(no subject)

[noscaredkid.livejournal.com]

For the first time in a while, Jack walks through the door, seats herself at the bar, and doesn't ask for a meal. Instead she sets a pistol down on the bartop and asks for a rag and a bowl of water. When she receives both she takes the pistol in hand, turns it over to inspect it, and begins to wipe away the splatters of blood that cover much of the muzzle and barrel.

Given her uninjured appearance and the smile she's sporting, it would seem that the blood isn't hers, and most likely neither is the gun. Or at least, it wasn't hers. Finders keepers, losers...well, the losers are dead actually, so they're unlikely to be doing much weeping. She still gets to keep the gun though.

(no subject)

[stillbecoming]

Buffy shows all the signs of frantic cramming: open book, stack of closed books, three empty mugs that may once have held coffee but have long since been drained dry.

She's also fast asleep.

(no subject)

[aj_crawley]

The weather in London's been pretty kind, this spring. The last frost is some weeks behind them now (which is saying something, considering the wretched winter), so yeah, if you want to get technical about things, Crowley could have started Operation Re-Plant Fucking Everything some time ago. However, it's important to note that descriptors like 'kind' or 'mild' don't necessarily equate to 'dry' - and why, Crowley reasons, would he want to hang about in the half-hearted drizzle masquerading as April showers when he has a perfectly good alternative at the end of the universe?

If you catch the demon later in the evening, odds are he's sitting at a table with a glass of something cold and alcoholic for company, cleaning out the last specks of dirt from beneath his fingernails with a toothpick and a satisfied expression.

If you're looking for him earlier, though, your best bet is out in the grounds - or more precisely, the little plot he's rented out in one of the Milliways greenhouses. It might be a bit difficult to spot him, mind - most of the hardier shrubs, Crowley's left to their own devices out on Aziraphael's roof, so it's only a little plot, tucked away in the far corner. Plus, he's currently crouched down below eye-level, chin-deep in a small standing army of trellises - Devon Cream, honeysuckle, and the vibrant thatch of purple currently occupying his attention; Clematis caracasana.

Today, Crowley's checking up on his climbers.

[OOC: Sleeeeep. Slowtime currently in effect, chickadees, but post is open for new tags until it scrolls off the page.]

(no subject)

[visible_sariel]

Well look at that. It's a Sariel in the bar.

Er, well. It's actually a Sariel in the doorway for the first second or so, but the general idea still works. "I wondered where this place had gone," says the ensign as she steps through all the way. She looks a little surprised, a little relieved, but not overly so; for her, months haven't passed. Oh nooo. for her, it's been just shy of two weeks since a dimensional portal turned up in her closet on the second swish of the door. Just wait until she spots the calendar.

There's now a twenty-something in a Starfleet uniform over by the fire, tea in hand. Someone should really clue her in about the time difference. Before, say, she tries the back door. Not that she's planning to, but still.

((OOC: My unofficial hiatus is over! *cheers* I'll be sporadic all morning, but I'll definitely be here.))

(no subject)

[vance_prime]

Out of Milliways: a pair of brief heart-to-heart chats.

[tinytag: Chell Johnson]

(no subject)

[mogget_cat]

There's a Bright Shiner in the bar tonight, in human shape and stretched out along the couch. She's perusing a book of comparative magic theory.

A cold glass of milk sits on the coffee table, well within reach.

(no subject)

[claudiometer]

(OOM:

here's where things start getting weird
while chinless men scratch their beards, uh-huh

Spoilers for Warehouse 13 episode 5.)

(no subject)

[acts_of_gord]

They're about two days away from the assault on the dead zone gene worm, and Gordon still hasn't figured out his exit plan. True, they could go with what worked for Shephard, or they could try an alternative variant, but he'd like to have something a little more reliable lined up if possible. He needs time to brainstorm, so he's slipped off to Milliways and requisitioned several sheets of paper, one of which has been turned into a standup sign at his table:

Seeking Milliways patrons with prior experience fighting inside/escaping from the interior of extremely large, extremely tough organisms. More interested in learning how than in seeking services.

A duplicate goes up on the Bar notice board, and he heads back to his table to start brainstorming ideas on the remaining paper.

(no subject)

[smallestopener]

Ingress sits at the bar, her sword dangling from her sword belt and her legs kicking in the air. They are much closer to touching the bottom rung of the barstool than they've been before.

She sips her milkshake. Once she's done, she'll follow the rules and go home. The nice thing about milkshakes is you can sip on them for a loooong time.

happy hour~

[theseventhson.livejournal.com]

The bartender tonight is looking a bit peeved. All things considered, this is understandable. Having come down looking for a proper meal, Septimus has been 'volunteered' into bartending duty. (Given that his previous serving experience only goes so far as poisoning drinks, he'd question Bar's logic, but there is only so long you can argue with a bar while keeping whatever dignity you've got left.)

The specials board reads as such (in handwriting that, while neat, suggests the ill temper of its owner):

SPECIALS

GIN

We suggest you not ask for anything too complicated.

(no subject)

[hear_the_voices]

[OOM: You wonder how these things begin . . .]

Certain problems now having been settled to her satisfaction, Anna is in a good mood this evening.

She also has a large ice cream sundae impressively decorated with sprinkles and almost drowned in chocolate syrup. This may also explain some of the good mood.

(no subject)

[yosafbridge]

A very irritated, migraine-suffering redheaded con artist has set herself up on one of the couches for the better part of the day. All the remedies she's tried have done nothing to cure the feeling of hammers pounding around on the inside of her skull, but the cooling eye mask she has on seems to alleviate at least part of the pain.

For the most part, she's unaware of anyone who might approach her, but don't think she won't hear you coming. And we wouldn't recommend trying to sneak up on her, either.

There are, after all, more benefits than disadvantages to having heightened senses.

(no subject)

[fiery_ring]

Carlotta has been in Spain for the last few weeks. It's been more exciting than she anticipated, and a good break from the remaining Awkwardness at home.

She has a couple of tiny model bulls for Demeter and Teja when she finds them. In the mean time she's flopped on a sofa by the fire, reading the letters she just picked up from home.

(no subject)

[scurlock]

The back door opens to admit a pair of familiar faces.

Doc and Billy head for the bar to pick up a bottle of tequila and a handful of shot glasses -- wondering why bar tries to give them a bowl of limes and a shaker of salt to go with the liquor -- before they end up at a table in a somewhat-central area of the bar.

It's not that the outlaws are looking for attention, but they won't turn down company. Bar gave them a few extra glasses, and tequila is better shared with a full gang anyway.

(And they're running low on members, these days.)

Two Regulators, a bottle of tequila, and some shot glasses. Company is welcome, but you'll have to bring your own limes and/or chasers.



[Joint post! Tag in and you'll get a thread w/ both the boys. Open until one of us falls over and gives up the ghost, then will entertain slows.]