milliways_bar | Jul. 7th, 2013

Jul. 7th, 2013

It takes her only half a minute to figure out how to use the pins on the notice board, but it takes her the better part of another minute, almost two, to be able to walk away from the board. With the paper still up there under the pin. Nervous, but certain.

Though which is stronger, when, is certainly in flux.

But walk away she does. Leaving the paper there to read:

Novice, seeks teacher (or teachers) for survival skills, fighting and weapons.

Ability for monetary payment is limited, but willing to negotiate other terms.
If you are amenable please leave a reply with the bar for Snow.

[Responses welcome in the comments, but totally banking on Weekend DE inspirations!]

27yrsandwelldoitallagain

Audrey's got a cup of coffee.

Also, a speculative eye toward the tables and shadows.

She hasn't seen any more baby-headed spiders, but she wasn't expecting the first one until it crawled across her lap on her first day here, either. She's, understandably, wary about that happening again. Or anything like it.

[Tiny Tag: Audrey Parker]

souffle_girlek

So there's a girl on the back porch. A girl with a hot mug of tea, leaning on one of the porch supports, eyeing the rest of the out-of-doors world with deep suspicion. Sure, it's sunny and green now, but not so long ago it was cold, and snowy.

She's skeptical.

immortalthief

As the immortal makes her way to the lake she ignores the disturbances to the land, the cracked ground and smashed boulders. So now outback by the lake Amanda is lounging soaking up the sun. Trying to not think about the scary events from Friday night. Though if anything was bothering her you wouldn't be able to tell. Her sword is tucked in a bag with workout cloths in-case she decides to workout later.

She is totally botherable and planning on staying put until she hears from that woman Snow.

fairy_fixit

By the fireplace, there is a two tailed lioness whose neck and shoulder fur is decorated a bright red color. She's taking advantage of the time strangeness and the fact that no one is dying here to take a nap.

And at a table far away from the fireplace, thankfully, there is a tiny winged woman, about 1 foot 8 inches tall, a head bigger than what a human woman shrunk down to her size would posses, and dressed in overalls, boots, gloves, and a funny looking hat. She is working on what some may identify as a horse molar with metal tools. She's scraping out channels in circuit like patterns here, drilling holes there, inserting tiny technorganic elements in various locations, painting parts of the tooth with goo from several small petri dishes, and encouraging the goos and dentin and enamel to flow and grow, controlling it with a wand-like instrument.

Maybe this is what tooth fairies do with the teeth they collect. She's willing to entertain questions from the curious or any conversations that pop up on the T-minus device off to one side. She was quite pleasantly surprised that this new device knew the alias that Ako's device had given her the alias AnomalousApportation. Some sort of dataset about her must have been stored on the central server. Or network. Someday she'll have to find that out.

scots_wolf

After Friday night's devastations, Urquhart is hard at work in the garden. What of his asparagus plants survived (not much!) he already replanted the same evening; otherwise, the feathery leaves would already be wilted beyond salvation. Now, he is tidying the area around the rows of little moats where the asparagus grows, and planting new plants, in the hope that they might yet catch up and be ready to be harvested again next spring. It's odd: once he finally settled enough to dare plant vegetables that can't even be harvested in their first year, but are all the more delicious in the next ones, a huge green rage-monster (that seems almost like a mocking metaphor of Urquhart's former condition and the change from educated Scottish nobleman to uprooted, uncaring assassin) came, and tore it all up, as if Angus Urquhart of Monadhliath was not meant to grow roots in any place, in any life.

To cheer himself up from this frustrating, dispirited task, Urquhart has brought out the gift of strange meats he received the other day (one is snake, and one his blue) with condolences about his ruined spargel; he's set the meat to marinade lightly (just rubbing it with olive oil, rough sea salt, and some very basic herbs) alongside some lamb chops marinading in oriental spices, and some hand-caught salmon marinading with mustard and dill. The flames in the fire pit are bright and in the process of burning down; once the embers are nicely settled and providing steady heat, Urquhart will be grilling his food, and offer any passer-by a plateful, together with the salad of vegetables fresh from the garden, prepared in the Greek manner with pale sheep's milk cheese, and black olives.

[[OOC: Find him either working in the garden, or later grilling his steaks. If your charrie helps him with the work, Urquhart will certainly feed them afterwards, but he'll be generous even to non-helpers. There is enough for everyone!]]

realmrsreynolds

Sallie is in the bar, working on keeping up her books - records in Milliways are always a little bit...fluid.

And, if she's trying to keep an eye out for a sight of the person of interest from the other days green-shaped events, so much the better.

[ooc: keeping an eye out for bruce, but anyone is welcome.]

holds_her_own

Great, more paperwork.

A woman of average height and medium build, wearing a blue uniform and sidearm, walks in. Her eyes shift around the room, hand darting for her weapon.

"Anyone mind explaining what the fuck is going on? I'm armed, and extremely annoyed."

It's worse than dangerous.

Welcome to Milliways, Agent Hill.

[OoC: Eventually, Hill will make her way to the Bar and receive the note Clint left for her, so if you'd prefer to skip past the Welcome To Milliways chat, I'm cool with that! If you have any questions about Hill, see here, ~~and I'm also on AIM and in crackchat as LordoLorien. Thanks!~~ ETA: As of 3am EST, I'm heading to bed. Consider this post open to new tags indefinitely. Thank you, everyone! ♥]

sidhe_king

The resident faerie in the bar is being quietly unobtrusive today. He's tilting back his chair to rest his bare heels on the table, both hands occupied with the shining wood burls he's shaping into vaguely triangular drop earrings. Especially observant passersby may notice that his teeth are sharper, his ears pointed; he looks a little more wild than usual.

But he's still fairly tame. Fairly.

vance_prime

Alyx really didn't want to be one of the first to move into a newly-completed house on the Greenbrier grounds. It made her feel guilty, thinking about all the other families who needed homes just as much as hers did, and what kind of example would it set if she pulled rank to get a new home early? But Gordon and Judith both pointed out that those other families didn't have twins to take care of--twins who were much more mobile than they were a few months ago, and needed more room to roam than the bunker would allow.

So, in the end, the Vance-Freeman family moved into the biggest house along the planned southwest lane. It's simple but comfortable, with three bedrooms, one bathroom, and an attached workshop large enough to accommodate D0G with ease.

The bad news is, it's not properly childproofed yet. Alyx discovered this two minutes ago when she found her daughter in the icebox, digging into a bowl of wild-picked blackberries she'd been planning to have for supper.

And in trying to take Hope to the bathroom to wash the berry juice off, she managed to walk into Milliways instead.

"Oh, for the love of..." Alyx would facepalm, but her hands are full of a berry-stained toddler.

stole_a_time_lord

The TARDIS has, this evening, set up a large board on a large easel.

Several things are attached to it, with pins and string and tape and staples and glue and ribbon and the occasional wad of used chewing gum.

They include, but are not limited to: a compass, black Sharpie, the 2 May 1944 Daily Telegraph crossword puzzle, a detailed sketch of the workings of a clock, a single page sheet music from the second movement of Brahms's Third Symphony (the bassoon part), a map of Kyoto, costume sketches from a 2078 RSC production of The Tempest (Prospero and Miranda), three postcards of Van Gogh paintings, a recipe for the perfect cup of tea, a receipt from a cafe for a cheese sandwich, five sheets of blank A-4 paper, and nine colored pencils (all shades of blue).

The TARDIS has decided it's time to go back (or forward, or sideways, or around, or . . . well, really, any direction you like) to the drawing board.

[OOC: Slowtime, please. Good night!]

gavin62truck

An on-duty firefighter sneaks into the bar, and deposits himself onto a stool at the most isolated end of the counter. After glancing around to make sure that a certain someone isn't present, he turns to speak in quick, hushed tones at the wooden surface.

"Okay, here's the thing. There's a necklace in the New York Public Library gift shop that I need to get, it's, like, silver and has a quote from Shakespeare on it--"

A photo of the pendant appears.

"Yeah, that's the one. ...How did you--? Never mind. But it's kinda pricey and I don't get my paycheck for another two weeks, so I was wondering if you could maybe, y'know, give it to me for a little cheaper, and I'll pay you back in bartending shifts--"

The photo disappears, replaced by a napkin with a figure on it.

Tommy regards it, tics his head.

"Well, y'know, I was kinda hoping I could get a firefighter's discount, since, y'know, saving lives an' all, I'd think it was a universal thing--"

Another napkin with another figure.

Still reluctant to give in on the price, he supposes he's still getting a bargain.

"Alright, deal."

A flat, dove gray jewelry box appears, the lid embossed with the NYPL logo of a stylized lion head. Before anybody can notice (at least, Tommy hopes), he quickly slips it into one of his pockets.

"Thanks."

A beat.

"Can I get a ham sandwich while I'm here?"

And Bar is ever generous. But she'll be getting a few shifts out of Tommy in the future, so it's all good.

tiny tag: Scootaloo

valiantrebel

When a man's about to take a lady at the alter, he tends to get the jitters, even if he isn't already notoriously unable to keep still. The day is edging closer -- indeed, the Mortimers and the wedding are only a day or so's ride away -- but all Harry can think on is Kate, his Kate, his Lady Elizabeth to be.

Every time he finds himself in the bar, he's wearing that hopeful look, that she might be here too, but it's not in the cards -- not today.

This time he does, however, find a small package waiting for him on the counter. It's a book, wrapped in discreet brown paper. Printed neatly on it: For your special night.

Harry furrows his brow and rips back the wrapping. It doesn't take him long to figure out what the book purports to instruct its readers in.

"By heaven, I have no need of such a--!"

The noise dies down, though. Pretty soon he's wide-eyed and engrossed.

[[ooc: July 7 marks one year since Henry IV Part 1 aired! This post is open for the next several days, though I may be slow with replies.]]