Aug. 18th, 2007
Out of Milliways: Suite 132
Aug. 18th, 2007 01:27 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
3rdtimelucky.livejournal.com((OOM. In the latest installment of blonde girlfriend banter, Goldy informs Steph of her hazardous upcoming trip to Bahamut. With bonus hot-tub goodness and sex god topic badness.))
(no subject)
Aug. 18th, 2007 09:32 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
immortalthiefSitting at a table Amanda is studiously working on her 'homework'. There is a large cup of fruit punch gatorade sitting next to her half empty. She has no idea what it is called but she likes it, she likes it alot. Which may explain the red mustache that she has and doesn't even know it.
(no subject)
Aug. 18th, 2007 09:36 amladysilverwheel.livejournal.comThe chill in the morning air is a telltale sign that autumn is approaching, and Arianrhod (who has finally reappeared here at the End of All Things) is happily dancing inbetween the trees of the forest.
"A pity it is," she says to them, head turned upward toward the still green leaves, "that your life span is so short."
The wind rustles the leaves and Arianrhod laughs, understanding. "I cannot do anything about it, no. Nor can Jack! You should be used to this by now, coedwig."
And again the wind rushes past the leaves and branches and the thick, old trunks, causing the trees to heave a sort of tired sigh.
"I know," Arianrhod says, placing a hand on the chipped bark of an older tree; after a moment the wind stills and she begins to dance again, humming a very soft, ancient song.
"A pity it is," she says to them, head turned upward toward the still green leaves, "that your life span is so short."
The wind rustles the leaves and Arianrhod laughs, understanding. "I cannot do anything about it, no. Nor can Jack! You should be used to this by now, coedwig."
And again the wind rushes past the leaves and branches and the thick, old trunks, causing the trees to heave a sort of tired sigh.
"I know," Arianrhod says, placing a hand on the chipped bark of an older tree; after a moment the wind stills and she begins to dance again, humming a very soft, ancient song.
(no subject)
Aug. 18th, 2007 10:10 amflame-and-void.livejournal.comStanding patiently in a corner of the bar, Rand is dressed for battle. His white shirt is tight, sword buckled at his hip, black pants a little loose for movement, black boots with hard soles. The glow of Saidin is alight about him, and his gaze sweeps the room as he looks for those who are joining him today in the hunt.
He then looks down at the map on the table in front of him. It looks freshly drawn, unlike all the other maps he's had with him recently, and is marked about with red ticks all over the place.
Next to the map is a small note from Nita Callahan, which has been unfolded and read over, then folded again. He frowns a little when he looks at the note, but plans never stay as one wants them to.
[ooc: Feel free to tag, but note that thread is for specific plot; those participating in plot will be replied to first]
He then looks down at the map on the table in front of him. It looks freshly drawn, unlike all the other maps he's had with him recently, and is marked about with red ticks all over the place.
Next to the map is a small note from Nita Callahan, which has been unfolded and read over, then folded again. He frowns a little when he looks at the note, but plans never stay as one wants them to.
[ooc: Feel free to tag, but note that thread is for specific plot; those participating in plot will be replied to first]
(no subject)
Aug. 18th, 2007 10:35 amthere-is-a-me.livejournal.comGenerally Spoon does his runs at dawn and dusk. Today, however, he is taking a run around the lake at mid-day. It gives him something of a change of pace and the puppies can watch without trying to keep up with him. He's in full armor, as he's trying to build his speed with that on.
(no subject)
Aug. 18th, 2007 12:30 pmastral-brat.livejournal.comBen coughs rather heavily as he enters the bar, clothes dusty and dirty from the riot at the Corellian embassy, and isn't surprised at all to find himself here instead of in the kitchen in Jacen's apartment.
He slowly weaves his way to Bar, and blinks in realisation when he gets there. The water supply in his area of Coruscant is contaminated, presumably by Corellians, so a shower at home is out of the question.
But Milliways isn't connected to the same water supply.
"A room key and a glass of water, please," he says rather hoarsely to Bar, and pats her gratefully when they arrive.
He'll stay and drink the water before heading upstairs.
He slowly weaves his way to Bar, and blinks in realisation when he gets there. The water supply in his area of Coruscant is contaminated, presumably by Corellians, so a shower at home is out of the question.
But Milliways isn't connected to the same water supply.
"A room key and a glass of water, please," he says rather hoarsely to Bar, and pats her gratefully when they arrive.
He'll stay and drink the water before heading upstairs.
(no subject)
Aug. 18th, 2007 12:40 pmltmuldoon.livejournal.comIn the Alphabet of Milliways, D stands for Disgruntled, which applies frequently to various patrons and various other members of the bar's clientele. It's a frequently used label.
So when the bar door opens to reveal an airport and a figure dressed all in black wielding a military issue duffel and a very uncomfortable look on his face, the mun invites you to use this label liberally.
Christopher Muldoon did not think it would be this hard. He was warned yes, but...well...he took it with a grain of salt. upon realizing however that the terminal has turned into the bar-his face melts into a confused expression.
"...You'd better turn back before my flight." He mutters, "....But thanks."
Crowd too many people into an area and it's bound to get even the most average werewolf upset.
So when the bar door opens to reveal an airport and a figure dressed all in black wielding a military issue duffel and a very uncomfortable look on his face, the mun invites you to use this label liberally.
Christopher Muldoon did not think it would be this hard. He was warned yes, but...well...he took it with a grain of salt. upon realizing however that the terminal has turned into the bar-his face melts into a confused expression.
"...You'd better turn back before my flight." He mutters, "....But thanks."
Crowd too many people into an area and it's bound to get even the most average werewolf upset.
(no subject)
Aug. 18th, 2007 12:56 pmhearthethoughts.livejournal.comRemember that Milli-Alphabet? D stands for disgruntled, F, (It's forebear, forefather, forerunner) stands for Farked up timelines
(Edited for content and all that)
And as such, There is a Matt Parkman who is completely and utterly unaware of what an ass he'll grow up to be five years from now on the verge of walking Janice through their house, "...Honey-"
He still has his wife's hand as the bar appears-in their bathroom.
Remember? F for Farked up timelines? That means that as far as Matt's concerned, this is the first time Janice has seen the bar.
He's just going to kind of stare for a few minutes before turning to his wife and saying, "...Baby...please don't freak out."
(Edited for content and all that)
And as such, There is a Matt Parkman who is completely and utterly unaware of what an ass he'll grow up to be five years from now on the verge of walking Janice through their house, "...Honey-"
He still has his wife's hand as the bar appears-in their bathroom.
Remember? F for Farked up timelines? That means that as far as Matt's concerned, this is the first time Janice has seen the bar.
He's just going to kind of stare for a few minutes before turning to his wife and saying, "...Baby...please don't freak out."
(no subject)
Aug. 18th, 2007 01:33 pmaggro-speed.livejournal.comHe's had a long day.
A very long day.
Which is why Brian pushes through the parts store, shedding his leather jacket as he goes, swings the door open, and steps in, throwing his jacket at the chair.
There isn't a chair there, and there's lights and music all around, instead. It takes him a moment of sheer gawking before he realized where his jacket landed.
"Sorry!"
Hey, it's just a surprise flying jacket. Forgive him?
A very long day.
Which is why Brian pushes through the parts store, shedding his leather jacket as he goes, swings the door open, and steps in, throwing his jacket at the chair.
There isn't a chair there, and there's lights and music all around, instead. It takes him a moment of sheer gawking before he realized where his jacket landed.
"Sorry!"
Hey, it's just a surprise flying jacket. Forgive him?
(no subject)
Aug. 18th, 2007 01:48 pmmilkbonesoldier.livejournal.comWells has taken to snapping a thick, broad rubberband against his wrist whenever the urge to scratch at the bandages around the right side of his head takes him. Unfortunately for the people around him, this means a fairly steady current of snap! noises. Healing itches, no matter what painkillers he's on.
Ah, well, beats blind-fighting the girls. And anyway, the book he's got on grappling techniques as used in several of the South American fighting styles manages to distract him at least a little bit, so he might not snarl too much if someone got his attention.
Ah, well, beats blind-fighting the girls. And anyway, the book he's got on grappling techniques as used in several of the South American fighting styles manages to distract him at least a little bit, so he might not snarl too much if someone got his attention.
(no subject)
Aug. 18th, 2007 02:10 pmfighter--pilot.livejournal.comSo, a few days ago, someone lost his datapad.
A couple of days before that, the same someone left that same datapad in a chair after fighting with Shalla.
Possibly these things have something to do with one another. And also have to do with the three datapads in front of Shalla. One looks completely ruined, another looks factory new -- except for the back panel being missing -- and the third is in her hands, patched into the new one as she types out code.
She is so completely innocent.
A couple of days before that, the same someone left that same datapad in a chair after fighting with Shalla.
Possibly these things have something to do with one another. And also have to do with the three datapads in front of Shalla. One looks completely ruined, another looks factory new -- except for the back panel being missing -- and the third is in her hands, patched into the new one as she types out code.
She is so completely innocent.
(no subject)
Aug. 18th, 2007 04:09 pmpuckishly.livejournal.comWhen Puck comes down to the bar-- and, more to the point, the Bar-- he is greeted with a bag of licorice drops.
"Oh, really," he mutters, and leaves them on the counter, seeking refuge in a corner booth.
It's not that he's antisocial, per se.
Simply hiding from an excess of apologies.
"Oh, really," he mutters, and leaves them on the counter, seeking refuge in a corner booth.
It's not that he's antisocial, per se.
Simply hiding from an excess of apologies.
(no subject)
Aug. 18th, 2007 06:06 pmnotascreensaverAndrAIa couldn't help but be scared as she looked at the door. It was. . .such a frightening idea.
"I hope this is okay." She said, more to herself than anyone else, before stepping through the door into Milliways.
The first thing she noticed was the fact that everyone seemed to be the same color. "Weird."
Really, really weird. But, in a way, it was almost like Al's.
"I hope this is okay." She said, more to herself than anyone else, before stepping through the door into Milliways.
The first thing she noticed was the fact that everyone seemed to be the same color. "Weird."
Really, really weird. But, in a way, it was almost like Al's.
(no subject)
Aug. 18th, 2007 06:52 pmcheevy.livejournal.comMiniver.
In the bar.
Reading Cyrano de Bergerac.
Because irony is a fun thing.
Bother him!
In the bar.
Reading Cyrano de Bergerac.
Because irony is a fun thing.
Bother him!
(no subject)
Aug. 18th, 2007 07:10 pmliterallyrotten.livejournal.comSome time after this.
Darren Nichols is out. Leaning against a tree.
He can't breathe. He can't breathe. Shit, he's going to pass out, he can't breathe. Shit. Shit.
He totally thought he was going to die.
Darren Nichols is out. Leaning against a tree.
He can't breathe. He can't breathe. Shit, he's going to pass out, he can't breathe. Shit. Shit.
He totally thought he was going to die.
(no subject)
Aug. 18th, 2007 07:16 pmohholyknight.livejournal.comThe door slams open, and a man all but flies in, backwards, wearing armour and a white cloak with a red cross over street clothes. He lands heavily on his back, but the next moment he's on his feet, sword raised and charging back towards the door.
Except the door isn't there any more.
Except the door isn't there any more.
(no subject)
Aug. 18th, 2007 07:38 pmsmart-house.livejournal.com[OOM: Back in Eureka, SARAH's external sensors are finally brought online.]
forgoodorforawesomeSuddenly, and without warning, a certain duo pop into the bar. "!won eloh ht91 a tog eW !aohW" says Strong Bad, then shakes his head as if trying to clear it. "I dunno, The Cheat. Which do you think is weirder, Milliways or Sweet Puttin' Cakes?"
"I dunno. Why not ask Bar herself?"
"Oo, good idea." Strong Bad bellies up to the Bar. "So what'cha think, babe? You weirder than a putt-iature golf course where the laws of physics don't exactly apply?"
His answer is a cake, iced in the shape of a golf green, with a rather non-standard number (3#1) on the flag poking out of the hole. "Three-number-one? Am I gonna have to call in a counting expert to find out if that's a real number or what?"
"I dunno. Why not ask Bar herself?"
"Oo, good idea." Strong Bad bellies up to the Bar. "So what'cha think, babe? You weirder than a putt-iature golf course where the laws of physics don't exactly apply?"
His answer is a cake, iced in the shape of a golf green, with a rather non-standard number (3#1) on the flag poking out of the hole. "Three-number-one? Am I gonna have to call in a counting expert to find out if that's a real number or what?"
(no subject)
Aug. 18th, 2007 08:40 pmstuck-mynock.livejournal.com[OOMs: In a Coruscant art gallery, Atton (after a tiny bit of persuasion) gains himself an ally. On some far flung Outer Rim world, Bob does the same.]
Atton's sitting in a booth, not looking especially pleased with anything, really. His fingers are steepled, and bright blue sparks are jumping from them, and he's frowning. He hasn't stopped frowning for quite a while, really - Trouble seems to keep stacking up.
He's trying to immerse himself in reading a book (the cover appears to just be plain grey, with no markings, so it's difficult to tell what it is) but it's not working so well. The book was meant to be funny, but Atton doesn't much feel like laughing.
Botherable.
Atton's sitting in a booth, not looking especially pleased with anything, really. His fingers are steepled, and bright blue sparks are jumping from them, and he's frowning. He hasn't stopped frowning for quite a while, really - Trouble seems to keep stacking up.
He's trying to immerse himself in reading a book (the cover appears to just be plain grey, with no markings, so it's difficult to tell what it is) but it's not working so well. The book was meant to be funny, but Atton doesn't much feel like laughing.
Botherable.
(no subject)
Aug. 18th, 2007 08:48 pmfarmerfromhell.livejournal.comEllie is having a hell of a day, and when her door opens to the Bar instead of her bedroom she's almost relieved.
"Listen, Gav, if you bloody break one more thing, you little bugger, I'm throwing your dinner to the dogs," she yells over her shoulder, and slams the door behind her, muttering a stream of invectives about thirteen-year-olds and their possible parentage, hygiene and habits.
It's hard being a parent when you're not yet twenty. Ellie could really use a drink.
"Listen, Gav, if you bloody break one more thing, you little bugger, I'm throwing your dinner to the dogs," she yells over her shoulder, and slams the door behind her, muttering a stream of invectives about thirteen-year-olds and their possible parentage, hygiene and habits.
It's hard being a parent when you're not yet twenty. Ellie could really use a drink.
*cackle cackle cackle snorf*
Aug. 18th, 2007 08:49 pmlittle-miss-sue.livejournal.comIt was a dark and stormy night...
Someplace else.
Here, though, it's a normal night. There's no foreboding music, no crashes of lightning, no ominous chiming of a clock. Is there a clock in the bar? Who knows.
But there is an open door. And through that open door slips your dream girl (or at least, the dream girl of someone you know and you like her too, don't you? You do. She's just got that special something...), the most luminous, the most lustrous, the most brilliant, the most daring, the bravest, the brightest, the most graceful, the most powerful, the most polite, the kindest, the sweetest girl you've never met.
Hello, Milliways. Meet Mary Sue.
[ooc: slowtime for the moment! brain is out for the night. dun worry; Mary Sue will be in most nights the plot is running!]
(no subject)
Aug. 18th, 2007 08:50 pmcandied-rabbit.livejournal.comMomiji Sohma had an expression on his face that was equal parts lost and curious as he opened the door to the bar just a crack and peeked in. Glancing around, he could see that his impression of it from the outside had been correct – a bar, and not exactly the sort of place he was supposed to wander after school. But it also hardly seemed to be your average bar, and he didn’t have a clue where he was, so…he stepped inside, standing near the door in his school-girl’s uniform and looking all around in a mix of wonder and worry.
He was, however, almost immediately distracted by all the strange residents – and, thus, there was a little, lost, blonde boy wandering around the bar, looking over everything with childish excitement. Just wait ‘til he told Hatori where he’d been!
“Oh, wow…”
panser-bjorn.livejournal.com(OOM: Of how Iorek Byrnison took a wrong turn to the End of the Universe. Warning: Very mild spoilers for Northern Lights. No, really, I kept the post small so the spoilers are minimal. )
He just stepped through what looked like a stone arch, half of it natural and the other half made from carefully-hewn masonry. For a moment a corridor of the same stone was visible behind him. Then both arch and corridor were gone, right before he stood on his hind legs with alarming speed and turned around to face... The wall of Milliways. Slowly, the massive head is tilted as a huge paw raises to touch the wall with surprising gentleness. This curiosity, this determined, definite sentience... This is no common polar bear (if the close-fitting armor made of black iron wasn't a dead giveaway).
Carefully he lifts his paw to the base of his neck and undoes the straps and buckles holding the headplate of his armor. Maybe... Maybe Iofur got one good strike in, and he didn't realize. He has heard of head-wounds like that. Not showing until, a few days from the blow, you start seeing things that aren't there. He removes the armored plate and holds it in one fairly nimble paw, while the other carefully touches the back and top of his skull, then the sides. And all the time he remains oddly, almost eerily silent.
(OOC: Come welcome Iorek Byrnison into Milliways, please! He doesn't bite. Unless provoked.)
(OOC 2, the Son of OOC: Mun is currently grabbing a ride back home, which will take between half and one hour. Will tag back as soon as I get settled back home. Thanks for the welcome tags, people!)
(OOC 3, the Return of the Son of the Daughter of OOC Strikes Back: And since it's past midnight here and I'll be dragged off bed early tomorrow to do family-y things, I'm afraid I must be retiring for the night. Will tag back tomorrow! Honest!)
He just stepped through what looked like a stone arch, half of it natural and the other half made from carefully-hewn masonry. For a moment a corridor of the same stone was visible behind him. Then both arch and corridor were gone, right before he stood on his hind legs with alarming speed and turned around to face... The wall of Milliways. Slowly, the massive head is tilted as a huge paw raises to touch the wall with surprising gentleness. This curiosity, this determined, definite sentience... This is no common polar bear (if the close-fitting armor made of black iron wasn't a dead giveaway).
Carefully he lifts his paw to the base of his neck and undoes the straps and buckles holding the headplate of his armor. Maybe... Maybe Iofur got one good strike in, and he didn't realize. He has heard of head-wounds like that. Not showing until, a few days from the blow, you start seeing things that aren't there. He removes the armored plate and holds it in one fairly nimble paw, while the other carefully touches the back and top of his skull, then the sides. And all the time he remains oddly, almost eerily silent.
(OOC: Come welcome Iorek Byrnison into Milliways, please! He doesn't bite. Unless provoked.)
(OOC 2, the Son of OOC: Mun is currently grabbing a ride back home, which will take between half and one hour. Will tag back as soon as I get settled back home. Thanks for the welcome tags, people!)
(OOC 3, the Return of the Son of the Daughter of OOC Strikes Back: And since it's past midnight here and I'll be dragged off bed early tomorrow to do family-y things, I'm afraid I must be retiring for the night. Will tag back tomorrow! Honest!)
(no subject)
Aug. 18th, 2007 09:40 pmguppy_sandhuIt's unusually quiet in St James' Accident and Emergency department for a saturday night.
Why? Because the patient in cubicle 3 turned out to be covered in radioactive... stuff. And consequently Guppy got a call to say the entire department was closed for four hours, so to enjoy himself or have a nice sleep.
So Guppy is in a booth by the infirmary, doing the latter. Peacefully it seems.
The doctor is in
Please prod for attention
Why? Because the patient in cubicle 3 turned out to be covered in radioactive... stuff. And consequently Guppy got a call to say the entire department was closed for four hours, so to enjoy himself or have a nice sleep.
So Guppy is in a booth by the infirmary, doing the latter. Peacefully it seems.
The doctor is in
Please prod for attention
(no subject)
Aug. 18th, 2007 09:56 pmnotboundnow.livejournal.comHe couldn't say what had kept him away from the Bar since they last saw each other. Their last meeting had been -- odd, the least reason for which had been that he'd been a she at the time. But there were other things too, other things that just got in the way of his trying.
(What was he supposed to tell her? That she'd he'd lain on his couch alone at night, holding up bare arms and -- fool's errand, but -- tugging. Because they'd been thin wrists, those girl's bones, and hadn't it been worth a try, even after all these years?)
He got all wound up and retreated, but Charlie had called in through their statuette: will you be in the Bar tonight? He couldn't refuse that. It's been some time by now, and frankly, there are things that need to be said.
So Prometheus is prowling through the Bar, searching. He looks, dare we say it, a bit excited. You know what they say about absence and hearts.
(What was he supposed to tell her? That she'd he'd lain on his couch alone at night, holding up bare arms and -- fool's errand, but -- tugging. Because they'd been thin wrists, those girl's bones, and hadn't it been worth a try, even after all these years?)
He got all wound up and retreated, but Charlie had called in through their statuette: will you be in the Bar tonight? He couldn't refuse that. It's been some time by now, and frankly, there are things that need to be said.
So Prometheus is prowling through the Bar, searching. He looks, dare we say it, a bit excited. You know what they say about absence and hearts.
(no subject)
Aug. 18th, 2007 10:08 pmanotherlifebro.livejournal.comDesmond's at the Bar with a mug of coffee, clean-shaven and with his hair combed back.
He's tired, though, and he looks it; the coffee's there for a reason.
He sits watching the bar as a whole, as if looking for something in particular.
He's tired, though, and he looks it; the coffee's there for a reason.
He sits watching the bar as a whole, as if looking for something in particular.
(no subject)
Aug. 18th, 2007 10:12 pmsmart-house.livejournal.comAfter yesterday's unexpected field trip, and Dr. Fargo finally turning on the lights (albeit metaphorically), the last thing SARAH was actually expecting was Milliways Bar.
Again.
This time, she's prepared.
Again, the main door -- steel, looking to be almost rusted through -- swings open, and the same concrete stairway.
But now:
"Hello?" echoes a woman's voice from down the stairwell. "Have I been transported again?"
[ooc: SARAH can now be heard from in the bar, but is not broadcast through the entire area, just conversational volume immediately surrounding the door. Layout maps are here.]
Again.
This time, she's prepared.
Again, the main door -- steel, looking to be almost rusted through -- swings open, and the same concrete stairway.
But now:
"Hello?" echoes a woman's voice from down the stairwell. "Have I been transported again?"
[ooc: SARAH can now be heard from in the bar, but is not broadcast through the entire area, just conversational volume immediately surrounding the door. Layout maps are here.]
(no subject)
Aug. 18th, 2007 10:27 pmhippodamioYesterday, Hektor met someone new, and spoke with them at some length; and he learned such things as a man cannot unhear, no matter how hard he tries. The prospect of his sister, here- sometime in years yet to come, somehow-
Well.
Something strange is afoot. It rattled him yesterday, and he slept little. Today he has tried to gather himself together, and nearly succeeded. It was a little past noon when he realized that he had spoken of the anger he'd never let any see, and allowed the thoughts he never acknowledged to shape his words- the strangled rage at any who might hurt his sister, be they mortal or be they a god. That, surely, could only lead to disaster; he has had little peace since that realization.
For now he is trying to put it from his thoughts and memorize the slender gray-bound volume of Sonezu's advice on the making and waging of war, but it is far too much reading for him to bear up under, and he has gone over the same page four times so far. A distraction would not go amiss.
Well.
Something strange is afoot. It rattled him yesterday, and he slept little. Today he has tried to gather himself together, and nearly succeeded. It was a little past noon when he realized that he had spoken of the anger he'd never let any see, and allowed the thoughts he never acknowledged to shape his words- the strangled rage at any who might hurt his sister, be they mortal or be they a god. That, surely, could only lead to disaster; he has had little peace since that realization.
For now he is trying to put it from his thoughts and memorize the slender gray-bound volume of Sonezu's advice on the making and waging of war, but it is far too much reading for him to bear up under, and he has gone over the same page four times so far. A distraction would not go amiss.
(no subject)
Aug. 18th, 2007 10:33 pmkayip.livejournal.com[OOM: Behrooz has a wolfdream, with some bonus confusing surrealism. I'm lacking for a clever way to summarize, no warnings.]
Behrooz wanders into the Bar, glancing around the room a few times before he takes a seat at a table and orders a glass of tea from a passing waitrat, resting his head in his hand and nearly drifting off again.
He's rudely awakened again by the arrival of the tea, and a newspaper from his world. He's not exactly... pleased to see this, but at the same time, he's been cut off from the rest of the world even on the outside - it is a measure of freedom he won't have when he returns, so he should probably take advantage of it.
But he turns the pages to avoid the photographs, eyes running over the stories as the tea goes untouched.
Behrooz wanders into the Bar, glancing around the room a few times before he takes a seat at a table and orders a glass of tea from a passing waitrat, resting his head in his hand and nearly drifting off again.
He's rudely awakened again by the arrival of the tea, and a newspaper from his world. He's not exactly... pleased to see this, but at the same time, he's been cut off from the rest of the world even on the outside - it is a measure of freedom he won't have when he returns, so he should probably take advantage of it.
But he turns the pages to avoid the photographs, eyes running over the stories as the tea goes untouched.
(no subject)
Aug. 18th, 2007 10:57 pmmnt_mikeSomething has to be done. And that something must clearly involve large boxes of paperwork.
Scratch that, large multicolored boxes of paperwork.
From behind the pile a sullen voice can be heard grumbling.
"stupid responsibility. stupid paperwork. stupid....stupid.
Distractions are welcome, but not so welcome as a scape goat...or a flame thrower.
Scratch that, large multicolored boxes of paperwork.
From behind the pile a sullen voice can be heard grumbling.
"stupid responsibility. stupid paperwork. stupid....stupid.
Distractions are welcome, but not so welcome as a scape goat...or a flame thrower.
(no subject)
Aug. 18th, 2007 11:41 pmslasherofprices.livejournal.comSandford's favorite homicidal supermarket manager is enjoying another fine piece of literature (this one not large enough to kill a man) at a table with his feet propped up on the tabletop. They are strategically slanted so that they do not endanger the cup of tea also sharing the table space with his legs. Occasionally, he will glance up and eye a passing person. Maybe he's eying you?
[ ooc: yo homies! i gots ta sleep. slowtime plees. ]
[ ooc: yo homies! i gots ta sleep. slowtime plees. ]
(no subject)
Aug. 18th, 2007 11:47 pmdats-dildoes.livejournal.comIt was a mellow night for the rockstar, in fact, it was a very mellow night for the rockstar.
Probably he was still on vacation, he was, however, glad to have his ding-dong back, and would probably tell you so if you asked.
Just at the moment Skwisgaar was perched on the windowsill, guitar unplugged at the moment, just picking away at something, brow furrowed in what could be considered concentration.
Probably he was still on vacation, he was, however, glad to have his ding-dong back, and would probably tell you so if you asked.
Just at the moment Skwisgaar was perched on the windowsill, guitar unplugged at the moment, just picking away at something, brow furrowed in what could be considered concentration.
(no subject)
Aug. 18th, 2007 11:50 pmgoodbyesandusky.livejournal.comClive? Was celebrating.
Not only had Milan been utterly fabulous, but Mother had gotten an upgrade. Of course, it had started as a firebombing, but Empress ChiChi, her boys, the girls, and of course Gypsy, weren't about to let something like that keep them down for long.
And Clive, well, he was a generous boy even when he didn't have much to give. Not the case now, mister hot-shot fashion designer.
That would probably explain why he was sitting at one of the smaller tables, almost-swaying and almost-giggling, they'd been having a grand-reopening party before he'd arrived, and just at the moment he was very happy about... well, everything.
Not only had Milan been utterly fabulous, but Mother had gotten an upgrade. Of course, it had started as a firebombing, but Empress ChiChi, her boys, the girls, and of course Gypsy, weren't about to let something like that keep them down for long.
And Clive, well, he was a generous boy even when he didn't have much to give. Not the case now, mister hot-shot fashion designer.
That would probably explain why he was sitting at one of the smaller tables, almost-swaying and almost-giggling, they'd been having a grand-reopening party before he'd arrived, and just at the moment he was very happy about... well, everything.
(no subject)
Aug. 18th, 2007 11:56 pmnot-de-la-vega.livejournal.comJoaquin had gotten used to the idea that he was going to be stuck here for some time.
Of course, his sleep patterns hadn't settled at all, he didn't suspect they were ever going to, really. As soon as he was in a good old-fashioned deep REM sleep he'd jolt himself awake thinking he smelled smoke, or heard the bells, or any number of things.
Of course, being from 1887, he didn't have anyone around to diagnose it as extreme stress. Or some bizarre form of ADD or something.
Just at the moment he was settled near the fire, sipping a mug of coca and watching the flames.
Of course, his sleep patterns hadn't settled at all, he didn't suspect they were ever going to, really. As soon as he was in a good old-fashioned deep REM sleep he'd jolt himself awake thinking he smelled smoke, or heard the bells, or any number of things.
Of course, being from 1887, he didn't have anyone around to diagnose it as extreme stress. Or some bizarre form of ADD or something.
Just at the moment he was settled near the fire, sipping a mug of coca and watching the flames.
