milliways_bar | May. 17th, 2009

May. 17th, 2009

When the door opens this time, it swings. That's not altogether unusual.

... Unless you know the adult that the curly-haired child on the threshhold will become, that is. then it's slightly odd.

The fact that a small, dark-skinned girl in a green nightgown is now standing just inside the bar's front door could be rather odd in itself, if this weren't Milliways. She certainly thinks the whole thing is quite a surprise. Getting up for a drink of water doesn't usually make the hallway turn into a pub, and ooooh, she's seen this place before, hasn't she?

Tomorrow, seven-year-old Sariel Rager will think she dreamed this. Truth be told, she thinks she's dreaming already. that's alright by her, though. After all, she's only been here in good dreams before.

((Teeny tinytag: Barty Lampion))

Current Mood: surprised

licensed-pro.livejournal.com

It's been a week. Really. A really boring, difficult, long week.

Hence the Charlie sitting in a very comfortable hammock near the Caribbean inlet. Watching the waves, when he's not reading his book. It's a relaxing idea, the sitting-and-watching-nothing idea.

Charlie sees how people can enjoy this.

[tiny tag: Charlie Monroe]
[OOC: part of the 'Duet for Claws and Swords' plot; open forever.]

ostro_goth

It is very early morning, and Teja is sitting by the lake-shore, watching the sun rise.

His heart is full of turmoil and conflict, pity and pain, deep-roiling wrath and nameless dread but freshly awoken are warring for dominance in his feelings, but he holds them down.

Nothing is written yet. Nothing is sure. He will stand up to fate proudly, weather the storm, and do that which is necessary.

[OOC: Part of the Duet for Claws and Swords plot.]

[tinytag: charlie monroe]]

ladyfirestarter

Communication is more than just words; communication
is architecture. Because of course it is quite obvious that a
house which would be built without that will, that desire to
communicate, would not look the way your house looks today.

All of the ink that was bled from your hands
Has painted a picture that she understands

mogget_cat

The couch has an occupant, today. The light rain that had rolled in has kept him indoors, so Yrael felt he might as well catch up on his reading.

The rather old, calfskin-bound book has no title on its cover; only every so often, a page's text is accompanied by a small picture of a card.

Current Mood: determined

nothawkingbird.livejournal.com

OOM: Visiting post for Kate in the infirmary here. Will's also nearby.

laundry-buddy.livejournal.com

Billy is at the bar, talking to Moist, when a note appears. It's quite prim, and tells him that he's required for Happy Hour duties. Needless to say, he's a little surprised, but he manages to coerce Moist into helping him figure out where everything is.

As such, the specials board ends up reading:
Any drink you like. Made by inexpert bartending hands. Friendly conversation free.

After a moment of whispered consultation, Billy adds:
Everyone except for superheroes: half off all drinks.

Holding grudges, perhaps? Not these two.

[Two muns, two pups! Tag one or both. ~~Open until collective decision-making says otherwise.~~ Closed to new posts. Thanks for the tags, all!]
[Tiny tag: Jennifer Landers, Barty Lampion, Coreen Fennell, Dave Davenport, Michael Redstone]

zombiesuperman.livejournal.com

Bright lights. Those are normally a good thing. They illuminate the surrounding area and warn of creatures in the dark. But, if you ARE one of the things that go BUMP in the night, then bright light of any kind is not a welcoming sight. Michael Redstone was one of those things. Technically, he was forced into it. No choice of his own, really. But still, you refuse to be a weapon for someone else, and if that someone else is your good ole' Uncle Sam, then you are pretty much fucked no matter what you do or where you go. So in order to avoid the lights, he ducked into an alley, and apparently, into a bar, or nightclub of some sort.

"What the...?" Is his reaction as he looks around. There wasn't a door or anything in the alley. How did he wind up here?

song_tra_bong

It's been a long week with all the family drama flying around, so Mary Anne is taking it easy tonight.

She's got a comfortable booth, a cold beer and a good book, but she probably wouldn't say no if you wanted to chat.

a1enzo

Enzo is fairly pumped this evening. Game duty gave him one of those racing Games with a cast of characters from some User cartoon, with thematic cars, special powers, and no further explanation. Incredibly random, but exhilarating. Also, it works up an appetite; he's ready for a binary burger.

{tinytag: Hey Arnold!, Ryu Watanabe}

notabricklayer.livejournal.com

(OOM: Maybe she wasn't even that pretty in real life. Spoilers for S1E1 "The Man Trap")

The door slides open with a convincing if somewhat rattly 'woosh', and McCoy wanders in, scrubbing at his eyes with one hand and irritably thumping at where the light panel switch should be in his room.

When his hand hits wood instead of formed bulkhead, he freezes.

And actually looks around.

"Now, don't tell me after all that I'm actually goin' crazy."

(OOC: Annnnd he's back! Restarted from the beginning of the series, and no, I still haven't seen the movie (this week, promise), so... yes! One somewhat cranky good ol' Southern doctor, at your service.)

justasaleswoman

As far as fashion choices go, the little black dress is not exactly innovative or bold. It's "classic," which is to say, it's conventional. Safe, even.

But Verity likes it. It suits her. And the fact that her host thought basic was the very safest of choices for evening wear . . . well, Verity appreciates the irony.

So there is, once again, a young brunette in the bar, sporting last season's little black dress and this season's demon inside.

[the crossroads demon]

dr_temperance

Brennan is rifling quasi-frantically through a box of papers. Correspondence mostly. And contracts. All of it from her literary agent, publishing house, and publicist.

Sitting a little apart from the other papers is a glossy black folder overlaid with X-ray graphics. On top of it is a letter. Every few seconds Brennan gives the pair a glance of what can only be described as horrified disbelief.

She will admit that, over the last couple of months, she had been distracted. Between Gormogon, Zach, the administrative review, and tensions in the lab, in retrospect she had been overwhelmed and not at her best, mentally or emotionally. And she does vaguely recall signing something from her agent about agreeing to act in an advisory capacity for a forensics television show. And yes, she probably (clearly) hadn’t read it as closely as she should have.

But surely, surely she’d remember if she had signed off on a television show inspired not only by her books, but by her life.

Right?

Right?

boundxkitty

Liz is settled on a couch by the fire. In normal Liz mode, this would mean that she was sprawled over it to take as much of the couch over, more so than one might think a slender woman able, that she could. But this is worried Liz. Worried Liz takes up less space. Which means she's curled against the arm of the couch, knees up and legs curled at her side. There's a book in her lap, though the page hasn't turned in a good while. She's not really seeing it at the moment, though her head is down looking at it and her loose curls are creating a curtain around her face and the lap.

She's completely open and botherable though.

Tiny fuzzy'tag: Squirrel
Tiny Goddess'tag: Demeter

eligible-valet.livejournal.com

Imagine if you will, the sparsely yet sumptuously decorated abode of a young member of the idle rich. A spacious sitting room containing pristinely polished wooden tables and meticulously buffed leather armchairs and so on and so forth.

Then, add to this picture, a man of indeterminate age, clad in a black suit and tie combo sans jacket. His hair is slicked back and to the side from a deep side part (if one should care about that sort of thing). At the moment, he is on his way from the small room serving as kitchen and laundry room combined to the sitting room, carrying what appears to be a silver serving tray on top of which are a variety of breakfast items. Toast, butter, tea and condiments.

Imagine, then, the stricken features of this gentleman as he steps through yet another door, not to his employer's bedroom, but to what appears to be a bar unlike any other he has ever set foot in.

Someone had better catch that tray before it crashes onto an unsuspecting waitrat (poor thing).

((Tiny tag of times past: Jeeves AND Wooster (:D!!!)

Edit the First: Overheating and fatigue is taking their cooperating toll on my brain. Slow times, please! Post will be open FOREVAR. :D))

secondhandsilk.livejournal.com

She just wanted a smoke. That was all. Is that so much for a girl to ask for? Really? Especially after the discussion with Jon, and that brief encounter with Rorshach. That was one blast from the past Laurie could have passed on. She had spoken with Dan about meeting up, and was just stepping outside for a smoke when she somehow....

ended up here?

Where the hell here is that is. She didn't feel queasy so it can't be from Jon teleporting her somewhere else. So what did that leave?

"What the hell is this?"

[tiny tag: Laurie Juspeczyk]

loyaltyinmotion.livejournal.com

Jason is downstairs.

He's looking even more tired than when he came back from Scarlet's world.
The silver cigarette case is nearly empty...he's only got about one more line's worth if he's lucky. He should save it and try to make it last until he can find Scarlet, but...

Today wasn't a better day. He might just have to forget about saving what he has.

[Warning for drug use and Jason trying to get everyone to sleep with him]

guppy_sandhu

Guppy is at the bar, negotiating the purchase of some flowers.

He has a vague idea of what his wife's favourite flowers are, but doesn't know what they're called, so is trying to vaguely describe them.

"I think they're a sort of pinkish colour, but they have these little green bits, and there's a bit of whiteness in them, and they're about the size of a golf ball... they're kind of soft..."

Bar halts his feeble description by producing a pretty bouquet of roses and things.

"Oh, those are nice, thanks."

scurlock

[ooms:

out with the old
in with the new

millitimed to earlier this week and earlier this morning, respectively]

Doc is actually downstairs in the bar, tonight.

He's sitting in a booth near the Observation Window, sort-of keeping an eye on the surrounding area, though it's not like he's actively searching for anyone. He knows that time got funny while he was out in Bill's world, so it's been awhile (in here anyway) since he's been in Milliways. The funny thing about the passage of time is that it usually isn't very funny at all.

Even though he's kind of tired, he'll be down here (and botherable) for awhile longer, watching the nightly showing of the end of the universe. It doesn't bother him as much as it used to.

Which is a good thing, given how he's studying the 'storm' like he's looking for something.

Answers, maybe.

[tiny tag: Kissin' Kate Barlow]