(no subject)

[hecu_marine]

There are good days at the Greenbrier, and there are bad days, and there are days when the only reason Shephard doesn't lay waste to everything about him with a pipe wrench is because he wrote the military code of conduct currently in use by his local armed forces and he'd rather not end up on the wrong end of it. Not even with everyone and their kids foaming at the mouth from cabin fever.

He opted to take a chance on PT and went for a run this morning despite the snow. It might've been miserable, but hell, it was a chance to blow off steam. And hey, it got him to Milliways via an archway of fallen tree branches that opened into the pseudo-Scottish woods, so there's that.

One Marine knocking bits of fallen snow off his shoulders and clingy snow off his legs as he heads into the Bar to get himself something hot to drink. Feel free to say hi, as long as you aren't complaining about the living conditions back home.

(no subject)

[athelstanthescribe]

Athelstan is at a table, working away on his book - the original one, this time.

The page under his hand reads, in easily legible and emphatic writing:

His name was Leif Ericsson. When I stumbled, he lifted me to my feet, and he called me by my name.

And now he is dead, gone willingly to the gods in my place.

Under that, a half-done drawing of Leif's face.

Everybody having Sunday dinner

[ostro_goth]

This Sunday evening, there are many patrons in the bar, having dinner. among them are:

• Teja, having a roast and bread, with greens, and a clay cup of well-watered red wine. Under and around the table, all four of his cats are waiting whether something will happen to fall down for them.
• Madame Thénardier, who is eating brioches with jam in her favourite nook by the fireplace while reading a paperback novel with Egyptian hieroglyphs on the cover.
• Father Pearse Harman, who has a fish pie and a salad, this being a Sunday in Lent. He's not reading anything, for once.
• Lady Margolotta, with her usual tea and knitting. It's not exactly dinner, but she's sipping something while giving people friendly, closed-slipped smiles.
• Dorian Gray, who is watching something on a small device with only one ear-bud plugged in while nibbling on Japanese rice crackers and sipping green tea. More food is, presumably, forthcoming.
• And finally, Dr. Hannibal Lecter, who isn't in the bar room itself at the moment, but in the kitchen, most of his formidable attention firmly fixed on the dinner he's cooking for himself. It involves lamb.

[[OOC: Katrina, albeit in the icon, isn't there; everybody else is. Say in your tag whom you want, or you might get any of them, barring Hannibal.]]

oom

[i_am_your_host]

[ OOM: In the ongoing saga of Emcee sleeping with All of the People Again (Millitimed to...a while ago) -

The Master of Ceremonies and Autor talk about sex and things with Jay, which eventually leads to Autor making a hasty exit...

...and leads Emcee and Jay to sneak into the garden for shenanigans, followed by a sleepover.

Warnings: Oral sex, shower sex, sexy exercising, emotions. ]

Milliversary Multi-Character Post

[hey35andholding]

Clementine Johnson has a Plan. A very clever plan that will somehow get her out of facing any jail time. It involves cleverly abusing Millitime to get far enough back in time to rip any taped evidence of her helping Jones and Garcia out of the archive and shred it before it's noticed. Genius, no?

Therefore she's trying to sit and be as inconspicuous as possible by the back door, playing solitaire, which could quite easily turn into a game for two.


Dixie Cousins has discovered the Bar's pool table and is fiddling with a cue, considering her next move. Now, she may know a lot about cards, but this is a new territory for her. Assistance would be appreciated.



Pinkie Pie has brought popcorn! Too much popcorn. Wayy to much popcorn, and she's sitting by the bar with it, her eyes shinier than a fresh-minted penny.

The bag is literally double the size of her head.

Eating assistance appreciated.



Eponine There is now a notice on the board, and it, in chicken-scratch French, offers Eponine's services as a woman of skill, liable to do put her hands to anything, and an actress of some skill. She waits for answers with a glass of wine and egg biscuits near the fire. How can it be this close to Palm Sunday and be this cold?


Juliet O'Hara is now eating the biggest slice of cake she could find with the tallest glass of milk she could find. It's Sunday, she's starving, don't ask.


[OOC: Heading to immediate slows but it's just passed my fourth Milliversary, so here's an assortment of characters for celebration purposes.]