Multi-Pup EP! Because the world sucks, but the multiverse doesn't.

[mergich_singer]

There is a snow leopard flopped languorously in the low fork of a tree on the very edge of the forest, draped along the branch like a particularly beautiful ornament. She has killed today, before crossing the mountains, and is now relaxed, well-fed and resoundingly smug.

It manifests, perhaps, in the music that clouds around her and hangs in the air, fat and golden and calming, or even reassuring. It certainly makes her rather less threatening than a big cat in a tree should really be - or at least, it makes her seem less threatening. The devil, after all, is in the details.



A certain agent of SHIELD, meanwhile, is stretched out on a sofa by the fire with rather more relief than he'd care to admit, reading a Star Trek comic (The Original Series. He's old-school) and drinking from a bottle of beer.

(Off-duty, goddamnit. OFF-DUTY.)

No, he hasn't been in a fight. Ignore the scuffed knees of his once-smart trousers, and definitely ignore the very cracked shades folded in the top pocket of his once-equally-smart jacket. They're entirely coincidental.



Meanwhile, there is a very, very bored Professor McGonagall sitting at a table with an alcoholic beverage and a good view of the bar, tiredly marking essays. Some days this job is so unspeakably tedious it's just exhausting.

Please, for the love of Merlin, someone distract her. Find her a challenge. Anything, before she winds up having to do something about this herself.



[OOC: Open all weekend, folks!]

Comments

[scots_wolf]

Urquhart is sitting not far from Coulson, reading a book, with the dog asleep by his feet.

[hisonegoodeye]

He knows the other man is there; he always does. But actually displaying tendencies towards hyper-vigilance is... unwise, often.

But he knows that he's there.

[scots_wolf]

So does Urquhart; his training and nature has taught him to pay good attention to everything.

"Evening," he says, politely.

[hisonegoodeye]

He slides him a glance.

"Evening."

[scots_wolf]

"You broke your glasses," Urquhart says.

[mute_clay]

Clay's ventured inside the bar and gotten a beer. He likes to sit by the fire when he does come inside, and although there's a man occupying the couch, he doesn't look like he'd mind that Clay sat in one of the chairs.

So he goes and does that.

After taking a swig of his own beer, he gets out a very rumpled package of tobacco from his back pocket and carefully retrieves a rolling paper from his shirt pocket.

He distributes the tobacco and then he looks over at the man on the couch and lifts an eyebrow as he holds out the unrolled cigarette.

Do you want one?

[hisonegoodeye]

He doesn't notice immediately (this is a lie; he does notice. He always notices, but it's unwise to show it) but no, he doesn't mind.

After allowing for a natural pause, he glances over.

"Uh. No, thank you." He doesn't smoke, unless it's for a role, and these days he very rarely gets assigned those kinds of parts.

But, he's not entirely against the idea of company.

"Hi."

[mute_clay]

Clay nods and then gets out a wrinkled piece of paper from his jeans pocket. He hands it over.
It says, 'My name is Clay' in carefully drawn letters. They look like they might have been made by a workman's pencil.

To explain, he taps his throat and shakes his head.

Can't talk.

[hisonegoodeye]

"Ah." He nods. "Can you use ASL?"

He has a sneaking suspicion that the man can't, but it never hurts to ask.

[notabricklayer]

McCoy really doesn't know how he gets into these situations, he really doesn't. All he wants at the end of the day is a little peace and quiet (and maybe some Russian company) but this? This is not it.

This is being hounded through the bar by a pack of waitrats.

"I think I've told you already, one, that's doctor-patient confidentiality and two, she only listens to me when forced to. So sounds like to me you need to invest in some tiny little helmets." The lead rat squeaks impatiently, having to move fast to keep up with the doctor now that he's managed to get his glass of bourbon. "I know you don't want to talk to her boss, but I don't see where that's my problem. I'm a doctor, not a ghostbuster. Now go on, shoo."

McCoy flops, still in Starfleet blues, into the nearest armchair. There are days he wonders if he shouldn't have put that crazy tiger-girl on long-term medication.

[hisonegoodeye]

...What.

He is not startled, and he is not flustered. Definitely not. He's a SHIELD agent, not a fanboy.

(Except for when he's both. But shush.)

Oh good God that's Dr Leonard 'Bones' McCoy - or the best cosplayer he's ever seen, and SHIELD has produced some epic Halloween parties in its time - and he just pulled an 'I'm a doctor' line. RIGHT IN FRONT OF HIM.

If that is Bones, and it definitely looks very much like it is, this is officially the third-best day of his life.

The comic vanishes so fast it's like a conjuring trick; he slides a careful look at the man.

"Uh." He offers a beer. "Long day?"

Playing it cool. Playing it cool. Playing it cool.

[notabricklayer]

"Long week." McCoy holds up his bourbon - he has the alcohol angle covered, but there's a grin of 'yes, hallelujah, praise the Lord and pass the bottle' in there in thanks. "How just over a hundred of the most intelligent people in Star Fleet can suddenly forget how to keep a simple appointment is beyond me."

Showing up at their duty stations and threatening their continued ability to stay conscious? Is very much not beyond him.

[hisonegoodeye]

"Yeah, same here."

Beat.

"Uh. Except not in Star Fleet."

It is SO McCoy. Officially the third-best day of his life. Maybe second.

"But there were appointments."

Also aliens. And bombs. Bombs happened.

[max_epper]

Max wanders into the bar carrying an equally large stack of essays.

He pauses for a moment, then, noticing a table with plenty of space, he heads over.

"May I?" he inquires of the professor. He's to focused on keeping his stack of essays secure to focus on what she's wearing, or using to mark her stack of essays with.

[lionlike_tabby]

She's never going to get these bloody essays done. But then, that was half the reason why she came here in the first place, wasn't it? Even if she doesn't particularly care to admit it.

"Be my guest," she says, but she makes sure there's a certain amount of irony in it, because she does have a reputation to maintain.

[max_epper]

"My thanks," Max replies, ignoring any hints of irony he may have picked up.

"Always the dullest part of the job, isn't it," he adds, glancing down at his own stack.

[lionlike_tabby]

"Always," she agrees, with a military-regulation small sigh. "Though I've been teaching for nearly fifty years, so Merlin knows I should be used to it by now."

She may look like she's in her sixties, but that's what magic - and excellent genetics - tends to do for you.

[katyafeline]

Here's a bit of a floor show, Professor:

The front door bangs open, and a half-a-breath later a young girl in jeans and a leather jacket and all of the silvery bangly jewelry one girl could ever desire slides from the shadows cast by one of the support beams on one knee, with a hand down flat on the rough floorboards for balance. She makes as if to rise and charge back out the door, but the door evidently has other ideas. It slams back shut again, leaving the girl to pick herself up off the floor, her color high from the fight she just left.

Skellig will be so pissed she got a lunch break.

[lionlike_tabby]

... Well. Some people will be so dramatic.

Oh, children.

She raises an eyebrow, but just to be on the safe side stands to make enquiries about the child's health.

"Are you all right?"

[katyafeline]

"Da, da." Katya grins brightly, waving off the concern as she dusts off her clothes. "He's more bark than bite."

Well, there's some decent muscles in there, but that just makes it fun.

[lionlike_tabby]

Now, where has she heard that before? Too many times to count.

"I rather thought the translation field handled all languages in this bar," she remarks, in rusty but reasonably fluent Russian: the child seems to understand English, but she'll take an excuse to use the Russian.

[thefirststark]

Howard is reviewing some of his notes. He notices the rather bedraggled man reading a comic book. Howard isn't sure what to make of comic books, especially given how silly some of them made Steve seem. But there are worse things to read. Maybe.

[hisonegoodeye]

The guy is familiar, though he's almost certain they've never met.

Coulson flicks another page of his comic book, watching him covertly. He's very good, the best; discounting telepathy, there's little chance of him noticing he's been spotted.

[thefirststark]

"Good afternoon. Long day?" He won't ask about the comic book.

[hisonegoodeye]

He could if he wanted; it's not like he's embarrassed to be caught with it.

"They're always long," he agrees, voice mild. "Hi."