(no subject)

[cottoncandypink]

[oom: Wilford does, in fact, have a job where he has to behave like an adult.]

When Wilford enters the bar today, the first thing he does is head straight to the bar to leave a few things for other people.

For Guppy, Wilford leaves the receipt from the cleaner’s. Somewhere on the list is a price-gouged item for stain removal. Wilford has not bothered to highlight it in any way.

For Jim, he leaves a text book without any indication of why. He doesn’t think Jim will need one.


With that done, Wilford pulls out his phone and tries to take a few pictures, and maybe record a video of the bar. But he doesn’t get very far, because for some reason, nothing seems to want to save to his phone’s memory. He’s annoyed, but not exactly surprised. His phone doesn’t seem to like to behave while he’s here.

A few moments later, he spots something up in the rafters. Something that decidedly looks like it has a camera attached. It’s not a difficult task to find a way to climb up there, but knocking it out of the air is a little trickier. He does get it eventually, and manages to catch it before it crashes to the ground. Five minutes later, he’s over by the fire, inspecting the drone carefully.

(no subject)

[the_cupbearer]

Ganymede comes in looking rather different than he has been: he's dressed in dark jeans, black boots, a shirt similarly colored with its hood up, face unpainted and unshaven. He sits down with a leather portfolio, making notes in quick handwriting, narrow, slanted and elegant.

It's time for a new identity, though he rather likes the one he has; Ganymede liked to be prepared either way. He sighs, and checks his watch, the hammered metal band glinting in the light. He looks unnatural, sharply featured as he asks for a glass of wine, lowering the deep hood and pulling his long braid, wound with gold, from the fabric.

Feel free to bother him.

EP

[starrydome]

A grimy, weary, exhausted Elf Lord enters Milliways.

He is younger than he often is. Older than he sometimes is. And he hasn't rested in days.

(They were too late. They all knew it as they raced towards Eregion. They would arrive too late. And they did. )


He just stands there, briefly, looking at the room. And then he makes his way to the couch and sits down.
Heavily.




{ooc: potentially gory details in tags}

(no subject)

[manofbusiness]

Childermass is in one of the chairs by the fire, with a national newspaper in one hand, a pen in the other, and a notebook open in his lap, in which he occasionally writes something.

(It's nothing terribly interesting; he's looking for notices of book sales.)

He's also keeping half an eye on the room, in case his new and unexpected pupil comes downstairs.