(no subject)

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

Out of Milliways: Welcome to Springvale, Voodoo. Don't take it personally- the locals try to kill everyone.

(no subject)

[calmhrtprevails]

The Milliways door is very, very good at accommodating patrons, although usually it's better about doing so when they're leaving. Generally, the door on the other side stays about the same in size, which is why when the door opens this time it's temporarily darkened- the individual trying to come through is bigger than the homebuilder reckoned on. We're talking eight or nine feet tall and seriously broad in the shoulder region versus an ordinary just-high-enough-for-tall-humans kind of door here.

Oh, and green. The yellow-green skin should be fairly obvious. There's the tattered remains of blue and gold clothing, but it was clearly sized for someone a lot smaller, and probably not that color of green.

At any rate, the new arrival eventually manages to get through the door and straighten up- and up, and up- and then ... stares. Just stares. Being eight or nine feet tall and stuffed with ten feet worth of muscles doesn't really prepare you for an experience like this.

One massive hand reaches up and back to rest on the handle of the hammerlike weapon slung across the new arrival's back. Just in case.

(no subject)

[licensed-pro.livejournal.com]

It's windy on the other side of the door for Charles, who comes in with a shake of his head and a slightly resigned expression. He'd planned to go home, shower, and maybe spend an hour or so in the gym; apparently the universe had other plans.

Ah, well. He'd just see if this place had either of those instead of trying to traverse back to his apartment. So, there is one twenty-seven year-old man in a chair having shucked his jacket and still smelling faintly of a woman's perfume as he leans his head back, face blank. Maybe five more minutes.

(no subject)

[longlonghair]

[[OOM: Rapunzel relates the latest news from home and gets one step closer to joining the fight.]]

(no subject)

[bringer_of_fun]

Bobby is outside by the wall of the bar, looking up at the roof with an expression of speculation. He's waiting around for Bonzo, but he's happy enough to have company until his co-conspirator friend arrives.



[[ooc: Somewhat plotty. Any other threads will take place BEFORE Bonzo arrives, but all are welcome! Slowtime is a surety.]]

Happy Hour!!

[hey35andholding]

Clementine wasn't planning on doing anything today but sift through the pile of beads she'd absconded with during her last bust (There was a guy in a cow costume and exposed udders. If you REALLY want the details, she'll tell). When she heads to the bar for a shot of whiskey, she's confronted by a napkin.

Your turn, it reads.

Thanks to Sonya, she knows the bar's alive, but it's a little disconcerting. "No. Thank. You. I'm off the clock."

Another napkin reads: Uh-uh. I know how thick your tab is...

"But..."

Sorry, it's your turn. A girl needs her beauty sleep.

Clemmie frowns at the sentient chunk of wood as she slips behind the bar and prepares a menu. Having been a drink girl at any number of fine establishments in Reno, she knows the drill fairly well. The chalkboard behind her reads the following, written in bright pink chalk:

Happy Hour

Specials:

Dirty Blonde Slut

Green-Eyed Blonde

Pink Police

Reno-Native Craft Beers (Buckbean Brewing, etc., ask server for recommendations)

She later adds below it in purple chalk:

* Law enforcement, magicians and exotic dancers drink 1/2 off.

* Add one string of Mardi Gras beads to your order for $1!

There's more than one way to skin a cat, Clementine decides, as she shouts, "happy hour is ON."

[OOC: Will be spotty for the next half-hour, but after that will be around all night, going to slowtimes around 4AM EST! Accepting fresh tags to this post for 24 hours with instaslows applied after that.]

[Tiny tag of WTF am I getting into: Clementine Johnson]