milliways_bar | May. 9th, 2010

May. 9th, 2010

nitro-is-ace.livejournal.com

Ace, in her coat, in her stompy boots, in her soot-streaked self, walks up to the bar.

"Two steel needles, one reel of electrical cord any size y'like, a pair of fuzzy socks, an' a hot cocoa. Please." The requested items materialize, and Ace takes them all to a booth over in the far corner.

A few minutes she comes back, in her coat, in fuzzy socks (they're purple and silver and sparkly), and still soot-streaked (possibly even worse than before).

"Two double A batteries an'... some fried paradoxes. With conundrum sauce, ta." Batteries and food in hand, she heads back to the booth.

There's a brief flash of light, and a few minutes later, Ace is back.

Sans eyebrows, at the moment.

"Nevermind. Pour me a glass of Atlantean, ta."

claudiometer

(OOM:

we have a bond that nothing can change

Spoilers for Warehouse 13 episode 6.)

evercleverest

[ooc: millitimed to after this, with some threads still in progress.]

The first thing Hermione Granger does when she is released from the cells is check on her Door. A little more than dismayed that it still refuses to open, she returns to the Bar, asks her for a warm cup of tea and settles in a booth by herself. (The booth in question is near the back, out of view from most of the tables.)

She still has Mia's book with her. And sticking out from the pages is also an envelope that has yet to be opened.

Hermione isn't sure what possessed her to keep the letter sealed until now; maybe it's fear, maybe something else entirely. After a moment's thought and a sip of her tea, she finally slips it out from the book's pages, chips off the wax, and pulls the letter from the envelope.

She reads it three, four, five times before she flags down a passing waitrat for a piece of blank parchment and a quill. Then ... she begins to write.

hallelujahpilot

[OoM: after this (still in-progress), Trudy has some serious thinking to do]

Current Mood: discontent

re_mybrains

[OOM: Every once in a while, you meet people on the road.]

[No particular warnings, except, you know, living in a post-zombpocalyptic world is kind of depressing.]

ol-yellow-eyes.livejournal.com

[OOM: Acting First Officer.

Data would much rather be doing a different type of acting.]

[Spoilers for Star Trek: The Next Generation Episode 6x21, "Frame of Mind."]

badinlatin

"Five years."

Mal never remembers these things on his own. It's more when he steps up to the bar and he receives a note of congratulations from his mother the Barman and a cupcake from the bar.

"Wow."

Mal orders a Coke to go with the cupcake, requesting also a pad of paper and a ballpoint pen to get some notes written out for later.

Come on by when he settles into a booth. He's got the time, apparently.

[ooc: ~~open. very open.~~ not so open anymore! off to bed. <333]

blackholesandrevelations

[OOM: months that go over their heads
days that pass perception
maybe they have the seconds
maybe
--

jaceekei]

{even death can't stop john & aeryn.}
♥

aj_crawley

"So are you denying you were involved?"

"Wasn't that the gist of what I was saying?"

"But - if you'll forgive me for saying so, my dear - isn't that rather the sort of silliness you enjoy?"

"Are you suggesting I don't take the election process seriously?"

"Oh, and that gaffe was a part of the election process, was it?"

"Well, public transparency is important in these things, don't you think?"

"You don't feel it was a little... juvenile?"

"Aren't most little old ladies from Manchester bigots anyway?"

"Non-sequitur, I'm afraid. My serve."

"Bugger."

One angel and one demon, feet discreetly tangled under the table, sharing a tall pitcher of something that looks like fruit juice but is, in all probability, considerably more alcoholic.

From the sound of things, they're feeling rather sociable tonight.

(Of course, if you should need to catch either of them alone, you're not entirely out of luck. One of the many benefits of an ethereal constitution is that refreshments that are merely considerably alcoholic needn't slow one down for quite some time. It's more or less a certainty that each of them, at some point or another, will be sallying forth to Bar herself to replenish supplies.)

[OOC: Two occult beings for the price of one! Tag either or tag both - just mention which in your comment.]

young_tmriddle

Tom is in the bar tonight, although he got quite the strong impression that Door would have preferred he not be. This is his place, though, and he's returned after much worse than an ill-advised hex from a frightened witch.

He did take care to wear dark jeans and a blue button-up shirt to look not like his usual, more severe self. He can dress down, sometimes. The sleeves have cuff links instead of buttons; there is only so much modern style Tom can handle.

He sits in the same armchair that Ingress sat in last night, though he has no way of knowing this. He does not stare into the fire. He keeps his eyes on the room as he sips his scotch. Just in case.

headed4hell

Grace is mad.

She's pissed because her Aunt Cathy, the woman who taught her how to blow smoke rings, isn't who Grace thought she was. She's pissed that her brother Leo figured it out and never clued her in, sitting on the secret in his shrine of a basement for years. And damn, she's pissed because all this makes her feel for her perpetually disapproving mom.

There's more to it than that -- her Dad, that day, even Henry's poor cat Molly -- but Grace isn't big on self-reflection.

When she pushes the door open with her butt and notices she's in the bar, Grace's stormy expression doesn't change. There's a brief pause and surprised blink, nothing more, then she continues into the room like this had been her destination all along. Grace marches up to Bar, leans over and grabs a bottle of beer, flicking ash at the tab board with a grunt. The stool she'd climbed on to do so becomes her seat; the one next to it is savagely kicked out of the way.

Lashing out doesn't help her mood any. Turning her attention to people watching, she sits there with her beer and her smoke like a champagne cork about to pop its way free of a bottle.

student_of_impossibility

It's apparently that time of year all over the multiverse, as evidenced by the Special's board.

Specials:.
Finals Night
Maestro
Nutty Professor

If you catch the bartender while he's stealing a minute or two to himself, you may notice the boy has several books piled up behind the Bar, one of them open. He also has some papers he's writing on. He also has a couple fading bruises and scratches and a split lip.

[ooc: sorry about running late; mun got a headache and may be slightly slow, but happy hour's open now, so.]

msskagpocalypse.livejournal.com

Since finding herself a somewhat alternative form of employment as a lab rat - before reverting back to her former fighting, stealing and screwing job - Lilith has found herself in receipt of a large amount of cash. When you've bought all the guns and eyeliner a girl could want and you find yourself in some really bizarre excuse of a bar where you'll get thrown in jail if you so much as discharge a weapon, there's only so many things you can spend on.

This would be her excuse for sitting at a table surrounding by many different bottles of alcohol, including, but not limited to Firewhiskey, actual whiskey and tequila.

She's not even slurring. Give the girl a frickin' medal.

[Tinytag: Lilith (Borderlands)]

waylostandfound.livejournal.com

Nathan was supposed to be flying toward Washington. He was supposed to be heading there to deal with Sylar who apparently has added fully physical identity theft to his range of abilities. He wasn't supposed to be flying over the mountains and forest out back behind the bar.

Funny how it works sometimes. He touched down on the ground, and his determined stride was tense with barely contained anger. He immediately headed toward the Front Door only to scowl at the smooth wall in its place.

"DAMMIT!" He yelled loudly and his fist went out to punch the wall. He only got bloodied knuckles with a few splinters for his trouble.

fiery_ring

Carlotta is at the bar, idly sketching designs for how to customise the study she was allocated with Claudine today.

It feels very strange, and rather exciting, having their own little room and the power to call the first and second formers to do odd jobs. Not that she'll be doing it often - she remembers how much she hated doing that when she was a first former.

She puts the sketch aside and starts memorising a French poem. Uck, boring and pointless exercise.

canadasgreatest

"We'll just slip our way in and..."

Whoops. Instead of entering the intended university, there stands a restaurant at the end of the universe. The man in the bright red mask reacts accordingly.

"Oh no..."

The Red Panda and the Flying Squirrel, in the bar!

Tiny-Tag: Two pups and two muns, tag one or both! (Open to all until it scrolls off the page!)

river_meimei

"No, see--" Duo waves his spoon at River for emphasis, and then hastily lowers it before ice cream drips onto the couch. "Real cherries are acceptable. Maraschino cherries are an abomination. It's an important distinction!"

River eats a sprinkle with her fingers, looking dubious. "It's a paradigmatic rewriting," she informs him. "Got extra sugar."

So, to sum up: River and Duo have a couch shared between them, a fairly epic ice cream sundae apiece, and a lot of precisely constructed paper airplanes strewn around them. (Some have physics equations written on them.) Come say hi!

[OOC: Two muns, two characters! Feel free to tag them together, or to arrange your timing so one of them just went back to the bar or something.]

vyvyan

Vyvyan places a pile of cash on the bar. He got sixty pounds deducted from his debt for fulfilling his bet with Urquhart, ten pounds he stole out of the pocket of an unsuspecting fluffy-haired doctor, five pounds he beat up Neil for, and seventy eight pence he found in the bottom of a toilet.

Along with a wad of cash. The first set of money is accepted. The second part gets a napkin from Bar in response.

'I'm sorry, we do not accept money you made yourself.'

"I didn't!" Vyvyan says.

'You spelled 'pounds' with a w'

"Regional variation."

'You copied them on a Xerox machine.'

"The mint was broken the day they made these."

'The picture you tried to put on them was Andrew Lloyd Webber, not the Queen.'

Beat.

"Fine. You'll get the rest."

He looks around for some mug he can get more money from.

[tinytag: Vyvyan]