milliways_bar | Jan. 9th, 2009

Jan. 9th, 2009

Yrael likes the woods of Milliways, always, but he especially likes them when they are quiet. Few people venture outside at night, especially in the depths of the Scottish winter, so all is quiet and still. Even the sounds from the bar fade into the background, indistinguishable, remote. All is quiet and still.

Well, most is quiet and still. Out in the wood, there is something brighter than even the near-full moon that hangs in the sky. A great light, its brightness filtering through the trees, wandering among the silent woods. It carries the scent of scorched tree-roots and burned leaves, as the snow near it is flash-boiled into steam, and the autumn leaves beneath catch fire, and the unnatural, acrid, wrong scent of the Free Magic.

Winter in Milliways is Yrael's worst season, as the cold and wet drives him most often indoors, and he gets cabin-fever easily. Sometimes, one needs not to be enclosed by walls. And sometimes, one also needs not to be enclosed by a false shape; one needs to stretch and fully relax, without really having to worry about blinding others or setting irreplaceable things on fire by being too close to them.

So, tonight, the Bright Shiner roams the woods.

Current Mood: melancholy

vance_prime

Out of Milliways: The other shoe just dropped.

Contains spoilers for Half-Life 2: Episode 2.

shadowsusannah.livejournal.com

It's the first time since Christmas Susannah has had the time and interest to visit Milliways; with Eddie home, her life is settling back into the routines of a year ago, and she's enjoying it. But today he's knuckling down on revisions for his latest novel, down in his office, and rather than bouncing around the upstairs alone, she's rolling through the door, carefully balancing a large scrapbook on the stumps of her legs as she does so.

She has her album! You are going to see pictures of her baby! Whether you want to or not!

Well, no. Since she's not in a motorized chair, you could probably run if you really wanted to. She probably won't throw something at you to bring you down so she can catch up.

...fifty-fifty.

She asks a rat to bring her a glass of ice water; when it returns, it also brings a note, which she reads quickly and then decides to think about later.

[Slowtime is quite likely in a few hours, as sleep is a necessary part of the human metabolic process, but I'm game if you are!]

numbered_doctor

[OOM:The clinic isn’t always just runny noses and sore throats.]

The door bangs open, and a doctor enters. She’s looking particularly murderous today, jaw clenched and lab coat flaring almost dramatically behind her as she strides her way blindly into the Bar, the abrupt change of surroundings not really registering until she nearly trips over one of the waitrats, who thankfully manages to dodge out of the way in the nick of time.

The waitrat gets a startled apology, and Thirteen settles in a seat whilst trying to reign in her righteous anger.

[Open 'till it falls off]

[The mun ~~has to flee for an hour and will reply to all tags when she returns.~~ is back!]

nneverwas.livejournal.com

Somebody's in the bar today.

He has a glass of water and a corner booth with a view of the front door but not of the Window, and he's just watching the people go by, listening to the bits and pieces of nearby conversations that he can catch with half an ear.

It's very peaceful.

(Informative, too.)

tinytag: aaron stampler

didntmakeitout.livejournal.com

Doc Potter has, all things considered, been faring pretty well. The fact that he's dead is something that he's accepted, and the feeling of aimlessness that occasionally accompanies it hasn't sunk him down yet.

At present, he's settled at a table, poring over a copy of the Origin of Species, one hand on the book, the other resting on the side of his head. (His hat and coat are both up in his room, and he's dressed in a new set of clothes - things he might have worn back home - that are fairly unostentatious and simple.)

He is also, for the curious, wearing earplugs in an attempt to concentrate.

This doesn't mean he wouldn't appeciate a good conversation, but it does mean he may react with a little more surprise than usual.

[ what the fuck kind of tiny tag are you anyway?: doc potter
it's nice to have a conversation with a tiny tag for a change: ben wade

ooc: ~~mun is around another hour and a half or so before~~ fleeing, but will be around most of the evening. <3333 ]

blackholesandrevelations

[OOM: Life could be better for John Crichton.

Just slightly.]

At some point, John was sure he was going to die from starvation. And then another Leviathan showed up and hey, look, John's alive! And beardy.

Only, when he entered the docking bay on the new (old) Leviathan, and stepped out of his module, he didn't end up quite where he expected. Milliways, you strike again.

Of course, this is the best thing ever for someone who is as hungry as John Crichton is. Hence why he is hidden by a mound of food. :|

dancewaterdance

Coffee, black.

Headphones, playing Korean pop music.

Demyx, attempting to wake up.

[Tinytag: Demyx]

monthly-gift.livejournal.com

Mother Nature arrives behind the bar when no one is looking, wearing her signature green suit and smiling happily as she writes on the specials board with an elegant hand.

Bloody Marys 1/2 Price!
Men named Raph drink for free!

She ties a white apron around her waist and settles in for a fun time.

"Happy Hour is officially open!"

[[Tiny tags: Mother Nature]]

loyaltyinmotion.livejournal.com

'Twas the night before the full moon,
And all through the Bar,
The werewolf is watching you,
Whoever you are.

Jason is back inside, sitting in the furthest corner from the rest of the Bar's patrons. One day until his shift, and the patrons have his undivided attention.

But at least he's just eyeing them.

Have you noticed your local werewolf watching you today?

OOC: Dinner to be making, I'll check back every few. Slow is love!.

mything_person

[OOM: Ladies and Gentleman, Elvis has left the building!]

Jerry staggers slightly when he comes through the door. He's never been big, or neat, before. Now he's thin, all muscles, skin and bone and covered in dirt. He's also louder than usual.

"Now?" he asks, "Now? I couldn't get a door when it was Odysseus! Or before we were storming Mount Olympus! But now?"

Jerry sighs and sags, heading for the bathroom. He'll be available in a moment. Just let him wash up a bit.

Tiny Tag of victory: Jerry Lukacs

Current Music: Frank Sinatra - Luck Be A Lady

sliceitwithwind.livejournal.com

Getting sick was, for Dilan, a like-clockwork situation. The right time of year came up, he got the same symptoms as the years prior, he made his excuses, took his time, and spent fourteen days in bed.

What this means is that Xaldin, upon realizing that he's feeling a little woozy and has developed a very specific kind of headache, is in the bar writing notes furiously so that people who might otherwise be worried will know where he's gone and what he's doing.

( To those concerned, )

Then he settles down just above a table, watching for Lexaeus. (Aeleus always, always, came to help when Dilan was sick. He's fairly certain Lexaeus will as well.)

[Any threads assumed to take place prior to the Lexaeus thread.]

[Ill-humoured tag: Xaldin
Tiny-my-ass tag: Lexaeus
Licensed tag: Charlie Monroe
High-strung and geeky tag: Billy Kaplan
Strong, hot, and competent tag: Pepper Potts]

ostro_goth

It is a dazzling morning, the young sun shimmering on the snow that covers the grounds, and turning the frozen lake into a blinding white glare Teja must squint at, or look aside.

The sky is very blue, and twigs and branches of the trees are forming an intricate black tracery under their fragile covering of snow. There are tracks in the snow, here and there -- of birds and rabbits, but also of men's feet, and the hooves of horses.

Teja is walking along the lake shore; wrapped in his Tyrian purple cloak lined with warm magical faun-fur, a fold wrapped around the head as a hood, he is almost warm within the bright, lovely world of cold.

Almost -- almost! -- can he understand why some cherish the winter.

aeons_crackshot

Someone is bored and worried about certain visitors and residents of City 17. How does Annabelle deal with this? By playing dodging games with the Whomping Willow while wearing looted Combine body armor. (Without the helmet, of course. A shotgun shell through the faceplate tends to render a helmet rather unusable.)

Bar has provided something that looks like plastic, but is biodegradable and slightly sticky. When Annabelle leaps and dodges the branches, said branches are getting 'tagged'. The Whomping Willow is starting to look like the victim of a ticker-tape parade. Have pity on the tree, or just come admire acrobatics that look like they should be impossible outside of super-hero comics.

OOC: Tinytag! Annabelle Newfield Open until it scrolls off the page!

blueshifted.livejournal.com

[OOM: And there’s a world that’s out there waiting
And I know that it’s the chance I’m takin']

[Tiny Tag: Barney Calhoun]

themidnightson

One Sparklepyre.

Sheet music in his lap.

Staring out the The Window.

alwaysroomforhope

It's after midnight. Do you know where your (outwardly sixteen-year-old) Security representative is?

If you guessed "over at the Bar, drinking coffee, swinging her legs, and looking generally far too perky for this hour of the morning" you get a cookie! Steph has a whole plateful of them. She's looking for targets to throw them at, really, but could be convinced to just share like a normal person.

There is also a Ridiculously Small Cat twining its way around her barstool legs and purring.

27_53

He was outside. Now he is not. That is okay, in his opinion not many people ask to be honest. Now he is inside. (Even though it is loud.) He is sitting at a table, chair turned around backwards, not bothering to hide his wings unless someone stares too much, then he will leave not likethem. He is different. That is okay.

There is a pile of twigs on the table. He is carefully arranging a layer into a square shape. And then another layer on top of that. And another layer on top of that. The twig-cabin is slowly forming and taking shape.

[[character tag: skellig]]

boundxkitty

Full moon tomorrow. Normally Liz would be out in the forest. It's more open and free than the bar room proper. But it's cold outside. Even for someone who runs hot. And there's wet, white stuff all around. And while, unlike most cats, Liz doesn't usually mind wet, she absolutely hates it when coupled with cold.

So she makes her way down to the bar from her room to grab a coke. Glass in hand, she makes her way to a shadowed booth and curls into it. All her movements are smooth and graceful. More so than any person should have right to be. Anyone who knows the signs would see the way she moves as predatory, almost promising harm were it directed at a person. Tucked into her booth, she watches the bar with an almost too intent gaze.

That prickle down your neck? It means it's you she's currently watching.

is-still-alive.livejournal.com

GLaDOS is, apparently, in quite a cheerful state of mind ...

If the fact that she's humming a pitch-perfect rendition of the Super Mario Bros. theme song under her breath as she works on a laser pointer is any indication.

Child's play, but still.

It's something to do.

She'd probably appreciate some interaction.

[ tiny tag; GLaDOS ]

thatinyourpipe.livejournal.com

It was still winter outside. Pan of course, was looking forward to the upcoming spring. It was his time. And he had some ideas and plans. At the moment he was lounging out on one of the couches, goat legs draped haphazardly outward, and idly playing on his flute.

guppy_sandhu

[oom: Social rules in Holby can be complicated.]

Guppy is by the fire, looking through a magazine and listening to Simon and Garfunkel's gretest hits on his CD player.

whatsatisfiesme.livejournal.com

((OOM: In which Gilbert tries to kill two birds with one stone. One dodges; one doesn't.

Warnings for mature content, violence, and references to sexual assault. All dialogue taken from Kaze To Ki No Uta, Vol. 1.))

There is an exhausted, French teenager slumping against the Bar, tonight. He is wearing a strange sort of outfit, an ensemble consisting of a long night-shirt that was obviously designed, and pair of the usual slacks that go to his school uniform, but, even in their oddity, his clothes look markedly more pristine than he does.

He obviously hasn't slept, his hair is slightly wild and matted with feverish sweat, and one of his cheeks bears the red-purple remains of a particularly strong slap that he received from his roommate in the very near past. The bruise, though, is not his present focus. Instead, he's all but clinging to the plate in front of him, which bears a big sandwich, all toasted bread and lettuce and tomato and meat, with an intensity that not-so-subtly suggests that he might hurt anyone who tries to take them away from him. Or looks at them too hard. The large mug of steaming tea beside it is getting a similar treatment, now and again.

Stress like tonight's makes even him need a good meal. Still, it's possible that he'd muster conversation for anyone who happened by. Being bothered might calm his mood a little, actually - he's feeling smug and victorious and sick and turbulent, all at the same time, for now.

fiery_ring

[oom: Carlotta runs into trouble]

aaaaaaaagh_sky

OOMs: War. War never changes...
Infancy
Age ten
Age sixteen
Age nineteen
The surface

The door opens on a dank, rough-walled tunnel lit only by a handful of lamps. A thick-bodied figure of average height slips through and glances sharply about. It's wearing the sort of helmet and body armor one might reasonably expect of riot police, and the bloody blue jumpsuit arms and legs don't seem to give much of a lie to that. Neither does the pistol in the figure's trembling hand.

On the other hand, the fact that she (it moves like a human female) takes a step forward, leans a hand against the wall, and then slumps down to settle herself in a heap with her back against the wall and her knees drawn up against her chest? Not really indicative of riot police behavior in any sort of way.

[Tinytags: Annabelle Newfield, Percy Jackson, Chell Johnson (Portal), Ellen (Vault 101 Dweller). Spoilers in OOMs for Fallout 3.]

stuck-mynock.livejournal.com

Atton's outside, near the lake, running through lightsaber katas. He's been out there for about two hours, now, alternating between lightsaber practice and running. He doesn't appear to really have noticed the cold.

Botherable.