milliways_bar | Sep. 22nd, 2007

Sep. 22nd, 2007

cheevy.livejournal.com

Miniver!

In the bar!

Looking SMUG.

Come say hi.

So, there were these free brownies. Danny had some. They made him happy. Ridiculously happy. Giggly, too. Even more than usual, that is.

So, there he is, sitting at a table, flipping the pages of his notepad, watching the doodled cartoons backwards...and forwards...and in slow-motion...and really, really fast...and then backwards again...

And omg the burglar getting his head blown up is SOOOOOOOOO hilarious, even after the 30th time he's seen it.

diamond-badgirl.livejournal.com

Opening a super-thick steel reinforced door in an underground bunker is kind of annoying; all those wheels and secondary locks, but it's better than her experiments and devices being detected or worse, taken and used against her. Besides, you get used to it.

Opening a super-thick steel reinforced door and finding a bar behind it is...new. Lucy Diamond, crime boss extraordinaire, is a bit surprised. Then she sees beer.

"Oooh."

Still, before she walks through, she pulls out a rather large cell phone, dials a number and talks into the handsfree. "Scud? I might be a while joining you guys. I've still got my hands full of ...wires, and electrodes, and, um, chemicals."

A moment's listen. "Yes, I called her. And if she calls back I'll pick it up! One of these days we'll find you someone, then you can find something else to do, okay?" Pause, then a laugh. "Yes, you can order pizza for you and the gang, but if I find you've gotten it delivered again, something terrible will happen, got it? No strangers in the hideout! Okay...Bye!"

Now she walks through the door, digging her wallet out of her back pocket on her way to the bar.

human-child.livejournal.com

The door opens.

Enter (okay, rather, stumble-enter) one sleepy-eyed Bastian.

"'s not th'kitchen... ooooh. Brownie."

Proceed with face stuffage and hilarity.

kayip.livejournal.com

[OOM: Another attempt to change your mind.]

Behrooz doesn't look around when he enters the Bar - his eyes go to the booths, passing over the occupied ones without registering who's taken them before spotting a secluded, empty looking one near a corner. He heads over quickly, sliding in and dropping the large file folder onto the table, pausing only to stop a passing waitrat to ask for a sandwich and some tea.

Fortunately, it's night by now in Milliways, so the order arrives as Behrooz is carefully pulling out stacks of papers, spreading them over the table but keeping them in easy reach should he want to quickly gather them up again if someone comes over.

didntseeit.livejournal.com

So, there were brownies, and she knew that she shouldn't have taken one. She knew. And she also knew what it was like to be stoned.

Well, she can remember bits. It was about six years ago, really. With the Russian boys in Miami. Or maybe that was just drunk. No, no, she thinks she was stoned than, too.

Hasn't been so since, though.

So, at the moment the young Mexican woman is standing at the Window, hands braced against the frame, and watching the the explosions and swirls and pretty shiny colours.

There is an awful amount of giggling.

try_corsets

[OOM: Welcome to Singapore.

Link contains AWE spoilers. Ye be warned!]

no-sin-but.livejournal.com

The other day, it was eyepatches and costumes.

Today it is giggling.

If no one minds, Marlowe is just...going to stay over here. Out of the way, with a book that he isn't going to read because he doesn't trust the giggling.

Maybe it's a sign that he actually needs to venture back into his own world.

...

Nah.

jedi-exile.livejournal.com

[OOM: On Alderaan, Kira and Revan have a pretty normal day...you know. Sleeping, eating, taking care of those babies.

Promises of sex. You know how it goes.]

kittehnpip.livejournal.com

Hey, it's those cats that showed up last week! This time, they're not tumbling in, but running under their own power. The smaller one is carrying a metal bucket that's almost as big as he is, piled high with fish.

"NOOOO!" cries a deep voice from the other side of the door. "THEY BE STEALIN MAH BUCKIT!"

"All ur bass r belong 2 us!" the larger cat yells back before slamming the door and joining his partner to divvy up the spoils of victory.

young_womble

There's a Womble in the bar.

He's regretting his choice of scavenged food last night. He spent the evening wandering around bumping into table legs until finding Toki, who explained and gave him salad. Then the next few hours or so are a bit of a blur until he woke up on the floor of his little room with a splitting headache.

He still has the splitting headache, and his paws hurt, and he has no idea how long Human Being illicit substances will stay in his system for and his glasses are held together with selotape after he fell down the stairs.

However, his sign is still up, on the offchance that the nice blue lady with the jars comes back. Or any other trade that will help him pay the tab debt he's been fretting about.

Polishing service
Shoes: Five new pence per pair
Cutlery or silverwear: Two new pence per item
Other: Price negotiable according to size
Extra penny charge for sharp things.

Will also try and repair things (1970s or before)

For service, knock on table.

aggro-speed.livejournal.com

Brian is still perplexed by his life and many interesting happenings. Very perplexed.

This is why he's outside, hanging upside down by his knees from a tree branch. Maybe he's meditating. Maybe he's thinking deeply. Maybe he's killing time.

Or he's just a doofus. This is always a possibility. And the best way to know is always to ask.

literallyrotten.livejournal.com

Darren Nichols has been keeping a low profile.

But he is here, and today again with a good deal more of the quintessentially Darren PRESENCE that seems to fill up more space than a skinny, not overly tall man can possibly do on his own.

It's a skill. Anyways, he's in a relatively central booth, enjoying dinner.

gone_byebye

Ray spent the night upstairs last night. Not that he got much sleep- he mostly spent it bouncing on the bed. It has a MATTRESS. There are SPRINGS in it. And NO BUGS. Do you know what it's like not to have to sprinkle powdered caffeine all over your things to kill the local insect population, every night of the year? It's not fun. But this was a CLEAN BED and it had a MATTRESS and SHEETS and there was CLIMATE CONTROL and you can understand why he didn't sleep that much.

What can we say? He's easily entertained. And now he's back in a time he understands, and hoo nelly is he ever glad about it! Come say hi.

calderon-crow.livejournal.com

The young man walks in, bloodied and tired and aching in every bit of his body, wishing faintly for a bit of watercrafting ability if only to take care of the soreness of his muscles. The battle had been over for days now, but there was almost more work to do now than there had been before Elinarch had fallen.

His armor had been clean this morning; Tavi hadn't cleaned it, of course, as he had other things to handle. Max had probably gotten one of the camp workers to do it, which was his business. He was always going on about the importance of his appearance to the men, but Tavi had about as much patience for it now as he had in the middle of things (which wasn't very much). Either way, it didn't matter. He'd spent his day amongst the men in the medical tents, talking to them, helping the healers and keeping their spirits up; his armor was dirty now and after all the talking he'd done, he sort of preferred it that way.

Either way, he doesn't realize where he is or what's going on for a minute or so, until he knocks into a chair really. His first thought involves how Max would scold him for not getting enough rest, his second on how Kitai would agree. His third, however--

"What crows-damned idiot decided to put a drinking hall in the command center?"

Oh, he would have that architect strung up by his toes.
[ooc: slowtime?]

the_cupbearer

Ganymede is in the Bar once again, nestled in a booth in blue jeans and a t-shirt. Both are unreasonably tight, and he picks at the latter in annoyance, now and then. Out in front of him on the tabletop are a glass of some sort of soda, a plate bearing a hamburger and french fries, and, as if for backup, a glass of rich, red wine.

He is, to be brief, still using his time at Milliways to experience more of modern, mortal cuisine. "Culture" is pretty much out, here, but food and drink (and clothes, obviously) he can do, at least. And, who knows? One day, Zeus might get a taste for Coca-Cola or denim, and his knowledge would suddenly pay off.

...Zeus in denim would be creepy.

Nevertheless, this might be why he's refilling the soda-glass oh-so-carefully from the can, watching the carbonated stuff fizz and sniffing at it just a little, trying not to look too weird while doing all of this.

walksthebounds

Some people would say that outside is the appropriate place to kick around a football.

Some people, Jamie would say, have clearly not been outside this evening; now that it's fall, the temperature's starting to get bloody freezing at nights.

And it's not like he's kicking it too hard. More dribbling, really.

The chairs and tables just make it more interesting.

1mojojojo.livejournal.com

Stepping in backwards through the front door is an ape. A fine ape with a large brain. A fine ape with a large brain who just happens to be in full-on villain rant mode.

"That's all just well enough because in reality there is only room enough in this world for one Mojo Jojo. One shall be the number of Mojo Jojos in the world, and the number of Mojo Jojos in the world shall be one. Two Mojo Jojos is too many and three is right out. So the only Mojo Jojo there is room for in the world shall be me, and being the only Mojo Jojo in the world,I will rule the world in which there is only one Mojo-"

Mojo Jojo freezes. Slowly, he turns around, eyes wide.

"-Jojo."

The front door slams shut.

"Whaaaaat?"

Tiny Simian Tag: Mojo Jojo

dingdongdoodily.livejournal.com

A swaggering, young redhead steps through the door, almost as if he knew it was going to be there. Smiling to himself, he chuckled and took a drag of his cigarette.

"Gad, I hate it when I do that."

He dropped himself sideways in a cushy leather chair and ordered the regular, and set his hat down on the table beside him, and pulled out a pocket notepad, to scribble down a time and date.

And then some lyrics.

And then I find myself at the door
Its beckoning call of sin and pleasure
I step through, never asking for
The end of the universe's guilty pleasure.

Pickles is back, guys.

guppy_sandhu

Guppy is in a corner, frowning at a copy of the Holby Gazette, - 'Holby Bombing Fiasco, an Accident Waiting to Happen'.

Looks like City is still having more than its fair share of angst. One more reason why he's glad he doesn't work there any more. But he's never keen to see his former colleagues in trouble. Especially when they bore the brunt of a MAJAX, which is never the most predictable of events.

Coffee, and pensive expression.

The doctor is in

notthatpotter

( Feel free to tag/read this post but be aware that it will contain Harry Potter & the Deathly Hallows spoilers! )

gammagammahey.livejournal.com

The door to Milliways begins to push inwards, then pauses in its trajectory.

"Sorry, stranger," comes a female voice, over the sound of Manhattan traffic on a warm and humid early autumn afternoon. "I didn't mean to almost knock you over with continuity."

"That's okay," replies a youngish male voice. "I'm never washing these clothes again, Ms. Walters."

The door continues to open, revealing one She-Hulk balancing six large white cardboard boxes - three per hand - as she uses her foot to inch the door open. On seeing Milliways, she pauses, surprised, but surprise is quickly followed by a smile, while she uses her left foot to shove the door shut behind her.

"Well, look what stumbled back into my way. This is perfect."

She makes her way to table, placing her two stacks of boxes on the surface. The boxes are printed with "PROPERTY OF GOODMAN, LIEBER, KURTZBURG & HOLLIWAY" in large, stern Palatino on the sides.

Below that, each box sports adamant writing in red marker: "Keep individual documents bagged and boarded when not in use!"

Jen's far more casually dressed than her previous visits to Milliways; she sports a black Iron Man t-shirt that has been subjected to some obviously deliberate and pointed alteration, dark denim jeans, purple suede Pumas, and a large purple backpack.

Once the boxes are settled, she shrugs off her backpack, unzips it, and extracts a silver laptop, a pen, and a pad of purple Post-It sticky notes, then politely orders a draft Heineken from a waitrat.

Then she begins to open the nearest box, which contains Iron Man, volume I, issues 5 through 75 inclusive (mint condition), bagged and boarded.

[[OOC: She's baaaack, and she missed Milliways! Shulkie is now at the point in canon immediately before the events of World War Hulk #1 (as in, just a few days before), so please don't spoil her for events therein, as she'll be going through World War Hulk canon over the next two months. :-) ]]

[[ETA: OMG, I'm crashing, folks, and must call slowtime! Thank you for the threadage of awesome. ]]

aka-guardi.livejournal.com

At first the pair that walks through the door fail to notice that they're not where they started, they're so engrossed with bickering with each other. One might almost assume they were married. Or perhaps brother and sister.

"No!" the boy is insisting. His face is set stubbornly, though there's a hint suggesting he knows he'll fail.

"Giovanni, please?" the girl pleads, with a level of stubborn insistance a fraction above his. "You know I can't go dressed as a woman, and I can't exactly buy them myself." She's tall, the same height as her brother, and holds herself with careful composure, trusting her argument to win out on its own merits.

They're both dressed in simple yet well made clothes that place their point of origin as somewhere in the 18th century, gentlefolk if not extravagent with clothing.

"Francesca!" he says, exasperated. "I am not going to buy you men's clothes. How would I explain wasting the money to Mother?"

"You won't need to," she points out, circling him, with a grace helped my her corset. "She'll be happy that you're leaving the house..."

It's about then that she notices that they're not quite where they started out, and trails off mid sentence.

"... an inn?"

[OOC: two new pups, two old muns. Please welcome Francesca (

aka_guardi) and Giovanni (

aka_casanova) Bruni.]

[Son of OOC: Francesca-mun has gone to bed. Giovanni-mun is still around and will take all tags. Unless you tag after she's gone to bed. Then you get whoever's first up in the morning.]

hippodamio

The book is finished; Hektor learned off the last page of Sonezu's writings on the arts and practice of war today. When he looked up from it, the door had returned. He isn't much fond of overstaying the goddess' welcome, but his things that are here are in need of some care before he returns to Troy with them; so if you look over towards the fire a little, there is a table where a youth of perhaps fifteen is sharpening a bronze spear-head, and making ready to go over the leather cuirass he had with him when he came in.

badinlatin

[OOM: After Mal's job goes wrong

-- again --

Mal needs patching up

-- again.]

adamantiumloner

Logan is back in the main bar tonight. The cells weren't bad, he's certainly been in worse places, but it wasn't the best time he's had since coming here either.

Instead of his usual serving of booze and something filling he's got a cup of coffee and a plate of donuts. Just seemed like a good thing for tonight.

an_evening_star

[OOM: In which Tristran and Yvaine move too slow, too fast, and in an entirely unexpected direction.]

The impressiveness of the rather sudden and rather solid thunk of bodies hitting the hardwood is only truly impressive until one hears the inventive string of curses that it prompts.

It continues on without repeating (which might be the most impressive part) in a manner entirely unbefitting the the ladylike voice of the decidedly shimmery body on the bottom of the tangled pile of limbs and flushing and far too many skirts, and only cuts itself off at a particularly scandalized, "Yvaine!"

The muffled laughter that replies is significantly less scandalized and significantly more amused.

That is, until it registers that they are lying in what is most definitely not a hallway.

The quiet, "Oh, this is lovely." is much more appropriately mortified.