milliways_bar | May. 25th, 2010

May. 25th, 2010

Plunk--tink!

Plunk--tink!

Plunk--tink!

Oh, look. Chandler's back in the bar, entertaining himself again -- this time, by dropping pennies, one by one, into a pint glass full of water. Eventually, the glass is bound to overflow onto the table

Plunk--tink!

Hey, at least he's not throwing the pennies around. This time.

_{Tiny Tag: Chandler Bing.}

paragonsoldier.livejournal.com

Shepard comes into the bar looking worn out, but relieved. Short explanation: a friend of hers just about got half his face blown off, but he'll be okay, mostly. And now she has someone she knows she can trust to watch her back.

She goes to the Bar, sags into a barstool, and orders a snifter of peach brandy. She almost asks the Bar to leave her the bottle, but decides upon reflection that she really doesn't want to go there.

Thus, one space marine, at the Bar, nursing her drink.

electro_kinetic

It's been a few days since Noriko left in her world; she comes in looking, remarkably, better than when she last was in the bar, save for the impressive black eye and surrounding bruise on the left side of her face.

At least the blacks and blues go well with her hair. (It's one of the only bright sides to life right at the moment.) Noriko walks straight to the bar, gets an ice pack, and sits down in a chair with her head tilted back, hand and cold compress on her skin, which is quickly going somewhat numb. For a few minutes all she does is sit there and emit one long sigh, not caring where she's supposed to be.

claudiometer

Claudia's starting to get some Ideas about stuff in the Warehouse - namely, how it might be put to fresh use. She knows this is going to be an unpopular idea with certain people, which is why she came here.
Not actually with anything. If she's going to be poking at stuff that's locked up for usually good reasons, she's going to poke at it in the controlled environment it's locked up in. But that doesn't mean she can't take a notebook and try to figure out what she's going to do.
So: Redhead at a table, with a notebook. So far, she's actually doing more work than people-watching, but that could be subject to change.

seat_five_girl

Izumi Ako is at a table sorting through two day planners and a tray of semi-random snacks rated as safe for humans from around the milky way. Arranging to manage your extra time well is hard.
Distractable.

Tyler Darrow is asleep on a couch by the fire because most of his social circle doesn't sleep during the day, but that's when everything else is open and the tattered remains of his circadian cycle have mugged him. New York might be the city that never sleeps, but the people there do.

Jerry Lukacs is folding pamphlets from the INS into paper airplanes and getting ready to go over to the fireplace and toss them in one at a time. Fire is cleansing after all and this will possibly be the most useful things these powers have ever done in their lives.

All pyros welcome.

Yuuno Scrya is the younger model again and looking forward to finally going home. He has a door again, that's a definite bonus, but the knob has been replaced by a series of logic puzzles and memory tests. Anyone looking for evidence that Milliways is a giant psych experiment is welcome to drop by.

Atomic Robo has a theodolite, a tremendous amount of paper and a tape measure and he's heading outside. The map isn't the territory - and Milliways makes that clear - but the map is useful all the same.

Not that it wouldn't be nice to have someone to hold the other end.

Tiny Tagging: Atomic Robo

OOC: Step up and name your poison. Work will be occurring - tags returned after 5 mountain.

slayer_fray

Mel is walking with a limp, and for this, she blames Dracula. After all, who wouldn't? Especially as her ankle not quite liking to support her weight almost got her killed today.

Well, maybe not killed. But caught, which when you're the best runner in Haddyn and your sister's a law who has a limited number of blind eyes to turn at illegal activity commited by the Chosen One, caught is almost as bad as killed.

The thief has an 'annoyed at the world' expression on her face as she comes in the front door, grabs herself a pint of sak and pins her Security badge onto her collar. Just this shift to get through, then the day's over.

lady_bols

[oom:

di_drake : What’s so special about you “Gene”? When good coppers go under, why do you appear?!

non_pc_dci : It’s my aftershave. And stop waggling your bloody fingers every time you say my name!*

]

*dialogue credits: Ashes To Ashes, S01E01
shouty tags: DI Alex Drake, DCI Gene Hunt

fowl_beast

A new day, another day of practice. Once again, Evil Chicken and his... Hhm

Well, a couple of months ago, Jordan Kennedy had sold Evil Chicken one of her Providor units and that was who, or rather what, was swinging around a flail at Evil Chicken. As for who she currently looks like, well, Evil Chicken has been calling her Lateri Xuh. She looks like no one important, anyhow, just a face that can blend into a crowd.

In a change to yesterday's practice Evil Chicken is firing off wind spells at Lateri. The magic doesn't affect Lateri, but it does affect the motion of the flail, sending it into chaotic motion.

Chicken: "See? This is why you can't rely on the flail to move in a smooth, predictable way. In actual combat, you will not have complete control of it. You shouldn't rely on controlling it, or else mind readers will take advantage of you."

Lateri: "I have no mind. I can't be read. You should seek medical attention."

"What?"

The head of the flail comes crashing down on Evil Chicken, making him go limp. As Lateri walks over to check on him, a second turkey sized rooster appears.

"You distracted me..."

Lateri's image blurs, focuses, and she suddenly looks a lot like another of the bar's patrons. "You have forgotten twice that I am an artificial construct." Not!Bridget picks up Chicken's former body and tosses it on a small pile of chicken corpses. "You should seek medical attention."

Great... Jordan must have left some nanny bot instructions in this thing. Thing, yes, its a thing, not a person, not even a sentient thing. It was acting awfully smart for a non-sentient thing. "Change back, you silly thing. And let's start again."

And so, Lateri becomes Lateri again and the swirly whirly death machine restarts.

Ummm.... they might stop to talk to anyone curious about what they are doing. After all, they don't want to injure any bystanders. Not yet anyhow.

[Tiny Tag: Evil Chicken

puckishly.livejournal.com

When Puck happens by the Bar and leans against is as casually as if it were a tree trunk or a door frame, a small cake appears with a candle shaped like a number five.

He blinks.

"Thank you, milady," he rallies pleasantly. "But what meaning am I to take from this?"

A brief and informative note appears.

"Oh," Puck says. "Has it really been? Already?"

A beat.

"Perhaps I oughtn't to have sworn I should burn Master Machiavelli, then." Another note appears. "My word, mistress-- you needn't take on so."

[ooc: In addition to the other things that May 25th stands for, it is also the 5th anniversary of Puck and Havelock's first meeting/flirtation/etc., etc. Somebody please tell him that book-burning is not romantic.

Open until I say!]

oneman_onevote

The weather is still unseasably pleasant outside, for someone used to Ankh-Morpork and its varying weathers of stifling smog and pouring rain.

After a morning's worth of practise, Havelock is taking a break in the heat of the day to re-sharpen his throwing knives, sitting peacefully in the shade of one of the lilac trees.

(There's a neatly cut sprig lying beside him, apparently ignored.

But it's not forgotten.)

[OOC: Ahahahaha, I have so many bartending threads to tag, and I am doing all those today as well. Please be gentle with me! I just had to EP him again to day, because it's May 25th and... well, Havelock was there.]

olyabird.livejournal.com

There is a mousy brown woman with pale skin settled at the bar. Her wiry frame swims in the faded charcoal man's coat she's wearing, and despite the warm weather outside, she's wearing threadbare wool gloves with the fingertips cut out. Her fingertips are stained with nicotine and she looks like she hasn't slept in days. Weeks possibly.

Before her on the bar is a stack of musty old books, in several different languages, most of them in Cyrillic text. She is resolutely ignoring them. There's a half full ashtray to her one side, half empty bottle of vodka to the other.

She intends to fill one and empty the other before the night is too much older.

thursdays_angel

The flotsam and jetsam of mortal life never ceases to be a source of fascination.

Castiel is seated at a table, looking over the small collection of items he had found on the floor of Milliways this evening. It’s something of a compulsion—once he finds one item, he will search curiously until he finds more.

A bottle cap. A puzzle piece. A gold foil candy wrapper. A peanut shell. A red glass earring. A wrinkled post-it note with Milk, Juice, Toothpaste, Chocolate scrawled on it. Two pennies. A grey feather. And a stub of a pencil.

It really is amazing what people lose.

[My LJ is running really slow tonight--please bear with me if tags are a few minutes coming.]

noteful

The pin Meg has in her hair this evening has proved to be less than satisfactory; her hair keeps coming loose and falling in her face.

And when she reaches up to pin it back in place again, she notices that one of her earrings is missing.

So now Meg is standing in the middle of the bar, with her right hand on her empty earlobe, scanning the floor in a fairly universal I've lost an earring pose.

And her hair still won't stay out of her face.

shadowsusannah.livejournal.com

It is a sad state of affairs when you have to come to Milliways to get some peace and quiet to work, but here's Susannah Toren with her laptop. Her brother-in-law is visiting Maine for the first time in a couple of months and Guitar Hero on the Wii is making the old farmhouse sound like the scene of a riot.

And ~~now that she is done ruining people's shit on the drums~~ she is far too busy and mature at her age to put up with that kind of nonsense. She has an action plan to finish writing and a bunch of resumes to go through. She's going to be spending the summer consulting with the Atticus Circle, and they offered to provide her with a personal assistant, but hers will need... special qualities.

ginsu_master

Leo is giving a bottle of sake a long look. His glass is still empty but, he might. Yet.

guppy_sandhu

LIFE SUPPORT
OPEN TO ALL!

There's a circle of chairs by the trilobite tank.

In the middle of that circle is a table full of food. Next to the table full of food (cakes, biscuits, tea, coffee, the usual soft drinks) is another table, which bears a giant sheet of paper and a box of chunky marker pens.

This week is art therapy. So pick up a marker and add your doodle, express yourself freely, leave your mark, whatever you fancy! If anything good comes of it, they can stick it on the notice board.

So far the poster has gained a small bunny, a dog jumping through a hoop, and (what was at one point a part of a man's anatomy when the leaders weren't looking but has been skillfully converted into) a peeled banana. Come show your artistic talents!

[ooc: Tinytag: Life Support group 2 - Guppy, Penny and Al. If anyone fancies submitting actual doodles, I will paste them into poster form.
Threadhopping as always encouraged! Open until the next one in a fortnight, anyone who tags will get answered by at least one of the leaders, have at :)]

stillbecoming

Buffy's not having the best evening -- recreational latte-sipping is not the thrill ride you'd expect, and she could really use a distraction. So when the note appears on the bar in front of her, she looks less panicked than she usually does.

Until she reaches for the chalk, and realizes the book of drinky stuff isn't in its usual place.

Tonight's Specials

some kind of drink that has a name that's thematically relevant to your life somehow
you might have to tell me how to make it

ostro_goth

Teja sits at a table, his axe leaning by his chair; he is drinking tea, and reading a book about the history of justice.

For the first time ever, he is openly wearing his Security badge.-

joan_of_archaeology

Annja Creed comes through the door dressed entirely in white. No, not a wedding dress or medical scrubs, or even pajamas. It's full sport fencing regalia, with her helmet tucked under one arm. She's carrying a practice saber in her other hand. She's a little sweaty, too.

Shrugging philosophically, she takes a seat and starts pulling off layers, stacking them on the table. Helmet, gloves, jacket, and chest guard. Then she starts thinking about dinner, or at least a drink.