(no subject)

[alsoagreengrass]

Scorpius is glad for the interlude he shared with Albus a couple of weeks ago because there's been nothing but work since.

A lot of work.

It seems the professors had thought their seventh year students comfortably resettled into Hogwarts life and preparations for NEWTs could truly commence.

(Mind the work has kept students from gossiping too much and the boys have been able to stop what worrying they'd been doing, but awful can not begin to describe how bad it's been otherwise.)

Maybe there are some students who live for such times, but Scorpius is certainly not one of them. He's had enough.

And having had enough means seeking out Milliways.

It takes a few wrong turns into empty, unused broom closets - the usual door having not worked - but Scorpius eventually finds his way.

He stumbles in, looking every bit the strung-out, sleep-deprived student that he is.

An ecstatic "Hah!" escapes him before he's throwing himself on one of the couches and hugging a cushion.

OOM: Lunar, akt I

[herr_bookman]

[01. To right the unrightable wrong,
To be better far than you are.

02. OOM: Fly me to the moon,
Let me play among the stars.]

(no subject)

[emptychair]

Enjolras has been slowly settling into the idea that his life did not end with his death. He has spent a great deal of time in the library, mostly reading up on the history of France to see what happened to his beloved Republic after he left it.

(He's mostly satisfied, though not entirely.)

It comes to him, though, that he has been idle far too long, contributing nothing to the society he has found himself in, leeching off its generosity, and that does not sit well with him. He makes his way to the bar this afternoon and asks for paper and a pen, scribbling out a quick advertisement with them. When he asks where he might post such a notice, he's directed to the bulletin board, where he pins the following note:


University-educated tutor offering services at reasonable rates. Subjects include French, English, Latin, philosophy, politics, and music. Direct all inquiries through Madame la Bar to Enjolras.


Satisfied with his notice, he asks the bar for a glass of wine and takes it to a comfortable chair by the Observation Window along with a copy of L’Étranger.

oom

[gavin62truck]

[ There was a rapture
So I can never see you anymore
Nightmare's believable
Walking into sweet oblivion

Not saying it's easy, no no
To feel it all or not at all
Somebody say, "Lay down your gun"
And when you lay it down get ready to run

Situation dire
It's gone away, it's not goin' away
Since you're wasting time again, my friend
On bonnie brae, on bonnie brae, on bonnie brae

If she's your master
Then get down on your knees and beg for more
Not saying it's easier
To live your life like a little whore

'Cause when you play with fire
Take your fate, it's not going away
Situation dire
On bonnie brae, on bonnie brae, on bonnie brae... ]

[OOC: Warnings for violence and language.]

Multi-pup post, Saturday lunchtime edition -- part 1

[ostro_goth]

The bar is busy this lunchtime, and among the patrons are:

• Teja, who is having a bowl of soup and bread, with tea and a book, while his cats are snacking on a small plate of liver under his table.
• Urquhart, who has been working in the garden this morning and is now eating a large plate of couscous with some tajine stew on it, and drinking coffee. His dog is asleep at his feet.
• Ned Poins, who ran amuck last night with drink, for it was free, and sweet, and very potent -- but even now, he does not quite regret what he has drunk, but lounges by the fire, smiling to himself and penning something, slowly, upon a sheet of parchment on his knee. For food, alas, he has no stomach yet.

Multi-pup post, Saturday lunchtime edition -- part 2

[margolotta]

Among the bar's patron this noon, there are several ladies as well:

• Lady Margolotta is sitting in a dark, quiet corner, far away from any door or window where the light would touch her, drinking a cup of cocoa and reading a small book that fits comfortable in her hand.
• Sirona is sitting at a table with her computer, drinking a coke and eating pizza.
• Tamara, having pulled herself from the water so her tail turned into legs, is perched elegantly on a bar stool, viewing the patrons that populate the bar. She occasionally eats a few grains of caviare from a tiny bowl, or sips champaigne from a flute. Her dress is made from light teal silk, very simple, and oddly revealing.

(no subject)

[gavin62truck]

[Immediately following this...]

The front door flies open with a bang.

In all his months of hard-earned sobriety, there was never a time that Tommy wanted, needed a drink more badly than now. No -- this is more than just a want or a need. This is the aching cling of fingertips on a ledge a hundred feet above the ground; the last, desperate gasp before the waves pull you under; the bottled-up scream that finds no outlet because nobody gives a fuck about you anymore.

He thought he'd be stepping into the first shitty dive bar on the Lower East Side he came across, but it looks as if the bar at the end of the universe will have to do.

There's an angry, feral look in his eyes. Blood drips from raw knuckles. The blood could be his, or someone else's, or both.

"Whiskey," he growls.

A glass appears on the countertop.

Tommy brings it to his lips, swallows—

"Fuck."

It's just colored water.

"Give me. A fucking. Whiskey."

Another glass appears.

He takes a sip—


—spits it out, throws the glass against the wall behind the bar.



[OOC: Plot locked to Kate Barlow.]

(no subject)

[damncompass]

In the middle of the bar, there is a space where the chairs and tables have been pushed to the side. Two tables have been turned on end, and chairs have been put on the sides of it. Behind the tables are elabourately constructed catapults which are currently chucking the remnants of dinner at each other. In the left corner is Joshua Donovan, theoretical physicist and currently losing handily. In the right corner is a cackling Claudia Donovan, warehouse monkey, and gleefully getting a bit more pasta to chuck at her brother.

"Oh, you're getting it now, Claudia." Leaning over, Joshua whispers at a rat.

"What are you doing over there, brother dear?" In about a minute, a couple eggs come over the table. "Oh, it's on, Joshua. It's completely on."

The Donovans are having a food fight. Please join. Or pass by at your own risk.

[ooc: FOOD FIGHT IN THE BAR. Join a side. Start your own side! Party post rules apply. This is open Forever.]

Tiny Tag: Joshua Donovan

(no subject)

[crabbycustomer]

chirurGeneralist has signed on.

[OOC: Feeling quite lazy tonight. But if you really want to interact with Karkat but your character doesn't have T-Minus just drop a tag and I will have him show up somehow or another.]

(no subject)

[yourcolossalhands]

Ralph is greeted at the bar by a napkin. "Late for what?" he asks, and gets another napkin in reply. "Me? But why?" Napkin. "What kind of 'special occasion'?" Napkin, eyeroll. "Fine, fine, don't tell me." He sighs and heads around behind the bar. "Could I get a few drink suggestions? To go with the theme?" The specials board fills itself out:

SONIC: THE FIGHTERS
Miles "Tails" Prower
Sonic the Hedgehog

STREET FIGHTER II
Blankatini
Bloody Bison
Chun-Li ice tea
Flash Kick!
Hadouken!
Shoryuken!
Spinning Piledriver
Yoga Flame

SUPER MARIO BROS. (on PlayChoice-10)
Boo Shot
Bowser
Goomba
Princess Peach
Warp Pipe

TEKKEN
Kuma's Furry Cup
Nina Colada
Paul Phoenix Rising
Yoshimitsu's Poison Breath

"...all righty then." He turns to face the customers and tries to look happy to be there. "What'll it be?"

[In honor of his canon now being in Japanese cinemas, have a tending Ralph! Open to new threads until it scrolls, and to new tags until your brainmeats can't do it anymore.]