Apr. 23rd, 2012
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Apr. 23rd, 2012 01:06 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
luvs_yogurt[OOM: The day after Michael and Emma's adventure, he got a chance to spill a couple cups of guts with Sam.]
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Apr. 23rd, 2012 01:18 pmchrysopteronIris had been working, bringing April rains to those who need them.
But then she found Milliways.
Iris brings her wings in quickly before they disappear. She is still holding her caduceus and ewer, however.
[ooc: work/boot camp slow, but here. :) ]
But then she found Milliways.
Iris brings her wings in quickly before they disappear. She is still holding her caduceus and ewer, however.
[ooc: work/boot camp slow, but here. :) ]
(no subject)
Apr. 23rd, 2012 02:24 pmwhoiwasmeant2beIt's been a week. A week of semi-solitude. Flying, hunting, spending nights out in the woods. Generally staying away from people and trying to regain balance after talking to so many people. Everyone had been nice, Tobias thinks, even somewhat understanding of his need for space. Especially in a crowd.
And, to be perfectly honest, Tobias could is tempted to spend another week trying to recover. Or maybe two. Or three.
But he has a calendar. And a mission, of sorts. So he is once again standing at the top of the stairs, tying to get his breathing under control enough to venture across the room to find a seat at one end of the bar where there aren't nearly as many people.
Of course, that's all relative, and even thinking about sitting in the 'less crowded' section has his eyes wide and half-panicked.
It doesn't help that he doesn't have any good instinctual fight-or-flight responses. As a hawk, he's always on-edge, but he's confident in his ability to do something. But... a thirteen-year-old human body is a lot less... well, survivable, really. There also isn't that comfortingly-familiar ball of instincts in the back of his head, either.
Still. He can do this. He's done scarier things. So, once again, he makes it to the bar and perches at the very edge of a stool, ready to bolt if something demands it. "A... um... grilled cheese sandwich, please?" Sandwiches. Those were human. And the peanut butter and jelly last week had actually been pretty good once he'd gotten over it being weird.
And, to be perfectly honest, Tobias could is tempted to spend another week trying to recover. Or maybe two. Or three.
But he has a calendar. And a mission, of sorts. So he is once again standing at the top of the stairs, tying to get his breathing under control enough to venture across the room to find a seat at one end of the bar where there aren't nearly as many people.
Of course, that's all relative, and even thinking about sitting in the 'less crowded' section has his eyes wide and half-panicked.
It doesn't help that he doesn't have any good instinctual fight-or-flight responses. As a hawk, he's always on-edge, but he's confident in his ability to do something. But... a thirteen-year-old human body is a lot less... well, survivable, really. There also isn't that comfortingly-familiar ball of instincts in the back of his head, either.
Still. He can do this. He's done scarier things. So, once again, he makes it to the bar and perches at the very edge of a stool, ready to bolt if something demands it. "A... um... grilled cheese sandwich, please?" Sandwiches. Those were human. And the peanut butter and jelly last week had actually been pretty good once he'd gotten over it being weird.
(no subject)
Apr. 23rd, 2012 03:15 pmnotinthebook[Once upon a time, in a little Maine town far, far away:
A Sheriff and Deputy enjoy a little downtime.]
A Sheriff and Deputy enjoy a little downtime.]
[Tiny tags: Emma Swan, Sheriff Graham]
(no subject)
Apr. 23rd, 2012 05:49 pmasynjaIt's hot outside, in Asgard.
Being Asgard, the land more fertile than any other, blessed with gold and jewels as one Snorri Sturluson was once inclined to describe it, it being truly hot outside is not exactly all that common. Warm, yes; Asgard is generally quite comfortable and possesses of an extremely temperate climate. While it may rain, it is rarely ever known to snow.
It's not frequently unpleasantly cold, and it's not frequently unpleasantly hot either, but today it is hot outside.
That leads, of course, to warriors inclined to practicing out-of-doors having their days cut short -- and Sif, Asgard's only female warrior, is always expected to clean up especially pretty for large dinners. She is a woman, after all, is she not? No matter how many around her own age tend to forget it!
But what she expects is a door to the back stairs of the house in which she lives turns out to be none other than a door to Milliways instead; very unfortunate for Sif, who wanted to clean up for dinner and was not, at all, expecting to see a bustling bar in place of her stairwell. She's never seen it there before, after all.
Sif sighs, and closes the door.
Opens it again.
The bar is still there.
She tries a second time, and a third, because the third time is meant to be the charm, or something like that, isn't that what they said in Midgard -- the bar?
Still there.
"Oh, I might as well," she mutters, mostly to herself, though it's up to interpretation if she was speaking to anyone else or if anyone else was likely to hear her, and actually steps inside and heads toward the direction of the actual bar proper. If the house is going to be acting up like this and manifesting bizarre portals, well, Sif is going to get a drink out of it.
Being Asgard, the land more fertile than any other, blessed with gold and jewels as one Snorri Sturluson was once inclined to describe it, it being truly hot outside is not exactly all that common. Warm, yes; Asgard is generally quite comfortable and possesses of an extremely temperate climate. While it may rain, it is rarely ever known to snow.
It's not frequently unpleasantly cold, and it's not frequently unpleasantly hot either, but today it is hot outside.
That leads, of course, to warriors inclined to practicing out-of-doors having their days cut short -- and Sif, Asgard's only female warrior, is always expected to clean up especially pretty for large dinners. She is a woman, after all, is she not? No matter how many around her own age tend to forget it!
But what she expects is a door to the back stairs of the house in which she lives turns out to be none other than a door to Milliways instead; very unfortunate for Sif, who wanted to clean up for dinner and was not, at all, expecting to see a bustling bar in place of her stairwell. She's never seen it there before, after all.
Sif sighs, and closes the door.
Opens it again.
The bar is still there.
She tries a second time, and a third, because the third time is meant to be the charm, or something like that, isn't that what they said in Midgard -- the bar?
Still there.
"Oh, I might as well," she mutters, mostly to herself, though it's up to interpretation if she was speaking to anyone else or if anyone else was likely to hear her, and actually steps inside and heads toward the direction of the actual bar proper. If the house is going to be acting up like this and manifesting bizarre portals, well, Sif is going to get a drink out of it.
(no subject)
Apr. 23rd, 2012 07:12 pmboston_bruiserVoodoo's in a booth.
Papers, blueprints of a one-bedroom suburban house, and photographs of what looks to be an army officer are spread out across the table.
He's writing on a legal pad, occasionally glancing up to look at the blueprints, a look of intense concentration on his face.
(OOC: Semi-plotlocked, but open to tags. He's not exactly in the mood for small talk, but you're welcome to try.)
Papers, blueprints of a one-bedroom suburban house, and photographs of what looks to be an army officer are spread out across the table.
He's writing on a legal pad, occasionally glancing up to look at the blueprints, a look of intense concentration on his face.
(OOC: Semi-plotlocked, but open to tags. He's not exactly in the mood for small talk, but you're welcome to try.)
Happy Hour!
Apr. 23rd, 2012 07:52 pmpresspasskeyWhen Lois walks in, she looks a little frazzled--but she's smiling. The last few days have sucked on an epic level, but at least she had a great homemade dinner, and at least she's not kicked out of the house.
Even if she's still sneezing off the residue of Shelby jumping all over her.
So when she sits down at the Bar and orders some orange juice, she is quite surprised to get a little napkin. Frowning at it, she tilts her head. "Really? Sure, I've done it before. I just thought--" Another napkin. and Lois grins.
"Okay, now we're talking!"
With a satisfied look, Lois brushes chalk off her hands. "Happy Hour is a go, everyone!" she calls
About fifteen minutes after the shift starts, though, another line appears beneath the specials:
Tiny tag: Lois Lane
Even if she's still sneezing off the residue of Shelby jumping all over her.
So when she sits down at the Bar and orders some orange juice, she is quite surprised to get a little napkin. Frowning at it, she tilts her head. "Really? Sure, I've done it before. I just thought--" Another napkin. and Lois grins.
"Okay, now we're talking!"
With a satisfied look, Lois brushes chalk off her hands. "Happy Hour is a go, everyone!" she calls
About fifteen minutes after the shift starts, though, another line appears beneath the specials:
Half-off for buying the bartender a drink.
Tiny tag: Lois Lane
(no subject)
Apr. 23rd, 2012 08:02 pmthursdays_angelCastiel is sitting alone at the bar this evening with his small notebook and his Canadian floatie pen.
He's occupied by jotting down some notes. In Ancient Greek.
(Even for one who can read the language, though, they'd make little sense. Such is the ordering of an angel's mind.)
But though occupied, he would not object to company.
He's occupied by jotting down some notes. In Ancient Greek.
(Even for one who can read the language, though, they'd make little sense. Such is the ordering of an angel's mind.)
But though occupied, he would not object to company.
(no subject)
Apr. 23rd, 2012 09:10 pmbalancingmindsOOM: The real Oxford is a close corporation of jolly, untidy, lazy, good-for-nothing humorous old men, who have been electing their own successors ever since the world began and who intend to go on with it. They'll squeeze under the Revolution or leap over it when the time comes, don't you worry.
C.S. Lewis
Tiny tag: Charles Xaiver
OOC: Warning for Greek with translation at the end and the mun missing being a Classicist.
C.S. Lewis
Tiny tag: Charles Xaiver
OOC: Warning for Greek with translation at the end and the mun missing being a Classicist.
