milliways_bar | Aug. 13th, 2007

Aug. 13th, 2007

blue-star-badge.livejournal.com

It had been a fairly slow day, as far as dishwashing went, so once again there was an Adric in the bar.

Just at that moment he was perched at a table near the window, scribbling what appeared to be complex mathematical formulas onto a sheet of paper. Apparently he was trying to pin down block transfer computations again.

He could probably use an interruption before his brain overheated.

hatchingviper.livejournal.com

Another day, another inability to move in anything much resembling good coordination. Nonetheless, Deitmar's gotten pretty good about getting to and from the bar. He's still not sure how much time he's been spending there, and right now he thinks it's been about a day.

That's all right. He has the window to watch.

And watch.

And watch.

He's been at this for about ten minutes, or, if you ask him, getting onto an hour. And he completely doesn't mind that it's nonproductive. In fact, he's in an excellent mood.

Distract him and chat! . . . if you can. That's one fascinating window.

((OOC: mun not here right now.))

milkbonesoldier.livejournal.com

[OOM: Years ago, a scientist took the idea that one might improve one's country's soldiers by replacing their lost limbs, and ran much, much too far with it.

Tonight, in Orkney, several teams of Milliways' best managed to put right what Dr. Ormvist once put wrong.]

The door opens on what promises to be a dark and stormy night in Scotland. Several people who have been very, very busy tonight stagger through.

One of them, for all that he's armoured from throat to toes, looks like absolute shite. The bloody bandages wrapped around his head (and over his right eye) don't help at all.

Neither does the fact that, while he's got to lean on someone or something to stand up straight, he absolutely insists on hanging onto what looks for all the world like a robotic head.

feminine-menace.livejournal.com

YT is sprawled across the couch beside the fireplace. One of her feet hangs over the edge, resting on her skateboard.

She's her iPod in hand and a pair of headphones on. The discordant, feedback-and-scream laden sounds of nuclear fuzz grunge are all too clearly audible from said headphones to anyone who comes close. A person's gotta wonder how YT manages not to go deaf.

[OOC: Warning for slowtimes throughout the day, as my parents are making me do ~~slave labor~~ chores.]

gone_byebye

Ray enters the Bar from a gray and crowded scene of chaos. He's got a duffel slung over one shoulder and a suitcase in his opposite hand. "Hey, Bar?" he calls out, setting the suitcase aside. "Can I have my saber back now? We just hit the O'Hare luggage claim and I refuse to get in a Chicago taxi without every advantage I can possibly carry with me."

He stops, thinks, and adds, "And as long as I'm here, can I have a bowl of Chocolate Frosted Sugar Bombs? With the marshmallows?"

stubborn-annie.livejournal.com

Annie'd been busy at home for hours, but there comes a point in time when even the most dedicated baker staving off anxiety pangs has to stop what she's doing. That point, last night, came when the doorbell rang and a middle-aged woman with the EPOC cap badge turned up on her doorstep. She did a lot of driving last night after that, and does not much want to do that much driving again for a long, long time.

But that's over now, thank God, and she's home... and there's still no one to eat half the stuff she made in her fit of anxiety. So she's grabbed some of it- several fruit pies and a pile of different flavours of biscuit- and brought it with her to the Bar, where she can wait for the coffee she had to drink to drive safely last night to wear off. The pies and such are arranged on the table in front of her, but all she managed to write on her sign today is "MADE MORE PASTRY THAN I CAN EAT - GUARANTEED NO MAGIC INVOLVED".

immortalthief

She is wearing modern day clothing, this time a sundress which feels a little less strange to her and is sitting eatting a turkey leg she got from bar near the fire. It is not the most graceful endeavor, in fact some of the food is actually making it into her mouth. Bar gave her a book, it looks old written in English but it is to the side and Amanda glares at it and then Bar every so often.

Bar was mocking her.

fighter--pilot.livejournal.com

Shalla walks into Milliways, clothed in sleep pants and shirt, short hair still messy from bed. She frowns. For once, she actually would have preferred the kitchen she was expecting to here.

Then she shrugs, orders a cup of caf from Bar, and curls up on a couch, knees pulled up to her chest.

Should have asked for a blanket, too.

hadtobegood.livejournal.com

[OOM: it's not a war yet, but it's getting there.]

Syal Antilles walks through the door in a rumpled grey flightsuit, hair a sweaty mess and a blanket around her shoulders; she's still a little cold from exposure to vacuum, but she's in one piece after the battle, and that's a very good thing.

She stops and stares for a moment, then mumbles a curse (she's not dressed for a tapcaf) and hurries to Bar for a room key and a change of clothes before heading upstairs.

Half an hour later, she returns, much cheerier looking, freshly-showered and in civilian clothes.

She sits at Bar and orders a nice (un)healthy Corellian lunch, and some Whyren's Reserve.

She's earned it.

dust-to-order.livejournal.com

[oom: the X-Men discover X-23's 'makers' are in town.. As one might expect, it doesn't go well.]

Sooraya's found that the door seems to be cooperating for her now. She's still a bit leery, but (so far) it's stayed visible.
Yesterday was one day when she didn't feel much like being there, so aside from speaking to Archie Kennedy and a couple of other people, she didn't stay long at Milliways. It's been a rough few weeks, for her and the rest.

Today she's a little more balanced. So she heads for a table, carrying a shoulder bag holding a few items, and a half armful of material from the Institute's library.

http://users.livejournal.com/_jack_oneill/

"A bar in my office!"

Jack O'Neill glances around Milliways as he steps through, pleased, and heads straight for Bar.

"Well, you don't get that every day, even when you want it. Jack and Coke, please-- no, wait ... paperwork. Orange juice, please."

Helpfully, Bar provides a glass of orange juice and a stack of forms very much like the ones on Jack's desk that he was about to go fill out.

"...I wasn't asking for paperwork..."

whatsshakinpox

Near the actual bar, a number of Furons had gathered for a moment, one of them rather drunk on a swig of Atlantean. Said drunken Furon (Crypto-176) took off suddenly with his jetpack and it was up to the other two (Crypto-138 and Crypto-142) to capture. him. They stood there, side by side, deranged-looking Roswell aliens in sunglasses.

"We're a million miles from Earth, we've got a full house tonight, half a clip of ammo, it's a bar, and we're wearing sunglasses." - 142

"Hit it." - 138

Jetpacks released, and they're off, flying over people's heads and generally making a ruckus, the two trailing ones trying to run down (or fly down) the drunken Crypto-176.

http://www.bluesbrotherscentral.com/download.php?d_id=58/cantturnmall.mp3

Current Location: In the bar Airspace
Current Music: "Can't Turn You Loose"

pc-cooper.livejournal.com

[OOM: Gwen Cooper's "normal week at work" turns out to be not so normal. Try..."interesting", if interesting here meant "meeting an interesting bunch of people and running around a lot with lots of blood and retcon involved."

Doesn't it always mean that?

Spoilers for Torchwood 1x01.]

will_scarlett

The conversation with Molly's father is still on Will's mind so after his workout and spending time with Molly, he found a table and has a book of Arthurian legends.

He's never read them before, only knows the stories he grew up hearing and he's trying to connect those stories to what Michael told him.

The pot of tea is all but forgotten since its strange to read legends he knows by heart and have them not seem quite the same, he really wishes Allan was here, he knows the stories so much better.

rogue-wraith.livejournal.com

(OOM: Up in a certain base that wasn't supposed to be there, someone learned the dangers of ranting, and evidently on Mrlsst students aren't too judgmental of their professors. Someone has a very, very bad day due to unpopularity, but someone else has a very good day indeed.

And because we wanted to? Have a blooper reel.)

(Scenes and dialog based off of Star Wars: X-Wing: The Phantom Affair)

jacks-dead.livejournal.com

So Kyra's trying this whole being-in-the-bar-again thing. Thus far it's pretty good; she got some of those chocolate chip cookies with her stew, and she flopped down on a couch, and then she started thinking hey, that one over there looks kind of soft too ...

Two chairs and three couches later, she has settled for an overstuffed armchair, sitting sideways so her legs are hanging over one of the arms. She munches her cookies and people-watches, a bit wary but mainly curious and pleasantly bored.

Also she glances up to contemplate the rafters now and then. She's betting you could climb up there, if you wanted. Get a good view.

nitro-is-ace.livejournal.com

Some days are just made for curling up under a blanket with a good book and a bag of chocolate.

The day after fighting Cybermen totally counts. Especially if you're trying not to think about it.

This explains the pyro on the couch, with her favorite fuzzy football blanket, working her way through a bag of chocolate and deep in the doings of Sir Percy Blakeney.

mendanddefend_archive

[Out of Milliways: a return, and a private talk.]

collects_ears

Bartender. Drinks. Conversation. Company.

All this and more, could be yours.

"Tonight's drinks are: Kamakazie Razzberry , Kermit, Kir and King Fu."

Here to serve.

"What'll it be?"

milkbonesoldier.livejournal.com

[OOM: Not all of last night's battles were fought in the Orkney darkness. Divis Mal and Andrew Wells had a struggle all their own, and they handled it well indeed.]

For safety's sake (on multiple levels), Wells spent last night in the infirmary. This is the first he's really been willing to come out today, and he's moving rather more tentatively than he normally would. His face is bruised something awful from where he got slugged by someone larger and heavier than he, but more likely his careful motion has to do with the patch he's wearing over the gauze-and-bandage bundle that covers his right eye.

It's a lucky thing the wait-rats never liked the smell of him. He might step on them by mistake if he's not careful on his way to the bar.

mago_sonriente

Some days, however...

"Still here? Shit..."

Well, there went one idea. He steps away from the bar for a moment, breathes a deep sigh, and shakes his head.

"Can I get a beer then?"

A Victoria is his consolation prize, along with a basket of chips and a small pot of what smelled like salsa from the pits of Mephistopheles's private stock. That puts the smile back on his face and has him giving a bow to the bar counter in thanks before heading to a table to enjoy his spoils.

guppy_sandhu

There's an annoyed little person in one corner of the bar. Lines. More lines.

'I must not leave water on the kitchen floor
I must not leave water on the kitchen floor
I must not leave water on the kitchen floor'

"Stupid mop. Stupid Dad. Worse than school..."

bringonthewonder

It's been a rough 24 hours at the Jeffersonian medico-legal lab. That's what happens when all the evidence in a case is thrown out because no mentioned that one of the people processing it had a teeny tiny past connection with the wife of the victim.

Like a broken engagement.

So it was really very nice of the judge to give 24 hours to come up with something Hodgins hadn't worked on.

And kind of ironic that it turned out to be spores. Cute, puddly little spores.

But, hey, that's life with the squints.

Right now, Angela just wants coffee. 24 hours going back over evidence with Brennan and Zach makes your eyes kind of crossed.

precocioustilda.livejournal.com

Matilda, predictably, has been reading.

Being digital really doesn't affect the process much, and she tends to forget it occasionally.

So if you come and ask her why she's blue you might receive an odd look until she figures it out.

This is no reason not to, of course.

doctor-weir.livejournal.com

[ooc: Cue spoilers for 3.12 'Echoes'.]

It's a constant thing, the headache. Teyla's seeing ghosts, and the only person that's truly happy is Rodney with his whale-fish.

But Milliways gives Elizabeth a brief respite from the throbbing behind her eyes, and she claims a fair-sized extra strength aspirin bottle for her very own before a cup of coffee and an over-stuffed chair.

Sometimes? Life can be alright, even at the bar that shouldn't exist on her office balcony.

first-sixth.livejournal.com

Tommy is back in the bar, and he seems rather content with this. For the first time in a long time, Dr. Oliver is having what amounts to a normal life again. He's made of matter rather than electricity, he has his guy parts back, and he's gotten to return to teaching once more.

The Black Dino Ranger is actually humming cheerfully to himself as he grades papers, his customary latte close at hand. His students, were they to see him, would do well to be afraid. Very, very afraid.

Bother away!

http://users.livejournal.com/_wonder_girl_/

There has been an Idea. An Idea that may, given time, germinate into a fully-fledged Plan.

Credit for the Idea goes to Constance, and Flora, who it turns out can draw better than all the rest of them combined, is going to do the pictures. Henrietta has no special job, aside from what she always does, which is keep them all working together and getting along.

Which leaves Alice with her part of it, and currently tucked into an armchair at Milliways with tea, a journal, and a thoughtful look.

realmrsreynolds

[OOM: Millitimed to July 31, Sallie goes on a trip with Prometheus.

Rated C for Cavity-Causing Cuteness.]

q_in_training

Sometimes, just to see how she'll react, members of the Mackenzie family'll e-mail their resident computer genius with what could only be classified as "trainwreck links."

This means that right now, Mac's in a booth with her laptop in front of her, a Safari window open and set to fullscreen. It's displaying this video.

And she's staring at it in the kind of utter, abject horror that could not convey WHY DO YOU DO THIS TO MY SOUL more clearly if she tried.

There are some lines of scientific inquiry that, no matter what, you just do not pursue, people.

action-antihero.livejournal.com

It's early evening, and Jack's going for a run outside. He and Chris had changed back a few days ago using their own...special...method, which he's certainly not about to tell anyone else about.

Once he got his body back, though, it was pretty clear that not having had a run in a few days--particularly considering time out of the bar as well as in it--wasn't helping. Not to mention he hasn't been sleeping well, and he's hoping that if he exhausts himself, he'll be able to sleep more than a few hours without waking during the night.

At the moment, his body has had just about as much as it can take, and so an excuse to stop and rest for a bit wouldn't be out of order.

tibetanmethod

Dale Cooper comes in, looking excessively disgruntled, and makes a beeline for the bar.

Somebody is out of batteries for his tape recorder.

notjustnarrator.livejournal.com

When Nero comes running down the stairs with a shoe in his mouth, it doesn't take long for a one-shoed Nick to follow.

The pup, taking advantage of his size, darts between tables and under chairs until he reaches the door where he sits and promptly begins to gnaw on the piece of footwear.

Nick, not surprisingly, does not look pleased.

Nero, not surprisingly, doesn't seem to care.

"That's the third pair this week," Nick groans to no one in particular, flopping into a nearby chair to keep an eye on the pup.

Being a daddy is hard work!

literallyrotten.livejournal.com

Enters Darren Nichols, stage left.

Script in hand, should you care to notice. Dracula. The Musical.

bigredbeak

Brooklyn is still shaking bits of stone from his wings when he walks through the front door. He lets out a huge yawn that turns into a small roar, baring his few fangs. His mouth snaps shut, and the room gets a lazy look. Someone is still half asleep.

"This is a sign for wake-me-up night cap, right?"

taishar_malkier

Lan makes a habit of spending a certain amount of time in the bar anyway. He's stuck here anyway, and it's a good way to keep an ear to the ground.

If he's a member of Security now, well. That just makes it all the more imperative, doesn't it?

So he's settled at a corner table -- one, of course, with a good view of all lines of approach -- and puffing idly on a pipe. His Warder's color-shifting cloak is draped over his shoulders, making parts of his body appear to blend briefly and perhaps dizzyingly into the chair and floor.

fighting_mad

When Plourr comes through the door today, she is doing something rare:

Grinning from ear-to-ear, in pride and--this is the unusual part--unmistakable jubilation, almost as if the door to the bar had opened just after she'd given a whoop of fierce joy.

She has a datapad in hand, with the latest news tickers still scrolling across the screen, and from the state of her hair, her rumpled tunic and trousers, and her unlaced boots, it's clear that she just recently rolled out of bed. Her dazzling smile, though, negates any idea that she might give a damn right now.

She eyes a chair momentarily, then decides against clambering up on it. Instead, she uses her natural height to her advantage.

"HEY. IF YOU WANT A DRINK, ON ME -- DONE."

(She uses her natural volume and bellow to her advantage, too, as well as her hands cupped around her mouth.)

Still wildly pleased with the universe at large and everything in it, Plourr heads for the bar.

She might even be humming.