(no subject)

[herr_bookman]

[OOM: "We made it to the church that night, and were quickly loaded onto a horse-drawn cart to trek the rest of the eight mile journey to the field hospital."

Warnings for blood, medical details, death. ]

Autor draws a rasping breath as he enters the bar, less a gasp than a whimper.

He’s too tall for his uniform, having shot up a couple of inches since he last saw the bar. His hair is fuzzy under his helmet--and in need of a trim. His face is much thinner, and though he’s gained both height and muscle, he’s wiry, half-starved.

The trench foot-stricken soldier clings to his wounded left shoulder with the hand that's not wrapped up in a sling. He checks the top of the stairs for snipers. Then Autor carefully shuts the door behind him. He swings at it with his right hand, bruising his knuckles with the force of his punch.

Autor leans against the door. The boy cradles his head in his hand and laughs softly, close to tears and still half-convinced that this is another fever dream.

(no subject)

[electro_kinetic]

Noriko comes into the bar with a postal box in her hands; it's smallish, but when she shakes it gingerly it rattles apparently satisfactorily. She stops by the bar itself for a drink (vanilla chai tea smoothie) and settles down to unboxing.

When she's finally unwrapped everything there's a small set of things laid on the table: a velvety-sheened wooden box about the size of a cigarette package with dark wood on the bottom and light white ash on top, a tiny glass pipe and a booklet of what would seem to be instructions. It's not a toy, though, and Nori pulls out a small bag full of what looks like dry-ish oregano (and isn't) to see how much fills the reservoir on one side and still fit a match or two.

Someone is proud of their purchase, yes.

(no subject)

[fry_sandhu]

[oom: Fry learns that sometimes saying sorry doesn't quite fix things. Kasha finds herself having to choose a side.]

(no subject)

[thechaosbringer]

There's a purple and white robot beast in the bar tonight, moving around the edges and occasionally weaving between patron and furniture.

Unicron.

And if it looks like Unicron is circling the bar like a shark scenting for prey, that's because he is.

Prowl around long enough like the eldritch abomination you are, and someone's gonna jump sometime.

Oh boy, does he hope someone will jump.

And then...

And then the fun can begin.