milliways_bar | Jan. 10th, 2008

Jan. 10th, 2008

morelikeasponge.livejournal.com

Ten minutes ago, Peter woke up from a catnap on the very comfortable seats at the car rental agency when one of his companions poked him in the side with an elbow.

One minute ago, Peter dozed off again. As far as he's concerned, it's been nine minutes since he was in Milliways. And many, many hours since he got a decent night's sleep.

Operation Shamble Toward the Couch commences.

dingdongdoodily.livejournal.com

Be-dreadlock'd Rock God is drunk!
Wait, no, that's redundant.

Pickles was bored out of his wits. They had another few weeks until their next world tour, the one where they'd be dragging along a dead king. It sounded reasonable at first, but the more he thought about it, the weirder it became. So he stopped thinking about it entirely, and went to the bar, instead.

He's currently flopped across one of the overstuffed leather chairs near the fire, where he had nothing but his bottle fortress and a palm pilot to keep himself busy. He's playing a game on the latter, and drinking the former.

Botherable as always!

aj_crawley

Crowley hates winter for many, many reasons. Admittedly, though, most of these reasons circle back to the central, malevolent cause of 'The Cold'. Crowley really hates the cold. It makes him slow, and sluggish, and cranky, and takes much of the joy out of terrorising ducks with ballistic breadcrusts in St. James' Park. Not all, mind. But much. And whilst, in fairness, the yearly opportunity to cause havoc on icy London roads armed only with a large car and no respect for the laws of man nor physics is some small consolation, it's just not the same as Crowley's other favourite pastime.

Crowley hates winter because it's too bloody cold to sit outside any of London's absurdly trendy little cafes and - well.

Never mind.

The Lord helps those who help themselves, as Aziraphael might say, and whilst that's certainly not the kind of help Crowley's looking for, he sees no harm in appropriating the spirit of the sentiment. And he's always liked to think of himself as a resourceful sort of demon.

He's sitting in the rough vicinity of the fireplace, occupying more than his fair share of the couch and - by all appearances - absorbed in the daily crossword.

Some way across the room (although still within line of sight): there is a two-pound coin on the floor. A shiny, new, silver-and-gold two-pound coin. On the floor.

How odd.

cheevy.livejournal.com

[OOM: Echoes of the future - in which Miniver learns of his future self, and a game of trades reveals future travels. Rated Something Clever for borderline adult content (touching happens; sex does not).]

gotham-knocking.livejournal.com

Sometime following this conversation, Knox leaves a note...

( To Steph Brown, Mel Fray, and Goldilocks )

lissla-lissar.livejournal.com

Lissar has a crumpled bit of metal that used to be a functional part of a 1956 Chevrolet. Lissar also has a forlorn expression, and keeps poking at the crumpled bit of metal, because she'd been working hard on that car.

not-toothfairy.livejournal.com

Word spreads fast among the Autobot community on Ironhide's Earth, mostly because the Autobot community consists of four mechs. When the word is that one of the four's been arrested by Milliways staff and chucked in the cells for a week, it spreads even faster. Ironhide was pretty steamed about that at first, but then he found out why.

The only reason he hasn't gone looking for Security to get him in there and give Bumblebee a thumbs-up is because he's pretty sure he'd do or say something regrettable in the Nullspark's direction afterwards, and he'd rather not get Optimus any more ticked off than he already is. So for now he's just gonna hang out in the main bar and do his gloating privately while he goes through a human book on fighting aircraft throughout history.

gone_byebye

Ray spent most of yesterday either working on Tyler's grappler device or answering questions about his Big Trouble sign. He'll finish the grappler and start on the other device he promised Tyler sometime today, but he has a duty to himself first. Anyone who wants him is going to have to look for him outside by the lake, either practicing with the lightsaber against his training drone, or doing the solo forms that his instructors at Melcene and Miskatonic taught him. (His instructor in Chinatown gets a twitch under his left eye whenever he contemplates Ray's footwork too closely.)

Come say hi! The drone'll stop eventually.

nothawkingbird.livejournal.com

Bruises had healed up, which meant it was about time to head back. Deal with the oncoming war, and hope it doesn't last long. Right now, Cap was wanting their team to remain at the facility and hide, saying that they would be needed later. Reserve troops. More like a soldier than a superhero these days by the sound of it, but what choice did they have.

Being here with Will helped some, and also the practice range out back was good for keeping her archery skills sharp. She had two bows with her today. Right now she was using Hawkeye's bow, which now belonged to her, and the one Inari gave her for the holidays resting on a hook nearby, ready for use. Getting a lot better with trick shots.

feminine-menace.livejournal.com

Sometimes you just need a change in perspective.

Fortunately if you're in Milliways, which has those nice big rafters, that's pretty easy to get (YT's been here so long that just being in Milliways no longer works to change her perspective, most of the time).

Thus there is a blue-and-orange-clad leg hanging down from one of the rafters which happens to be attached to a teenaged girl reading Descartes' Discourse on the Method. For school, you know. She doesn't seem to be enjoying it very much.

Someone distract her, please?

slayer_fray

Mel sits at the bar, quiet and not really looking up around the place. It's par for the course, really, since Mike left.

Well, she is occasionally, but for someone in particular. The subject of a note in her hand.

Funny how a sense of perspective can come up on you in unpleasant ways, isn't it?

[OOC: post is fully open, of course, but slowtimes in effect from 4pm GMT)

missginnytonic.livejournal.com

Ginny walks in to the bar, it’s been a while. But she’s been good things seem to be better in her world. She is feeling better about her self then she has in a long time. She’s been thinking while at school, about the bar and the friends that touches you. Those that leave and you never get to say bye to. There were some gone she wishes she could have told goodbye. But she wasn’t in the bar they day they left or something and she missed it.

Settling at a booth with a roll of parchment and a pot of ink and a quill, she starts to make notes of those people. Just the way of the Bar she guesses.

Ordering a butterbeer she drinks a silent toast to those gone then focuses on what she has now. Looking around the room she’s going to meet people today. Today Ginny Weasley branches out.

Totally botherable by anyone and everyone.

eight_or_eleven

When you're looking to find someone, looking in the places that have become popular with the patrons is the best place to begin.

The fireplace is one of those popularity spots.

There you'll find a woman of apparent African descent and five white lions [the oldest lying at her feet, so dignified he makes kings look like paupers by comparison] made kind of golden from the flickering light.

She's approachable, and as usual the lions are very tame.

Just another pleasant winter's day in Milliways...

Current Mood: lazy

politestpirate.livejournal.com

[OOM: This winter, there is still building going on. For a few reasons.]

politestpirate.livejournal.com

Just pretend it is a little earlier in the day-

A bit farther back in the woods past the usual 'public' areas just outside of the bar (and certainly not right on the lake shore), is what Wellard (somewhat seriously) calls the ship yard.

It is only one ship, hardly a third finished. And nowhere near as big as what most people would call a ship- and the design is certainly different from what most people would consider normal. The hull is at least easily identifiable as such- there is also plenty of lumber neatly stacked around or right in the middle of being worked on, propped up on sawhorses. A small shed holds tools and other supplies, and some large pieces of sail cloth tacked up on posts form a workable tarp to keep the snow off of it all.

(At a considerably safe distance away is a stone-lined firepit, built with the care and paranoia of someone living on board a wooden ship for a few years.)

Today, in the midst of all of this, Wellard can easily be found out there working- looking over some plans, comparing them to some of the books he read the night before, and trying to figure out the best way to fit in three separate sets of steering cables. Advice of any sort, particularly from someone who knows ship building or carpentry, would be appreciated.

((This post totally open for any and all!))

madolyn-madden.livejournal.com

Presently, Madolyn's in a booth, and occupying two seats of it. One with her person, the other with a stack of boxes. She still hasn't managed to get Christmas gifts to everyone she's bought them for, as she'd rather give them out by hand. If you've talked with her, there's a 99% chance once of those boxes is for you.

As a result, she's people-watching.

Company would be welcomed.

wizard_howell

Even warried mizards... warr... miz... married wizards deserve to go to their rugby club reunions.

There's just one problem: what will his wife say if he crawls back home in this state? "Wales, Wales, you're too much of a discraction... that doesn't sound right... distraction for me these days. Fy braich: mae hi wedi cachi arna i."

He knows he's in bad shape when he has to remind himself to remove his arm from the door before closing it.

"That's perfectly lovely." Cradling his left arm in his right, he walks tentatively and with great concentration across the room, his eyes on the bar. Sadly, there's a table -- more than one -- between the door and the bar. Luckily no one's sitting at the nearest one, so when his thigh meets its side sharply, he doubles over and sinks into the nearest chair. He almost makes it, too.

The floor here is hard.

"I'll be all right," he says to the underside of the table. Why is there always old gum stuck to these things, and why is it always such an off shade of pink?

reinedebayou.livejournal.com

The door opens, as it is wont to do, from time to time. A small stick with blond hair races in, laughing loudly. "Too slow! Haha!" Then the door closed, and she looked around. Her eyes went wide, blinking over and over.

"What in de name o' God is dis? Dad?"

This was supposed to be her house! What was going on? "Julien?"

Fuck. But it was a bar, and bars meant people. And pay phones. But who would she call?

"Awww, God Dammit, dis ain't funny!"

She's got quite the potty mouth, for a fourteen year old.

a1enzo

[[OOM: Later that cycle. It's an ill wind that blows nobody any good. Not that that's much comfort to Enzo.]]

smart-house.livejournal.com

[Back in Eureka:

Something's happened to Spencer.

Beverly and the Congressman don't help much.]

daylightguard.livejournal.com

If anyone wants to help Frost!Lucian figure out how to work an ATARI? Or, alternately, flail along with him?

Feel totally, totally free.

[ ooc; Hi, world. I'm calling sleeptime, and so, slowtimes, to. Thanks for tagging - they'll all be picked up tomorrow. ]

dr_temperance

It would be inaccurate to say that Brennan is 'eyeball to eyeball' with the skull in her hands. Ditto for 'nose to nose'. Skulls have neither eyeballs nor noses. In this particular case, all soft tissue would have completely disintegrated months ago, leaving nothing but bone behind.

But she is staring intently into the empty eye sockets, aided by a bright hand-held light, and a pair of strong magnifying glasses that make Brennan look as if she has a pair of slim binoculars strapped to her face.

"Unusual scoring to the bone in the interior rim of the eye sockets," she mutters aloud. She knows that talking to herself isn't logical, but it slips out occasionally, especially since, in the lab, she's gotten used to talking through observations with her team.

Busy, but botherable.

pointed-spoon.livejournal.com

There's an elegant looking man in the bar, whistling to himself as he sips his wine.

There's something deeply, fundamentally wrong about him, which anyone with even the remotest paranormal or psychic sense should be able to pick up on in a second.

guppy_sandhu

[oom: Sweeter dreams]

Guppy's had a busy day, having to take Anita to the health centre for her two week check-up. He didn't enjoy the deep probing questions the nurse asked him about why he was the primary caregiver, but since the baby seemed to pass all the tests, it just became another little thing to ignore in a stressful world.

Said baby is wrapped in a little pink blanket, with a new cuddly toy fish next to her.

The doctor is in

serene-visions.livejournal.com

There are few coincidences in Vialle's world view. Things tend to happen for a reason, and it is the victim's (though she doesn't necessarily think of herself along those lines) responsibility to try and figure out why he or she was singled out for cosmic attention.

She looks almost child-like when she steps through the doorway, barely an inch over five feet. She has just come from a feast of some sort, to judge by the elegant red gown that flatters her petite figure and the gold circlet keeping dark hair out of equally dark eyes.

The woman takes a few steps forward and freezes, unfamiliar sounds assaulting her ears. Her head tilts marginally to one side, as if she is trying to decipher a puzzle.

From the wary expression on her face, this stranger is very much not where she expected to be.

[ooc: slowtime! Tags still welcome.]

argyle_princess

Hannah has a cup of coffee (with a lid), a small (and empty) photo album, and a shoebox full of photographs.

Actually, while the box was full when she arrived, half its contents are now spread across the top of a table, in loosely organized piles.

candied-rabbit.livejournal.com

Time in Milliways, as the saying goes, is weird.

Case in point, the little rabbit-boy sitting on a bar-stool, this evening. He's littler than usual, this time, in fact, and even someone making use of the sort of liberal approximation that's necessary for a boy with as weird a real to apparent age ratio as Momiji has couldn't place him anywhere past early grade school.

Momiji, of course, is unaware of all of these concerns and is just sitting around in a schoolboy's uniform, looking decidedly fidgety in the mode of all kids wearing new clothes that aren't quite comfortable, yet. He's busy, judging from the incredibly over-sized, frosty glass in front of him, trying to drown his wardrobe sorrows in milkshakes and twisty straws.

The glass is so large for someone as tiny as the boy in front of it that a casual observer would likely miss the folder it's using as a coaster, at the moment - a papery, blue thing, conveying congratulations to the bearer for his admission into the Kyoto International School.

ostro_goth

Teja is sitting b the fireplace, brooding over his harp, playing very quietly. He is very quiet and grim today, just as he was when he was new here.

Yesterday, a conversation had reminded him how truly full of horrors the world was -- horrors he had not known about, but should have expected, from his experience of mankind, and the harsh fate that would deal with it.

Horrors that had nothing to do with the unspeakable voids between realities, and everything with the unspeakable voids in men's minds.

That was the true shape of the world. He had been a fool, Teja knew, to forget it.

replicant-cop.livejournal.com

[After this.]

With a hell of a BANG! the Door flies open and a man in a long coat--and carrying a very serious looking gun--bursts into the bar.

Aaand, yeah. Now he's looking very confused. As in, staring around the room with his mouth hanging open, as his gun arm drops to his side.

Just a second ago he was in the Los Angeles of 2013. Which meant he was ready for damn near anything to be on the other side of that Door.

Except, of course, this.

Welcome to Milliways, Officer Rick Deckard, Blade Runner 2-63-54.

angsty-spider.livejournal.com

Peter sat at the bar reading a book. He wasn't in his best of moods, but he wasn't in a generally emo mood today. He sipped at a cup of coffee.

He's botherable.

oh-wowee.livejournal.com

Several bulky men in execution masks and sleeveless shirts come into the bar from what smells, looks, and sounds like Mordhaus.

They leave a rather large amount of deep-freeze-weather snow suits, arctic camping gear, ice picks, snow shoes, and whatever else may be needed for a polar expedition, with a note.

For Ray Stantz. From Dethklok. Good luck out there.

The men leave while a much more thin, shorter, younger looking fellow squishes between them and through the door. Toki's got Pompeii with him and is half-wondering about the roadies being in the bar in the first place.

The roadies aren't botherable, but Toki is!

burnedbell.livejournal.com

[ OOM: Within the Old Kingdom friends are made and promises of a safe haven. But it's never easy to say goodbye when you're dead. ]

The door into the bar opened into a hallway that looked like a rundown hospital. Plaster was falling from the ceiling, chairs were turned over at random spots, and most important it was dirty. You couldn't have the Old Kingdom without the spooky setting that most humans never saw. Unless she took them there.

However noone is standing there in the door at first but as a cold breeze moves in some people could catch the glimpse out of the corner of their eyes. A little girl sad and wearing clothing from a time long past. Some may see her. Others may not, but everyone could say they sometimes heard the sad, echoed words of a little girl. "Antubis? Where are you?"

Welcome to the other Between Lands, Mary.

[If you have questions on what your pup may see when they are around Mary, please feel free to ping the mun on aim at MicaraSilverfox]

underwater-owl.livejournal.com

Random hasn't been able to find Vialle tonight. Which was odd, she was at supper, and then she was gone, and he wanted to talk to her about...

Oh look, he's in the bar. Well, best make the best of it and get a drink. He could certainly use one.

alorn-bear.livejournal.com

There's a soft pwing! and a flash of blue light, and Belar- looking a lot more mellow than he did yesterday- is in the Bar. He sets up a sign on his table:

ANSWERING PRAYERS
BACK IN 15 MINUTES

SECURITY SHIFT STARTS AFTER THAT

and settles back in his seat to close his eyes and let the clock decrement down to zero.