(no subject)

[never_promised]

Another day, another lack-of-Door-home. But he'd had a dream about it last night, dammit, and had come into the common room with more hope than usual, and is correspondingly more disappointed than usual.

God damn this place.

Harry pulls his hands through his hair* and stares at the blank wall for a while before laughing and sauntering extra-carelessly over to the bar. He'll just be sitting here for a while, then, shall he?




*Little does he know how fortunate he is to have escaped the classic Henry V haircut.

(no subject)

[have_no_mercy]

Tess is nestled in a quiet corner, coffee at her side, with several newspapers for reading. One is the Daily Planet, naturally, but the rest are tabloids of the kind where women purport they are having an alien's baby.

Because some of that crap is real and Tess needs to be on the lookout.

(no subject)

[thewidewideworld]

OOM: After many years of wandering Europe, Sinric the Wanderer makes his way into the frozen north.

He meets a young Viking with very blue eyes and they get to talking. Eventually they get to other things.
{ooc: warnings for sex starting about 60 tags in.}

It stirs up old memories, and some pain but Sinric is determined to makes the most of the time he has. He spins tales of far off lands and shares drinks from those lands. Out of those stories, he invites Ragnar to spend a second night with him.
{ooc: warnings for discussions of sex toys starting 30 tags in, mentions of past sexual violence, and more sex starting about 60 tags in.}

***

Sinric tiredly pushes his way between the trees as he walks inland and north from Ribe. He trudges, trying to shake off his foul mood, his hood pulled up and his head down. He looks up as he crests the hill only to look down at the bar and the lake.

He swears. Violently. And in several languages. So much so the air should be turning blue.

He stomps his way down to the bar, still swearing. “Now! Why now. Ten years! Why now! ” He drops his pack and falls into a chair at the Bar itself, addressing her directly. “Honestly! So many years and now you choose to open to me?”

The only answer he gets is a stiff drink.

Sinric is much older than anyone here has ever seen him, tired, angry and botherable.

{ooc: just pre-canon Sinric for one week only. Slow tag warning.}

(no subject)

[fry_sandhu]

[oom: The Notice board and the Wish.]

Fry is lying on a sofa in one corner of the bar, with Dad's tablet, playing some sort of maths game.

On the table next to him is a shiny gold certificate, and a letter, and he needs to get in all the practice he can.

He pauses his game for a break.

(no subject)

[notabricklayer]

Sometimes, McCoy is pretty damn sure there are gods in this universe.

He's sure of that because he's also pretty damn sure they're all pissed at him for something. What that something might be, they're not telling, but definitely something. How else do you explain an outbreak of Rigellian Fever (damn thing mutated since the last vaccine, didn't anyone think to post warnings?), a breakdown in the gravitational systems in half of the lower decks (so many concussions and broken bones, he'll be seeing bone shards in his sleep) on top of contamination ruining his latest round of experiments and the quarterly controlled medication count being due?

He sure wishes those damned gods would just fess up to what they're in a snit about so he can get on with the apologizing. Maybe by murdering a bottle of bourbon.

So with all of that going on, you'll forgive him for looking highly untrusting as he walks through the door. His luck has been far too horrible lately for this to do anything but end in tears.

Still.

Bar has better bourbon than he does.

And he won't have to hide it from Spock. Small mercies.