milliways_bar | Dec. 4th, 2007

Dec. 4th, 2007

call-me-kick.livejournal.com

Kick's been gone for two days. (It may seem longer, if you haven't seen her -- and chances are, you haven't. She's stealthy like that.)

She hates being home, though, especially without her uncle (even if he's the reason she left in the first place) -- so before the sun rises, she slinks back through her door and back into Milliways.

Slowly, she makes her way to Bar and is greeted by a happy-looking Nero on the way. "Shush, you," she says to the wolf, petting him on the head. "Don't you tell uncle Nick I'm back yet."

He doesn't. He does follow her, though, hoping that Kick'll share the waffles she just got from Bar.

She does.

So there you have it -- a small girl and a wolfpup who's a little more than half her size, sitting near the fire, eating waffles.

priestoftravel.livejournal.com

Nicholas D. Wolfwood had been around. You might have seen him in passing, as he tended for the plants which lined the outside walls of the bar, making sure they were well insulated to prepare for winter.

He'd seen snow last winter, but was still amazed by the stuff. It was white and cold and pure, and it made him realize that maybe, just maybe, things on Stantal weren't all that great, but there were things in the universe that still showed God's grace and ability.

Snow. Well, he couldn't say he hated it, but you wouldn't see this dead gunslinger priest going outside in it for more than a few minutes. He was currently seated by the back door, looking out one of the windows, enjoying the view of the lake and the snow-covered ground as he sipped on some coffee while occasionally leafing through gift catalogs.

He'd been busy, learning about customs and holidays that his people had long forgotten. And one, at least in his branch of religion, was coming up soon. He'd put aside some money and started looking for gifts which would suit his friends. He didn't know if Vash knew what Christmas was, but he was sure that his friend was not going to turn down a gift. The problem was, what do you get a wandering gunman who lived on a desert planet, one who would live an indefinite but long time?

Socks were RIGHT out of the question.

He'd already gotten the gift picked out for Ajedrez, and a small trinket of appreciation for Belle (Though she'd been gone out of the bar, she still saw him on occasion.) He even thought about getting that young lady he'd played chess with a gift, but she didn't seem the holiday-celebrating type.

Oh well.
Nick was smiling, that's really what mattered, just at that moment.

dean-o-dell.livejournal.com

He found the universal reomte on the bar. And began playing with it. It was after he flipped by versions of CNN showing White House press conferences with Presidents George W. Bush, Barry Goldwater, Chelsea Clinton, Abe Lincoln, Winston Churchill, someone named Josiah Bartlett, another man named David Palmer, Johnny Depp and Lex Luthor that he understood just how universal.

Cyrus flipped by London Kings baseball, an NFL game in Toronto, Lou Gehrig's retirement speech live on ESPN, and some sort of anti-grav sport called magnoball. He found Brad Pitt as King Lear, Kareem Abdul Jabbar as Dirty Harry, and Madonna as Helen Keller. He saw some sort of sentient squid creatures on several channels, followed by Klingon opera and Cardassian drama (not that he knew either race). It kept getting stranger.

He settled on some version of ESPN from 1988 and watched highlights Michael Jordan scoring for the Portland Trail Blazers. And he ordered breakfast.

Come say hi.

[ooc: slowtime for work likely]

alorn-bear.livejournal.com

It's wintertime in Mongolia, and on Gara, and while that generally means the long sleep for a lot of the Bear God's favored creatures, their limitations've never really applied to him even when he's using their form. The big white bear that pads in through the back door seems quite happy to be awake, even if the first thing he does is settle himself down at one of the sturdier tables and nose a sign up on it.

ANSWERING PRAYERS
BACK IN 15 MINUTES

SECURITY SHIFT BEGINS AFTER THAT

.... please don't ask where the bear kept it.

milkbonesoldier.livejournal.com

The next full moon won't be until right before Christmas this year, which is good in some ways but bad in others. Mostly right now it means that Harry Wells' mood of overall irritation is entirely his own, rather than an outgrowth of his condition. Fortunately, there are ways to deal with that, and most of them involve beating the heavy bag absolutely senseless. He's good at that.

He's also fast at it, which is why anyone who passes by the edge of the woods will probably have a tough time following his movements unless they're used to speeds beyond those of normal humans.

not-toothfairy.livejournal.com

[OOM: After his encounter with Mary Lennox, Ironhide takes it upon himself to do some research.]

gone_byebye

Ray visited Bellmore today to talk to his nephews and his sister about certain recent events, and about what was going to be happening in Washington very, very soon. His nephews thought this was fantastic, even if it meant he wouldn't be able to teach them for a while. His sister... well, she took it better than Ray had thought, but he's still pretty sure she went into the bathroom to get the Mylanta after being told. The sad thing was that this was an advance compared to how she would've reacted six months ago.

Meh, he'll deal with it later. For now he just wants lunch somewhere that doesn't have the H.P. Lovecraft Historical Society's cd's in the holiday music rotation, and Milliways qualifies. "Bar," he says as he settles down, "if I could get something in the way of udon, I'd-"

The tofu udon bowl materializes, along with what appears to be an alumni magazine of sorts from the early part of the twentieth century. (Well- early by Ray's standards; other people may not consider 1931 early.) Ray gives the Miskatonic journal a long look, then leaves it where it is. He's going to eat first, thank you very much.

literallyrotten.livejournal.com

Curious and curiouser, look at who it is. Darren Nichols.

And he's naked.

Well, mostly naked. He's wearing a short bathrobe and a whole bunch of glowpaint, and he's just entered the bar.

He looks happy.

oh-wowee.livejournal.com

Hey!

Rock Gods shouldn't be able to bend like THAT!!

Toki's over by the fireplace, practicing his Yoga. Feel free to show him up or poke him or something.

necessary_child

[OOC: Millitimed to the early hours of Monday, because the mun sucks.]

Sam, looking tired, comes downstairs to drop off a short note with Bar, to be delivered to anyone who'd want to know.

Atton's back. Try not to hit him yet.
~ Sam L

lissla-lissar.livejournal.com

In all her life Lissar has been dancing twice. Neither time turned out well, although she's very good at it. This is why she'd prefer that any potential lines drawn between her grace and that activity be avoided.

Step by step she is working through the knife drills she was given, dogs settled out of the way and watching with confusion. The steps she can master.

The will? That may not come.

madolyn-madden.livejournal.com

[ oom; Returning home, getting things done, and coming back. All in all, a productive week. ]

It's an extremely smug-looking Madolyn Madden who comes in through the door, arms full of various boxes, all wrapped neatly. One of her hands is just barely keeping hold of a number of cards. She heads straight up to her room, and, once she comes down, goes for the door again, only to reappear with a couple more packages and repeating the process. Through the door the inside of an apartment is discernible, although it's closed once she's finished her second trip.

Dusting her hands off, she makes a beeline for the nearest empty booth, promptly sitting down, getting the attention of a waitrat, and ordering hot apple cider. She's dressed in a white turtleneck, a black jacket, and dark jeans. She would have brought warmer things to wear given the conditions outside Milliways, but Lady Bar can always provide that.

To add to her good mood, her door has elected to stay where it is. So, she's not Bound, and she's made it back here way earlier than she'd expected.

Needless to say, this is the best she's felt for a while, and she'd really enjoy conversation.

yinyangwizard.livejournal.com

Abe no Seimei is sitting at the bar enjoying a fashionably late lunch¹ of something called shabu-shabu. This means he has a plate of paper-thin slices of beef and a bowl of boiling broth, and he swirls a piece of the one in the other until it's cooked. Shabu-shabu is food meant to be played with.

He's also eschewed his layered silk robes and tall priest's hat for a dark sweater, blazer and pants. His outfit could be described as business casual, were it not for the sneakers and mussed hair. The change in wardrobe may render him unrecognizable to most of those in Milliways who've met him before, but to be fair he hasn't been coming here for very long.

Seimei's finding that the Bar gave him a larger portion of shabu-shabu than he can eat. He's willing to share, or talk, or both.

¹ "Fashionably late" because it's only an hour after noon. Two o'clock or later would be just plain "late."

todlichestrafe.livejournal.com

[OOM: I think everything counts a little more than we think.]

There are, perhaps, less awkward ways of entering a Bar at the end of the universe than flying through one of its Door and crashing into one of its Tables (which really has no special quality, beyond being a perfectly sensible table, at which no one was currently sitting, and minding its own business besides, like good tables ought to, but why break a perfectly good run of Important Capitalized Words for such logical reasons?), but Vita is not noted for making sensible introductions even on the best of days.

Judging by her condition, which involves her snappy, sharp military-style red uniform apparently having been set on fire recently enough to still be on fire when she hits the table, this is not one of her best days ever. She hits the table and the table promptly flips over, depositing her on the opposite side of it rather like a revolving door, leaving her with her legs higher than her head and a righteous THUD! echoing in her ears.

Sharp observers will note, at this point, that there is what is unmistakably a warhammer, with vents located at the connection between shaft and head that look like the kind of vents you'd find on a machine-gun rather than a hammer of any type, clutched in her right hand. Also, that she cannot possibly be any older than nine, if appearances are at all trustworthy. (Exceptionally clever observers may be able to discern that said appearances are filthy lying buggers based on the evidence at hand.)

The Door swings shut in the same amount of time it takes Vita to spring to her feet. Her eyes barely reach over the table, but even she can see the outline fade. She starts to raise her hammer in defense, then gets a good, solid look at her surroundings and shifts her stance a bit to take the menace out of it. She's still defending herself, but she's not inviting immediate retaliation from anyone as twitchy as she is, either.

This is not Mid-Childa or anywhere in the known multiverse that she's ever been, and there are protocols to be observed in First Contact situations. Provided Vita can remember them.

That may be a bit difficult, as the only thing on her mind (and leaving her mouth) right now is "Where the heck did that flying door come from?" As an afterthought, she stomps the fire on the edge of her coat out before it can spread.

[Around all night, but tags might be slowish, for which I apologize, this being her EP and all.]

roger-ratcliff.livejournal.com

Thanks to Lady Bar, Roger has managed to procure a copy of the sign-up sheet for the piano recital from the bar. Making his way over to the piano, accompanied as always by Pongo, he props it up on the top of the piano before sitting down. However, it's just a moment before he jumps to add:

Any and all related questions taken here.

Satisfied, he sits down again, flexing his fingers.

Today he's just working his way through the Beethoven sonatas, although he's got a copy of Suite Bergamasque at hand.

He's still not entirely sure what he wants to play on the recital, if at all, so he's practicing whatever he can get his hands on.

Both the man and the dog are open to bothering.

[ ooc; Sleep calls me. Slowtimes, please, taggers? ]

candied-rabbit.livejournal.com

((OOM: Momiji recovers after a nasty altercation with Akito. Somewhat-spoilers for Fruits Basket chapter 64.))

The blonde rabbit-boy that comes in through the Bar door tonight is a much more striking sight than he usually is. He's wearing what appear to be pajamas, with soft cloth, a long flowing shirt, and less than lengthy shorts. Both are a light blue, though the shoulder of the shirt is spotted with a few tiny, dark red drops, dried into the fabric, by now.

More telltale, perhaps, is the bruise that takes up a large part of his left cheek, the mark contrasting starkly with his Germanic-Japanese skin. His eyes are somewhat puffy, as well, and it isn't hard to tell that he's been crying, though the waterworks seem to have stopped for now.

For his part, Momiji looks completely unaware of his out of the ordinary appearance. Instead, all that's in his head is that it's winter in Milliways and that, even inside, summer pajamas aren't quite warm enough. Which might be why he hastens for the couch near the fire, curling into a little ball near one corner of it.

yves-not-lee.livejournal.com

When Yves Adele Harlow enters Milliways for the first time, it's with the smallest of shocked expressions on her face. She glances down at a stack of papers in one hand, skimming through the words. As soon as she looks back up, the shocked expression is gone.

In it's stead is a small, neutral smile. It's a smile that seems to indicate that she's been here before. It's a smile that says all of this is just another day at the office.

Who'd have guessed those baboons would actually be right about something?

m-antonivs.livejournal.com

(OOM: Mark Antony has a lot on his mind, as he rides to Ravenna to rejoin Caesar.)

first-sixth.livejournal.com

Aloud, in the relative privacy of the Dino Lair, Tommy often remarks to his teammates that the longer they wear the uniforms, the more second-nature things will become. It's often a comment that's merely the first part of a statement, one that concludes with, "So please, stop letting your guard down so often." It's a lesson that Ethan could stand to take to heart, he reflects, given his laxness in preparing for the Detonation Man competition.

In the complete privacy of his own head, or at least as complete as one can expect in Milliways, Tommy wonders if he'll ever get used to the sort of weirdness that life feels compelled to throw at him. When he'd been in high school, he'd never skipped classes. Today, he'd actually gotten a substitute so that he could go and hunt down Zeltrax before the renegade cyborg could cause any more trouble -- and before Mesogog could get ahold of him.

Not that his lack of finding any traces of Zeltrax had made for a day off, what with the Hornrimmed Monster letting loose on downtown Reefside and the coinciding reemergance of the town's extinct volcano. Owing to a Tyrannodrone attack in one of the public parks that evening, no doubt Mesogog throwing a temper tantrum to let off some frustration, it hadn't been a quiet evening, either.

The Black Ranger props his booted feet on the table, drumming his fingers against the crest of his helmet while looking reflectively at his laptop screen. He supposes that if nothing else, they've gained some valuable fieldwork. Still, he'd far prefer to be talking to people than doing his necessary, if often dull, post-battle analysis. Anything that makes him drink more coffee than Jason Scott can't be a good thing -- and Tommy's already on his fourth cup.

slasherofprices.livejournal.com

Skinner still has no clue what he's playing at the recital. He is not in the mood to figure that out today. He's in a devil-may-care mood that says he should do something random like an improvised jazz piece which might be bad or might be good. How can he know? It's improvisation.

Maybe he just had a long day at work. Happens when you employ bored teens looking to make buck without working for it.

Wine helps with the exhausted irritation, at least.

Current Location: a table

tall-dark-and.livejournal.com

Riku is in Milliways once more. He can be found outside, near to the lake, wielding a practice wooden sword. For every day that he'd lost his sight, he'd gotten rustier with his fighting skills, and he's finding as many chances as he can to practice now.

Sense would say that they would improve quicker if he was on the hunt, but he's merely practicing the same basic movements, over and over. It's not as if you can hunt anything with a blunt object, anyway - not unless you feel like bludgeoning it to death. And he doesn't feel like pulling out the keyblade.

After all, there's no Heartless here, are there?

[Of OOC note: I am around now until 9:30 est and then will be back at 11.]

noteful

Meg Ford has spent the past couple of days up in her room, because the room just feels so much more normal than the bar -- or whatever this place is -- downstairs.

But there's not a lot to do in her room, and, more importantly, she needs to be keeping an eye on the place where a door should be, and could be, but isn't, at present.

For the moment, she's hanging close to the bottom on the stairs, not quite ready to venture in.

She looks rather as if she's hoping any moment now she'll wake up, and someone will tell her that her temperature is back to normal, and she's been very sick and had a close call but that everything is all right now and all this has been nothing more than a particularly unsettling and detailed fever dream.

guppy_sandhu

If Guppy were a Sim, his energy bar would look like

( this )
Which is why he just fell over.

He'll get up in a minute. Probably. Although now he's satisfied Atton doesn't need his constant attention. Rug's kind of fluffy.

song_tra_bong

Tis the season, and you know what that means: wracking your brain trying to figure out what to get your friends.

Mary Anne is curled up in an armchair by the fire, hands wrapped around a mug (cider, not coffee this time) and pondering her gift list. Any interruptions would suit her just fine.

misterparker.livejournal.com

Parker opens the door and blinks. With a slight shrug, he enters the bar, hands in his pockets and shoulders hunched like he's been caught at something.

His step is sure, though and his gaze cocky.

Settling down at the bar, he orders a beer.

k_in_black

[OOM: That's the problem with the Greys--They never seem to learn.]

exspdblue.livejournal.com

And thusly, a red clad Power Ranger walks into the bar. Luckily, no one tries to make some sort of joke at that point. He wanders up to Bar and sits. It has been a long, long time since he had sat here and he relaxes a bit and melts into the chair. He orders a mug of tea and removes his helmet.

obligatoryass

But Logan's glad to see the Bar tonight. It's the start of a new term, and he's been organizing syllabi. It's gotten pretty old (but it really does help, in the long run. He hates to admit it, but it does), and it's nice to see the place. He's missed it.

He orders an iced coffee and some paradoxes. Beats cooking. Could even be healthy. It's hard to say, without knowing what is actually in them.

no-sin-but.livejournal.com

[OoM: Millitimed to the 23/10, Darren walks in on Marlowe writing, and ends up distracting him.

And a few days ago, they talk. And amongst the discussion of cats and plays, there is even a bit of Talking.]

dark-ex-watcher.livejournal.com

[OOM: Sequestered in his room once more, Wesley Wyndham-Pryce comes to a momentous decision.]

There is a former Watcher sitting in one of the booths near the bar tonight. On the table before him rest piles of books and a few papers covered in arcane script.

This is nothing unusual for Wesley Wyndham-Pryce. Except, perhaps, that whatever he’s doing, he’s doing it here, and not up in his room or in a secluded corner of the library--the two places where he's kept himself for the better part of the past year.

The intensity in his eyes as he studies the books and the papers, though. That is new. Or at any rate, it's something he hasn't displayed since he first came to Milliways: the look of a man who is determined to see things finished.