milliways_bar | Mar. 14th, 2010

Mar. 14th, 2010

noscaredkid.livejournal.com

[OOM: Dreaming of screaming
Someone kick me out of my mind
I hate these thoughts I can’t deny
Dreaming of screaming
Someone kick me out of my mind
I hate these thoughts I can’t de--

System of a Down - Dreaming
Warning for some disturbing content, both within whitetext and otherwise.]

Jack is still rubbing the sleep from her eyes when she pushes open the door, and she pauses, hand still to her face, when she realizes where she is.

"Oh fuck, this place again?" After the raging hang-over she got the day before last, she had assumed (or hoped) that her trip to this sissy-bar had all been some strange, drunken dream. She should have known better. After all, nothing hits her that hard the next day but Ryncol, and she knows the planet she was on didn't have the stuff. This place, on the other hand...

Though she is tempted to turn and leave, Jack considers the situation for a minute. Her ship (well, the ship she stole) only has food fit for a Volus on board (seeing as it was a Volus ship), so being here could be a pretty sweet deal. She can eat, rest without worrying too much, and maybe even pick a small (teeny-tiny!) fight (or two).

Having made her decision, Jack marches over to the Bar and takes a seat. She's still a bit unsure around this VI...thing, but she's willing to try it. It's not like she's never ordered from a machine before. "Give me...uh, something good that I can eat, I guess." It's early, and she's not fully awake yet. When a bowl of Alpha-bits cereal appears in front of her, she gives the strange food (and the strange bar) a curious look.

"This a joke?"

bushel-o-apples.livejournal.com

It's a nice almost-Spring morning and Barbossa is walking around the lake towards the Caribbean inlet. The water is warmer there in case he would like to take his boots off and wade through the surf. He has a small satchel hung from his shoulder, the brass eyepiece of a spyglass poking out of it, and is absently throwing a small green apple up in the air and catching it as it falls. He is in a good mood as is usual when plotting. And of course, a man who loves the sound of his voice so much will have nothing against conversation.

With the approach of Spring the weather is mellowing, and the son of Denethor is reminded of how much more pleasant days were in Minas Tirith with the ending of winter, when the people of the Tower of Watch brightened as if a burden had been lifted from their shoulders as the trees started to bud (all but one) and even the Dark Lord's power and malice seemed to grow farther and lesser for a short time.

And thus he has decided to spend the morning outside, relaxing in the fair weather. He started the morning with a long walk along the shore of the lake, and can be found now sitting on the comfortable cushion of needles beneath an old cedar tree, his travelling cloak wrapped around him and a book in his hand.

Soon, he will go back to Paradiso, and to war. Soon there will not be time to contemplate the terrible beauty of the frighteningly fertile jungles of the planet. But for now, Tarik is free to enjoy the timelessness of Milliways.

At some point in the night he discovered the door leading outside, and found the lake. Now, as the sky begins to lighten in the East, he prepares for prayer. It's been months since he performed his ablutions in a lake like this: Clear and cold, the water is a pleasure. Since he got here in his uniform and field equipment, he must make do with it. His greatcoat doubles as a prayer mat, and his ballistic jacket, wrapped around his sheathed sword, serves as a prayer screen. As is common practice in Haqqislam (since there is no easy way to calculate the position of Earth, and thus Mecca, for the average faithful), he turns his face towards the sky before beginning to pray.

[...]

Afterwards, he can be found sitting on a rock near the lake shore, watching the sunrise tinge the lake with all the shades that the sky holds between black and blue. He has emptied his flask and refilled it with water from the lake, and occasionally lifts it to his lips to take a sip. All in all, he seems oddly peaceful for a man with an assault rifle and a sheathed sword resting across his knees.

[TinyTag: Tarik Mansuri]

gonna_live

Kaylee's got recipes to pick for a dinner party for way too many people.

She's got the purple sparkly handheld datapad in front of her, and a cup of coffee, and she's sifting through files.

(No messages for her at the bar; no waves on her pad; she'll assume all's well elsewhere until told otherwise.)

thanksrainman

Gus is at the Bar today. Apparently the Bar doesn't think he should be allowed to drink, so she just keeps giving him soda. As a result, he's got about six cans of Pepsi in front of him.

He's decided to brave a deck of cards. Up until recently, cards have been one of the easiest items for him to manipulate. Today, he's struggling with a simple overhand shuffle. How annoying.

Very botherable. He'll probably even give you a can of Pepsi if you ask nicely.

ami_imperfect

[OOM: Millitimed to the afternoon of February 25-

Friends and family of Danny and Danielle Fenton gather in Amity Park for a little birthday bowling...

...followed by the most awesome post-bowling birthday concert ever.]

gingerzippo.livejournal.com

So somewhere in that midday rush of people--who, surprisingly, were not just Badou's friends--into his little store, Badou had missed the part where someone knocked over a jar of lentils. And spilled soda next to the gumball machine. And left a denture-sized wad of purple gum under his counter top. Either way, Badou couldn't have left his counter until the last person had left. He even scooted Mimi out.

Running his hands back into his hair and swallowing the urge to chew his lit cigarette to pieces, Badou sighs through his nostrils and locks the shop, flipping the sign to 'Closed'. Retying his black apron, Badou lets his legs drag him towards the closet at the back of the shop.

Except when he opens the door and steps inside, it definitely isn't the claustrophobic, dust-caked little room he remembers.

Maybe his eye's playing tricks on him. Or maybe he's high.

"...Where the hell is my broom closet?"

[Tiny Tag: Badou Nails]

smart-house.livejournal.com

[OOM, millitimed to before the Oscar party:

"I was unsuccessful."]

52-dropoff.livejournal.com

Charlie is dangling from a tree branch near the lake. It's not quite spring yet, but it's mild enough that he's come down from the rafters and moved outdoors.

alertcommando

Being about to go on a mission makes Tanya restless.

It is a good thing Milliways came to her rescue, and an even better thing she does not need to wear the silly be-skirted formal uniform anymore.

In a few days she will depart for enemy territory in a dangerous gamble to turn the tides of war. Right now she is relaxing with hot cocoa.

Commando by the fireplace, in her usual half-uniform.

[ Bait post for OOM volunteers, but open to all ]

likesthecoat

Ianto, looking damp, hangs his overcoat on a chair and sits at the bar, stretching out his legs.

Coffee will be acquired. At the moment he's just enjoying the (relative) peace of Milliways on Sunday afternoon.

rogueseraph.livejournal.com

The Citadel was in ruins, and everyone wanted everything back the way it was. Everyone but Garrus Vakarian, freshly reinstated C-Sec special agent. He had just completed his first day back on the job. The Turian was excited at the opportunities for reform and improvement, but was also disappointed at the many people were so willing to go back to their normal routines. He had more pull now than he used to, so maybe that wouldn't be a problem after he put his section in its place. A C-Sec paper pusher had accepted a bribe from a repairs contractor to let safety regulations slide. Garrus had been very satisfied with the sound his fist made as it broke the officer's nose.
He was off his shift and heading back to his temporary quarters when he decided to stop by at a bar for a little relaxation. A moderate dose of alcohol would put Shepard and those days of being above law fresh out of mind.
The bony Turian pauses as he steps in through The Door. He had almost forgotten about this place. Leaving was an option, but Milliways was a bar, and a damn fine one at that. What had happened when he had first come here was no reason to ditch it now. He could forget about that long enough to enjoy a few drinks, at least. 'Enjoy' was the wrong word. Garrus hadn't 'enjoyed' anything since the Normandy was destroyed. 'Consume' would be more appropriate.
Garrus moves across the bar to an empty table, where he pulls out a chair and orders a strong vintage of wine.

[tag: Garrus Vakarian]

isaysimplewords

Today is New Year's Day, and the animal shelter Cal volunteers at is closed in observance of the holiday. He doesn't volunteer every day, but the extra day off still leaves a blank in his schedule, and so Bar's note is a welcome one.

Drink Specials

champagne
anything non-alcoholic

tinytag: chandler bing, toby daye

[OOC: Open until around ten PM EST; I have a lot of schoolwork this week and am kind of not so great with slowtimes lately, so I'd be looking to fade or wrap tonight if the thread allows. And of course threadhopping is encouraged and unlimited. :D And CLOSED. Thank you! ]

piesordeath.livejournal.com

Having had a successful Pi Day last year, the familiar smell of sweet, delicious, warm pie is once again wafting through the bar's space.

The Pie-maker has been busily preparing for this day to celebrate 1) nerdiness and 2) pie - and you're welcome to join him if you want.

Just ask the Pie-man for a slice of that apple, or maybe blueberry, peach, or pear - there's a wide selection to suit nearly everyone's taste. (But note: you won't find any meat in these pies.)

All proceeds from this event will go to the Bar's many charities.

[ooc: Bar-mod/Mod-approved! I'll leave this open for a couple days, and we'll work out the millitime kinks.
Feel free to threadhop into other threads as well. It's a party for pie!

ETA: aaand the mun has now lost pretty much all brain function. Slowtimes on existing threads - please and thank you!]

young_tmriddle

Ingress wanted to come to Milliways today, and she was told in no uncertain terms that if she wanted to do so, an adult was accompanying her.

She's not thrilled about this. Everyone treats her like she's a kid. A little baby. She can handle herself, and besides, it's not like anything bad has happened in a long time. Mary got to come whenever she liked when she was almost eleven. (And got turned into a rock sometimes, but Ingress conveniently forgets that part).

Ingress has a milkshake and is curled up on an arm chair by the fire, coloring with new markers. She is ignoring the adult accompanying her.

Tom was not invited to sit with her. Or near her. He's sitting at the bar, enjoying a scotch, where he can keep one eye on her and yet give her plenty of space. Things were much easier when Ingress was six and thought him coming along was a fun time and not an inconvenience.

badinlatin

[Millitimed to...a while back, in the bar: Gabriel Tam and Malcolm Reynolds play a game. I'm still not sure who won.]

electro_kinetic

Noriko is still in the bar, although she's getting increasingly uncomfortable since she can't get out and doesn't know why. Each passing day hasn't really helped this, but it's not her style to be very outwardly obtrusive about it. So she's seeing the party on the other side of the bar, but as yet she's only sitting and watching it, not joining.

She's shy like that, and doesn't really know what she's supposed to do here in a bar.

thursdays_angel

When Castiel ordered a cup of coffee from Bar this evening, he also requested a quiet activity of some kind.

Bar had promptly supplied him with a standard deck of cards.

The problem is that Castiel doesn’t actually know how to play any card games.

Not that this deters him. For the moment, he is arranging and rearranging the fifty-two cards on the surface of the table, using the colors and suits to form pleasing (to his eye) patterns.

Botherable.

bprd_agent_red

When Red walks in tonight he's not alone. He's escorting someone in a suit, the guy hanging on Red with an arm around Red's shoulders, and Red has him by the waist.

It could be they're old buddies.

Or, it could be that the guy is made out of stuffed clothing, with a yellow balloon with a face drawn on by Sharpie for a head.

Red wasn't really meaning to come into Milliways with his stuffed friend, but since he is here he sets his pal down in a chair and pulls out a seat for himself.

He orders them both a beer, and somewhere Agent Myers is wondering where the hell his clothes are.

[ooc: And sorry folks, but I must be off for sleeps. Slowtime is love and I will tag back as I can, promise. Post is open until it scrolls, g'nite!]

no-saber.livejournal.com

The front door opens, and a green twi'lek in brown Jedi robes wanders through.

Well, she's mostly green.

And the robes... were once brown.

Someone got ambushed by a crew of initiates. Initiates... armed with paint.

Bright paint.

...

Laranth would like to find whoever it was who said that the life of a Jedi is calm... and thump them over the head, soundly.

She's fairly sure that this isn't a very Jedi-esque thing to think, but at this moment, with pink paint threatening to drip into her eyes... she doesn't much care.

ostro_goth

Tower hasn't been in for quite a while. Somehow, he didn't feel like drawing cards for everybody on New Year's, this time around. There are so very many new years, anyway. One per world per year. You could never stop the prophesies if you were going to mind them all. So Tower is by the bar, drinking scotch and not thinking about anybody's future and destiny at all. Instead, he thinks about the coming spring, and women. Women are always nice to think about.

Teja is sitting by the fireplace, turning a small, nasty crossbow in his hands. This is not the weapon that killed him; Teja has a good idea as to what happened with that one. Between a Bright Shiner, Charter-kindled flames, and a sizeable dead body consumed by them, one small weapon does not stand much of a chance. No, this is the weapon that Urquhart brought upon his second entrance, the same thing over, just as Teja brought the harp and battle axe again, when he returned. He has worked out, by now, how this weapon works, and would like to see what one of these may do when fitted with a metal 'bow' part of folded steel, as Teja makes it. But he will not improve the murderer's weapon for him, but will return it as confiscated, upon his release. Studying the weapon, Teja is trying to understand what man it may be that would work with one such. High-handedly, most Ostrogoths would have pronounced it a coward's weapon, to carry hidden and shoot from far away; but Urquhart is no coward. His purpose, which this weapon serves, is utterly different from any Teja has known for himself: - that is all!

Two chairs further on, there is a sleeping swan-king, rolled up in his chair, empty can of Red Bull on the floor. Not even that could keep Donovan awake. He's just knackered; his life is terribly busy, and often terribly exhausting and frustrating. No roots, no home, no girlfriend, no steady job other than doing his duty on the behalf of every feather-brained swanmane in the whole damn country. He was very happy to finally find the bar again, and is currently celebrating it by conking out.

Sirona is sitting by the bar, experimenting on -- something. She puts little silver things on the polished surface, watches them vanish, and then asks for something else, which is invariably green and rectangular. Her little Sony Vaio laptop is open on the bar beside her, and she takes notes on something that almost but not quite looks like Excel -- the spreadsheet program in OpenOffice.org, of course. Sirona has finally found a use for the long-forgotten votive tablets people used to give her when she still had followers, almost two millennia away, and is converting them into computer parts, noting with fascination what the bar will exchange any given part into. For some reason, the leg tablets always turn into graphic cards.

Urquhart isn't there. He's in the cells, getting antsy now.

[[OOC: Say in your tag who your pup wants to talk to! Urquhart can be visited in the cells when you follow the link.]]

maintiens

There's a Mountie in the bar today, sitting on a stool with is wolf at his side. He's not in uniform just now, and he's a little scruffy, sporting a couple days' growth on his face.

He's still got his hat on though. He's almost never without it.

snowy_river_man

[OOM: Gather them up with a butterfly net. Do what needs to be done.

*Dialogue from The Man from Snowy River contained within.]

ol-yellow-eyes.livejournal.com

Data finds Milliways again, deliberately this time. He wants to try an experiment.

Spot has spontaneously decided that feline supplement number 57 no longer suits his tastes. And Data has not yet been able to find a suitable alternative. It occurred to him that perhaps Bar could be of some assistance.

So Data brings his cat into the bar.

The little bowl of cat food that Bar offers seems to be producing promising results. Spot sniffs at it curiously. Data walks away from the Bar to sit on the couch in front of the fire, where he sets the food down on the floor and watches his cat eat it. Spot seems to like it.

[OOC: Open to anyone, 'til it scrolls. I'll be very available all week, as it is my spring break. ^_^]

necessary_child

Sam and Jack have been in their corner of the bar for some time. Long enough, in fact, that it's not so much their corner any more as it is their ... well, measurements in the bar are traditionally more like guidelines than rules, but suffice to say that they've taken over a sizeable section of it. Tables have been pushed together, sofas moved, and pizza boxes, popcorn, chocolate wrappers and sushi are dotted about 'their' domain in a proprietary kind of way. Somewhere there is a television - at some point, they watched movies - and cards and poker chips have been laid down on one table in a way that suggests that a poker game has lately been abandoned in favour of something more interesting and possibly involving sugar.

The end result of that sugar is that the aforementioned Jack is standing on a table, greatcoat flapping in a non-existent (but narratively convenient) breeze.

"Madness? THIS - IS - MILLIWAYS!"

Sam tugs insistently at his coat. Jack leans down and there is a brief, muttered debate.

"OKAY, OKAY, IT'S MADNESS TOO. Can't a guy mangle a quote any more?"

Tiny tags: Nori Ashida (Surge)