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[never_shall_yield]

 Following this conversation:

Father Harman takes Javert back to London...

...where realisation becomes a little more important than absolution.

(no subject)

[ostro_goth]

Teja is coming in from the back today, with a toddler on wheels.

No, really. Pyrrha likes skating, and so she's got Egil some tiny roller-skates, and sometimes, Teja goes for a walk outside with him, on the smooth paths around the lake that the runners use, taking him by the hand so he's safe and can keep up with the speed of a leisurely walking long-legged grown Goth. The skates are purple, as is the little safety helmet underneath of which Egil's bright red hair is sticking out; otherwise, he wears sturdy black trousers that will survive a toddler until he outgrows them, and a black sweater with white skulls, hand-knitted by Pyrrha. Teja is wearing black, as usual, his Tyrian purple cloak, and a short axe at his belt; but his pale face is gentle as he looks at little Egil still clinging to his callused hand while they cross to the bar to order some dinner.


[[OOC: Egil details hashed out with Pyrrha-mun over Twitter.]]

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[athelstanthescribe]

Athelstan almost scuttles into the bar, shooting a hunted glance over his shoulder. He knows, intellectually, that the people have been shooed away, and that they didn't mean him any harm, but still he's a bit freaked out by being stared at like a curiosity.

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[not_his_pa]

William's looking neater than his usually does with his hair slicked down with water and in his Sunday clothes though he's in the process of getting out of the jacket, its too tight. In his hands he's holding carefully a photograph, Mark's going off to school tomorrow and they decided to get one taken. He hadn't expected Milliways so soon but this will work as there's an extra he can give to his father. At the counter, he gets some paper to write a letter along with some coffee and some biscuits.

( Dan Evans )

Once that's written, he takes off his tie, folding it up and putting it into his pocket before realizing he doesn't have a book. So he turns around to look at who's in Milliways.

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[the_cupbearer]

Ganymede is considering.

Sleeping with people is not, habitually, a thing that that sends him into fits of thoughtfulness, but then, most people he's entangled with are not one-universe-over incarnations of men with whom he's had sizeable romantic interaction before.

So he's toying with a silk scarf, winding it around his fingers and pulling to feel the fabric slide past his skin, pacing.

Interruptions are more or less welcome.

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[golden_dog]

 

The first thing Pearly notices on arrival in Milliways is that the world is smaller, much smaller, far too small. Not in the sense of space – he’s used to the cramped alleys and underground cellars of the Narrows or the Five Points – but in that his vision is restricted. He looks up at the ceiling with a quiet snarl, razor eyes rolling back in his head…no Avenue of the Nine, nor the Twenty. No Sarganda Street, no Diamond Row. Nothing.

He looks around, glaring. The knife in one hand drips blood on to the floor, and he wipes his face with the other, which holds a gun, single-barrel, ivory handle. His mouth opens to speak to the place at large – the first saloon in a long time not to quiet at his entrance – but then his eyes fall upon the Observation Window.

….oh. Oh.

The knife drops to the floor, and everything else melts away.



[OOC: I strongly recommend reading this post before tagging, and perhaps his profile as well. Open until whenever!]