(no subject)

[gondolin_noble]

It's one of those days - the days he tries not to stay indoors, the days he takes all the sentry watches far from the campfires. He was doing alright - the twins seemed fairly content to visit with their Grandfather for a while, and spoke of going to Gondor next, instead of back up into the mountains, which would be a welcome break.

But then the bar appeared where a flet should be.

And for a very long moment, there is a golden-haired elf staring, with wide dark eyes, at the roaring fire in the fireplace.

And then there's an elf taking flight for the point at the far end of the lake. It's one of those days.

(OOC: Very much tending towards instaslowtime, as work is calling, but I did say I'd post this in this morning. Tags will be answered at lunchtime! :D)

(no subject)

[sunbaked_baker]

Rae had meant to spend the afternoon figuring out how to do illusions. They've been a block for her since the beginning, while nearly all the other spells she's tried have eventually come to her. Healing is still tricky, of course, because there is a fine line between helping and hurting, and healing spells can only ever be used in earnest. She's almost rather thankful that there hasn't been much of an opportunity to practice healing, even if it is an important skill to have.

She had taken her book out to the large circle burned into the grass near the forest, and sat down, stretching out on the grass to read in hopes of finding something she'd missed before. Something that would allow her to finally get a grip on how to cause illusions.

But the sun was bright, and the breeze was cool, and the green-tinged leaf-shadows dancing on the page made her drowsy.

She only meant to close her eyes for a second....

So much for that idea. There's a baker asleep by the lake, the large grimoire still open on the grass.

(no subject)

[not_elvish]

Imp still hasn't got the tune that's stuck in his head down on paper, to his satisfaction. He's been working on it every time he can find time to get into the bar, but for some reason it's not coming out right.
He's working on it today, but sooner or later he's going to realise he's hungry, and get up t see about lunch. surely he can leave his harp on a table for five minutes... right?

(OOC: Will be subject to various amounts of slowtime throughout the day, but I wanted to set the stage for plot-shaped funtimes. If you want to have your character grab the harp while it's unattended, let me know! Any threads will be Millitimed to before that happens, though.)

(no subject)

[ahuntsman]

[ooc: Following this.]


Emma's greeting is the last thing Sheriff Graham hears before he's locking up the office and checking to make sure everything is closed and secure for the night.

If all goes well, and no one causes any trouble in Storybrooke, he won't have to return to the office until morning.

(Though one must always be prepared, anyway; Graham takes his job seriously.)

"Right," he calls out. "Maybe I will. Have a good night, Emma."

There's a pause before Graham realizes he hadn't heard the door; and it's a subtle little thrill in his stomach that he embraces rather than ignores (because feelings like that don't come very often, and certainly not until recently), making him wonder whether Emma is waiting for him.

Tonight could be a nice night for a drink.

But when he heads into the hallway, pulling his leather jacket on, Emma isn't there.

And when he pulls the door open, Storybrooke isn't there either.

Standing by the threshold, one hand still keeping the door open, Graham peers into the bar space with both eyebrows raised high.



[ooc: All threads will be millitimed to after Emma's, but feel free to come and greet the new guy!]


tiny!tags: sheriff graham, emma swan, mary margaret blanchard

(no subject)

[azure_mercy]

Zhaan is outside tending to her large garden plot. She got off to a bit of a late start this year because of the Allpocalypse, but her plants seem to be coming along well. They should be fine, provided they don't get hit by an early frost this year.

Meanwhile, she's perfectly botherable, and not averse to people smelling the contents of her garden (just so long as they don't pick anything).

happy hour!

[iamso_awesome]

Specials:
milkshakes
beer
ouzo (bartender assumes no liability if you can't hold your liquor)

half off if you can explain this T-Minus thing to me

Guess who picked up a T-Minus handset! And is currently dividing his attention between keeping an eye out for customers while Bar takes her nap and trying to persuade it to call him something other than egotisticalMultitasker.

(OOC: Tag in, threadhop, have fun! Hex code is ff9900.)

(no subject)

[theresnodoor]

Today, Rachel can be found perched at the end of the bar, toes hooked into the rung of her stool, arms folded on the countertop. There is a pen in her hand and an open National Geographic in front of her.

She's correcting it.

Not very dedicated, though. Passing the time until a certain hawk is ready for an afternoon flight, when there's enough heat in the air to create the really fun thermals.

Go on, interrupt her. Waiting's not all that fun.

(no subject)

[missmarybennet]

Mary Bennet does not have the faintest idea how one goes about establishing a business, but an announcement seems to be the most sensible first step. Hence the sign posted, written in a neat and old-fashioned hand:

Sewing Services Offered: Plain sewing and mending done. Fancywork, knitting, and crocheting done to order. Finished handkerchiefs, wall hangings, reticules, etc. offered for sale. Please see Miss Mary Bennet.

Mary is sitting at a table nearby with her sewing basket at hand. And at present, her nose is buried in a book. Though Miss Barlow’s lessons have not formally started yet, Mary has begun to familiarize herself with the books. The poetry of Mr. Poe is quite interesting.

Though she has to question the sanity of any man who will pose questions to a bird, knowing that the only likely answer is, “Nevermore!”

[OOC: May be a bit slowish.]

(no subject)

[notinthebook]

 She wouldn't say she's been avoiding the bar.  "Avoiding" is such a strong word.  She's not really avoiding it, just hasn't been actively seeking it out, just hasn't been choosing to open the door in the linen closet: that door's stayed put for her, and that's just how she likes it.

Just like any other bar, she should be the one who decides when she goes, right?  And she just hasn't been in the mood.  When she's needed a drink after work, she's grabbed one with Graham at Granny's, or had a beer at home with Mary Margaret.  Relaxation achieved, no alternate universes required.

So it's been a few days since Tommy and his bacon, and a few more since Miami, and she's starting to think that maybe not going to the bar is really the best plan all around.  Everything's complicated enough already; what was she thinking, tossing a multiversal bar into the mix?

It's something to consider as she shrugs her jacket on (blue leather, motorcycle: her favorite red is still MIA, and she's got no idea if or when she'll get it back, it could still be in Miami, for all she knows), and knocks at the jamb of Graham's office door to give him a wry half-smile.

"I'm out of here.  See you at Granny's later, maybe."

It's the most casual of statements, not even an invitation, really.  They haven't been hanging out every night, her and Graham, but it's been more than once since that first slightly awkward beer together.

It's been kind of nice.  Totally simple, just two work buddies having a cold one and taking a little time to unwind.  She lifts a hand to say goodbye -- he's getting his things, too, so at least he's probably not working late tonight -- and heads towards the hall.

Except the damn door, apparently, has decided that "not really avoiding" just isn't good enough anymore, and though she shuts the heavy wood and glass on the busy bar, it's still there when she opens it again.

And again.

"Fine."

What the hell.  She could use a change from Granny's three-beer selection, anyway.



[Tiny tag: Emma Swan.]

(no subject)

[hecu_marine]

[Out of Milliways: I woke up this morning, everything was gone
By half past ten, my head was going ding-dong
Ringing like a bell from my head down to my toes
Like a voice trying to tell me there was something I should know
Last night I was flying, but today I´m so low
Ain't it times like these make me wonder if I'll ever know
The meaning of things as they appear to the others
Wives, husbands, mothers, fathers, sisters and brothers...]

The door swings open. Which is a good thing, because when you are Adrian Shephard and you are carrying a large, unconscious man across your shoulders, the last thing you want to do is have to try the door more than once.

"Uh," he says as he staggers in and looks around. "Shit. Fuck. Uh, I ain't seein'- shit, is there a doctor in the house? We got a problem here."

(no subject)

[cutting_edgex23]

[OOM: And I thought you'd see with me
You wouldn't have to be something new]