milliways_bar | Feb. 15th, 2010

Feb. 15th, 2010

Stop me if you've heard this before. So, a Marine pilot wearing a flightsuit (and a handgun on a thigh-holster) walks into a bar at the end of the universe. And she's walking fast, because she needs to catch the damn ground crew and see what the everlasting hell they are doing to her Samson, but it only takes her half a step to realize she's not where she was.

She's also pretty sure she'd know if they decided to put a new bar in Hell's Gate.

"...okay, someone care to explain?"

(It's not actually question)

Current Mood: cranky

realmrsreynolds

Sallie's in the bar, finally home from the City, and looking not all that worse for wear. Maybe a little travel-weary, but that's nothing some stiff coffee wouldn't cure.

The book she is carrying gets left at the Bar for Charlie and she's on the customer side of things for the present.

[ooc: Usual workslow.]

alertcommando

Tanya is trying to be not one to shoot a gift horse between the eyes.

So, when the door appeared for her at yet another different location, she took the chance to duck into Milliways and rest from the bureaucracy of waging war, before she feels tempted to shoot the politicians stalling her next mission.

That is why there is a commando by the fireplace, wearing an formal dress uniform; yes, Tanya Adams was made to wear a skirt, stockings and black pumps, but at least they let her keep her guns with the whole silly outfit.

She could use a drink.

pickyourmoments

Chandler's always known that eventually, he'd get caught. You can only skive off of work to go to a bar so many times before someone notices. He'd just never expected that someone to be the Bar.

He's being put to work, because he keeps ditching work. That's the way he sees it. He's never tended a bar. He's never even waited tables. He's had one job his entire life, and that was statistical anayalsys and data reconfiguration. Still, he goes behind the Bar, and fumbles around, trying to figure out what it is he's meant to be doing. Eventually, he comes up with a plan.

Happy Hour
Apologies in advance for the new guy

SPECIALS

Rum and Coke/Rum and Diet Coke
Chocolate Milk
Coffee

And that exhausts the list of things he can make on his own. Grabbing a Yoo-hoo for himself, he sits back and waits for something to happen.

Fake!Tag: Chandler Bing

alsoagreengrass

Deliberately missing Arithmancy is probably not the brightest idea for Scorpius. Seeing as his work, according to the Professor, has been hovering unacceptably around an Acceptable so far.

And not to mention the detention he'll receive for missing.

And the Owl from home when his parents find out.

And -

Well, there is no fourth point to talk him out of not going. Or at least none that Scorpius is going to consider with his mind already made up.

The appearance of Milliways only solidifies that decision.

Until he remembers that time slows to a stop when he's here. A reminder from Bar actually, when his Arithmancy textbook appears alongside the pumpkin juice he ordered.

Looks like he'll just be putting off the inevitable then.

dark_dancer

Cata is beginning to wonder why anyone ever thought having students write essays was a good idea. Someone has to correct them after the fact, after all, and none of the students are far along enough for her to offload the work to them.
Someone may want to distract her before she tries having a strong drink and seeing if that helps.

almosthonorable

[ oom: thank you, jesus, can I have another?
and another?
oh, thank you lord
but if it pleases thee to have them banging down the door
couldst thou let 'em know what they're in for
ain't good for you or me or them?
amen ]

[ tiny tag: a gothic winter tale ]

[ warnings for language, violence and disturbing imagery ]

justdidntseeit

Kate's at the counter with a handful of chocolate squares wrapped in shiny foil, and the most decadent cupcake she's ever seen.

"Thanks, Bar," she says, the words more bemused than wry.

She glances at the napkin accompanying the cupcake.

"It's not really my birthday, though. I'm still 29 in L.A."

Another napkin, and Kate chuckles under her breath.

"No, you're right -- there's no reason not to mark the occasion in here."

And in here, marking the occasion denotes a mountain of pink buttercream frosting and rainbow sprinkles.

noteful

Meg received, along with her mint tea this evening, a wrapped package from Bar.

And now her mug is half empty, her present is open and sitting on top of its neatly folded wrappings on her table, and Meg is sorting through a box of photographs.

It has, thus far, been a perfectly lovely week.

idolovestories.livejournal.com

In a place like Milliways, it isn't really all that unusual for someone to simply appear 'between one blink of the eye and the next', as they say. Which is quite possibly what makes Drosselmeyer's appearance this evening so unusual.

Because one moment there is an empty space in a corner of the bar, and the next moment, there's not. A man with gaudy clothing, an impressively befeathered hat, and an unblinking grin sits in a rocking chair sipping delicately from a porcelain teacup. Which, again, is not so unusual in Milliways. The odd part is that his arrival has the air of unusualness about it. In a place where the uncommon is an everyday occurrence, somehow this particular arrival seems... off.

Or maybe it's nothing. After all, the grinning man may look a bit odd, but he also seems completely harmless.

evil_koala_626

As far as structures go, the newest addition to the Milliways grounds is not particularly impressive. Snow is hardly the most durable of building materials. For another it falls short of three feet in height; a crude horseshoe shaped mound a few yards off the path leading down to the gardens. The nondescript image is somewhat marred by the flag that's hanging limply from a broken tree branch wedged vertically into the edge of the wall. If one were the curious sort, they might notice a flash of red that is the very top of a bobble hat surveying the landscape through a small gap in the fortification. Those that do ignore it at their own peril.

latino_menace

Ramon took a bit of a beating the other day. Which is fair enough, it happens occasionally. But it does mean that he's outside today, trying to make sure it doesn't happen again. Currently, this involves hanging upside down from a low branch and doing sit-ups the hard way. If the chest doesn't hit the knees, it doesn't count.

Later he'll be in the bar, doing what he does best - drinking and looking for company (he'll shower first, honestly). Catchable in either place.

guppy_sandhu

Guppy's nose has turned a deep shade of purple, after Urquhart slammed the door into it the other day.

His wife, once she had finished being concerned, went out and bought him some appropriately coloured foundation, which he applied.

Unfortunately he turned out to be allergic to the foundation, so he had to remove it and now has a nose that's purple, sore and itchy.

But, on the bright side, he's got a box of home made heart-shaped biscuits with strawberry icing, which he is eating and would be willing to share with people who don't mock his nose too much.

scots_wolf

There is a tall, leggy blonde leaning at the bar, sipping coffee and watching people.

She is wearing jeans and sneakers, and a low-cut, bust-hugging blue shirt.

She's only existed in this form since the morning, and she's very curious about life from a woman's perspective.

She might have a switch-blade knife in her pocket, but no way is she concealing a crossbow anywhere.

Approach to entertain her?

antivan-leather.livejournal.com

The door opens, curiously enough, onto another bar. No one immediately comes through; however, there is a great deal of shouting and protesting, accompanied by the sound of shattering crockery and possibly some small furniture.

"I am neither a thief nor a cheat! Well, I have stolen lives and a fair few hearts, perhaps, and cheated Death once or twice, but that is different. You are an assassin of character, that is what you are. Ha! You see, it's funny, because I am an actual assassin and you are just a scraped-from-the-barrel street thug with less sense than brains, and that should be impossible."

There's the sound of sudden scuffling, followed by a yowl of protest and more heavily accented squabbling.

"Take your hands off of me! I know your type, I can guess at where they've be- HEY!"

A blond, tan personage suddenly comes through the door. He's airborne, which is not the natural means of locomotion for his species, and he hits the floor roughly, though bounces to his feet almost immediately. Short, lithe, with a tattooed face, pointed ears, and clad in a light set of leather armor, he gives a sigh and shakes his head as the door closes behind him and he gets a good look at where he's ended up.

"Ah. Out of the frying pan and into the fire, as they say?"

Zevran Arainai, meet the bar. Bar, Zevran.

(Hello! I have an early night tonight, but should be around for a couple hours, though I'll be a bit slow with homework. Post is open indefinitely for those that want it and slowtimes are welcome, so feel free to tag and I'll grab them in the morning.)

[tinytag: zevran]