Sunday night Happy Hour hosted by YT (Walkaway AU)

[feminine_menace]

Here's what the board says this evening:

HAPPY HOUR WITH YT

Drinks
Coffee (NOT coffium, real coffee)
Tea (various)
Beer
Blackberry Wine
WV Walkaway Moonshine

Food
Bread, toasted on request (White, wheat, challah, cinnamon-raisin)
Scones (plain or cranberry)
Spreads (Butter, Nutella, lemon curd, clotted cream, various jams)
Cookies and tea pastries (various)

Discounts
100% off on everything. Fuck capitalism.

Behind the counter is a girl in her late teens, with short blonde hair, heavily made-up eyes, and prolifically pierced ears. A small diamond stud sparkles in her nose. Her wardrobe consists of combat boots, black-and-white camo patterned cargo pants, and a black babydoll T-shirt emblazoned with "PWN THE MEANS OF PRODUCTION" in white block lettering. This, presumably, is YT.

She seems to be enjoying a mug of coffee. Like, really enjoying it, as if it were the nectar of the gods.

[OOC: Open all AU Week!]

AU week 2017 -- metal musician Teja

[ostro_goth]

Teja is sitting in a chair by the fireplace, playing his guitar, with a black kitten on his shoulder. He's wearing a faded black shirt saying GOTH in cracked red, and stompy motorcycle boots.

So far, so normal. But actually, he isn't.

(no subject)

[notyourproblem]

When Mycroft steps into the bar today, he's absolutely exhausted. He finds himself a quiet table, and before he even drops the stack of papers down onto its surface, flags down a waitrat. Breakfast, coffee, and a cigarette are all needed before he goes any further.

He's not looking forward to what's coming up next, but it has to be done. And of course, it has to be his job to do it.

(ooc: Glam rock AU. Expect slowness from me; I'm feeling rather unwell and may randomly decide it's time for bed.)

(no subject)

[manofbusiness]

Childermass walks in, not displeased to see the place.

His appearance is much the same as usual except that when his coat swings aside, there's a wand in his belt.

(no subject)

[herr_bookman]

Autor hungers.

He's sitting at the bar, rubbing his newly-acquired, spiral horns, and fluttering his wings. They're still itchy at the bases, where they sprouted from his back a few days ago.

There's a sandwich and soup combo in front of him, but he can't eat it. It's not the food he needs. The hunger is all-consuming, a pit in his stomach that drives him to distraction. But when he thinks on how an incubus is supposed to feed, he blushes from his chin to his roots.

Autor buries his face in his hands. How did the demon summoning ritual go so wrong?

[OOC: Autor is sixteen again, and a new incubus due to a magical mishap! Unfortunately for him, he's also a total prude.]