her about twenty minutes, and then they vanish up her sleeves, and she turns to her tea.

laceandarsenic.livejournal.com

Gert and Old Lace are sat by the observation window, Gert drinking a large chocolate milkshake and Old Lace eating left over donuts.

Gert stirs the milkshake with a straw, looking quite bored really. It's almost like she doesn't quite know what to do with herself when she's not fighting masked villains or playing board games with Molly or making out with Chase.

called_lioness

And then there's tonight.

Gifts for remembrance--it's like the will, but more personal, she supposes--are given out or about to be given, and the dragons are waiting with her sadly, and mostly Lucy's just sitting and watching the room.

Because it's dear, for all she's ready to leave, and some things she wants to remember perfectly.

And this is one.

the_seafarer

It's nearly time.

His heart is telling him so; it yearns towards the door as though drawn there by some unseen thread. In the House of Arch, a neat pile of letters and objects wait on a table.

He's sitting by the fire, in his accustomed seat, and he's waiting; for it is nearly time, but not quite yet, and he can wait a little longer.

But it is nearly time.

iustus_rex

Sunday, Lucy said to him. Sunday, to go home.

That's today. And the part of him that's still tied to this world -- the small and shrinking part -- says it came so fast.

Most of him is achingly ready to go home. To rest. To see, again and forever, Aslan's country where there is only joy.

But Milliways was a home to him for two years and more, and he has friends here. And so he sits in the bar this last time, with a teapot and cup of what is still the best Darjeeling he's ever had. There's no point in trying to fix it in his memory; in Aslan's Country no good thing is ever lost, and he thinks there may be a bright and shining Milliways too, like the Narnia and England of beloved memory.

But he finds himself trying anyway, for old times' sake.

[OOC: This is Edmund's last entrance post. All threads are welcome, and slowtimes will continue as long as necessary. Thanks for a wonderful run with him.]

night-hibiscus.livejournal.com

Time passes. Conversations ebb and flow. And finally a mood comes over--not the room, but certain tables in it.

And Yuna, perhaps naturally, has been keeping an eye on each of those tables. She feels it, too, when the time has come, and she rises, her face solemn and composed, and moves towards the door to the lake, carrying her staff. She pauses in the doorway, to catch Lucy's eye, and a nod passes between them.

And then she heads down to the water, to the edge of the inlet, where salt and sweetwater meet, as the sun comes down and turns it gold.

To wait, just a little longer.

[OOC: This is the Pevensie's exit post. Well-wishers and even spectators are welcome, but please, in subthreads below the first. These can go on even after the main thread concludes--time, as ever, is a face on the water. :) Thank you.]