Thanksgiving [ALL SKATE]

[mnt_mike]

It started early.
Like, very early. 
Dawn levels of early.
Which, okay...might not be very early for some, but it's pretty early for a Restaurant at the End of the Universe that's soul-bonded with a night owl New Yorker, for whom such an hour might actually be considered late.
Like, very late...but the narration digresses.

For any poor soul up at this hour, whether early or late, there's a wealth of activity in and around the kitchens.
The smells of roasted meats, and meat substitutes.
Of root and onomatopoeic vegetables being boiled and mashed. 
The earthen starchy aromas of bread resting and rising.

A feast is being prepared. 
For what reason?
...
Does it really truly matter? It all smells so good. 
If you close your eyes, clear your mind, and try to place any one particular smell...the one you get the most clearly is your favorite one for feasting.

For lo', Thanksgiving has once again come to Milliways.
 

Comments

Bar [Breakfast]

[mnt_mike]

Sidle up to Bar for your favorite beverage and you'll be given something Mimosa shaped while you wait.

Also possibly a cinnamon roll.

Off to one side there are crayons, colored construction paper, glue sticks, and instructions on how to make your very own hand turkey

[strongerthanyouknow]

"Oooh! Don't mind if I do," Sara cooed with overly sweet hyperbolic delight, and a bright smile, as she scooped up one of the Mimosa glasses that had just appeared. "I always did love a girl who knew how to deliver on more than you asked for."

[bringstheheat]

Cinnamon rolls? Mick can get down on those and then some. He's got one in hand as he searches around, "Where's the whiskey?" None of this mimosa stuff, he doesn't drink juice damnit.

The voice is a familiar and welcoming one, which means Mick can relax and eat. "The fuck are we anyway?"

I just gotta

[havingprecision]

"You did at that."

He's older, world-weary and his blonde hair shot through with silver but the corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiles. She isn't his Sara, but she was the one who saved him on his Earth and who gave him hope in this very strange bar.

So naturally he has to say hello.

[canttrickmeanymore]

Peter is currently chomping down on breakfast. He finished the cinnamon roll long ago. He's moved on to more protein.

If you come talk to him, he *will* convince you to make a hand turkey. Be prepared.

[forceandstyle]

Vi had sidled up to the bar to get a read on this place, all casual-like, but when the cinnamon roll appeared she nearly leap in surprise.

So much for cool and collected. She'll have to go with suspicious as she pokes at the pastry.

Re: Bar [Breakfast]

[photons_b_free]

The Doctor studies the bar and the decor. "Ah, Thanksgiving.

"I hope they don't have meatloaf molded in the shape of turkey." Which is apparently an ancient tradition on some Starfleet ships. Not that he eats, but turkey-shaped meatloaf has always seems absurd.

Re: Bar [Breakfast]

[feminine_menace]

YT is too old to make hand turkeys, and not yet old enough to enjoy an excuse to behave childishly anyway.

But she’s happy to partake in a mimosa brunch. She perches up on a barstool. Stella the poodle settles down underneath her, chewing on a new plush Turkey toy with a squeaky body and a crackling tail.

Outside [Just outside the door to the Lake]

[mnt_mike]

Here, where the Lake Area most resembles the Scottish Highlands, it's a brisk 40/5 degrees F/C respectively. Along the flattish stretches of the rocky terrain are long tables with set to accommodate any number of visitors from any number of places.

When you get to the table there might even just be a small card with your chosen name written upon it in flowing black script.

On the plate itself, in the same black flowing script, is the message:

Eat. Drink. Be Merry.
For Tomorrow the Universe will end.

[numberthree]

Allison has gotten to the table and her name card, but not yet to sitting.
There's a crinkle in her brow as she's looking down at the plate.


"That's not ominous or anything."

[element_wizard]

"What is?" Alec asks, hands behind his back. He's got a little brown dragon his shoulder, tail wrapped around his neck, sitting straight up like a meerkat.

Re: Outside [Just outside the door to the Lake]

[phantasmal_resplendent]

Lup has no idea what all of this is. Some kind of harvest festival? Plus the message is a little ominous. (Nothing she isn't used to, though.)

But hey, any excuse to eat tasty food is a good one, right?

She draws her robe a little tighter around her and takes a seat.

Outside [Caribbean Outlet]

[mnt_mike]

If you prefer your weather warmer, and with a noticeable increase in humidity, then this is the spot to cop.

The sun is always shining.
The waves are always pleasant.
And...why yes, that is a Tropical Drink stand with a smoothie dispenser.

Re: Outside [Caribbean Outlet]

[skyhigh_seance]

Is Klaus sprawled in the sunshine wearing only a pair of themed board shorts and pink sunglasses? Yup. Does he have a pina colada the size of his head beside him? Also yup.

Best. Thanksgiving. Ever.

Re: Outside [Caribbean Outlet]

[forged_daughter]

Thalia walks by him in a two piece swimsuit, black. "I have seen a few drinks in my time, but not one that size," she remarks.

She's smiling at him, friendly. She's...not a hundred percent human. There's fire in her, creation, superhuman stamina, all inherited from her father, Hephaestus.

Anywhere but here [Free Skate]

[mnt_mike]

Anywhere, at any point, so long as it's Milliways.
Bring your imagination, but leave your sanity at the door.
For this way, there be dragons.

Re: Anywhere but here [Free Skate]

[distantdreaming]

There are woods here.

She suddenly finds herself among trees she does not know - and the daughter of the Golden Wood knows all the trees in her home.

So Celebrian wanders - in thin, white clothes that seem decidedly unsuited for the weather - among the trees, touching their trunks and whispering to them, a garland of white blossoms twined in her hair.

She is beautiful and in the half-light she seems to glow.

She thinks it is the same place. The dreamplace.
It feels the same.

She twirls among the dead leaves, arms outstretched.

[the_seafarer]

There is the soft sound of hooves on fallen leaves, and a man comes riding along a forest path. He's mounted on a bay horse with a star on its forehead, and for a moment when he sees her, he halts and his eyes go wide as if he recognizes her –

(Star-daughter)

– before his utter surprise gives way to a warm smile.

"Lady," he says. "Forgive me. I did not mean to disrupt your dance."

[ooc: I am about to leave for Thanksgiving Day plans but couldn't resist!]

[theevenstarofherpeople]

Winter fingers through the leaves, promising further unfurls of the autumn colors and then the snows. Though their kind is much untouched by the blur of the changes, that doesn't count them unnoticed. Ephemeral, fleeting beauty taught deep and held bosom true, earned at the feet of those most loved and respected who chose these paths long ago.

Lothlórien changes without warning; scents are changing with different whispers on the wind. A warm feast. The smell of sea and salt and flowers mixed, but the soft strains of the song of creation were woven there still. The stone and snows of not so far-flung mountains. But what can be found near pales before the comparison of all that.

Arwen's feet stop at the edge of a grove where the light blooms from a single dancer. A stone dropped into a lake, not rocked with ripples of gasp, but stilled to the core, silent save one word the whispers out, more long-sorrowed prayer than poetry, "Amillë."


[ OOC: Hover for translation. ]

Re: Anywhere but here [Free Skate]

[crowschild]

"You're pretty!" Ceilidh pops out from under the brush, twigs and leaves in her hair with this declaration, a big beaming smile on her face. As ethereal as Celebrian might be, Ceilidh is very solid and of the land.

[the_seafarer]

This time of year, as the days grow short and the air cold, always finds Caspian a little thoughtful and somber. He stands now by the lakeside, a fresh clean breeze lifting the curls from his forehead, a bay gelding cropping dried grass next to him. His thoughts rest quietly on old memories of a quiet man and a merry one, both with guns slung at their hips; a smiling girl with fog-gray eyes.

This time of year has ever been full of farewells. Perhaps it is time to turn it to new greetings.

[queenofmay]

Marian was not surprised or unsurprised when the door to her room opened to the Bar. The quiet drift of fingertips on the side of the door frame a gentle, subtle hello to a long, time tried and earned a friend. She is, though, surprised when her request for tea is met with the appearance of an earthenware mug, in stead of the standard china, and a simple scrap of paper, bearing the simple script of Outside.

That is a curiosity, but who is she to argue with the break from the strange sprawl of the universes beyond this door. There is a beauty in coming to one of her unexpected homes and that curiosity for being given instructions. It sends her first to the outdoor party, quietly looking over those already gathered until she finally spots it. A familiar form silhouetted against the sea, a horse at his side.

There is a wave here and there, a friendly hello, to familiar faces; before hands warm on her mug, she makes it to the opposite side of the gathering and can set out toward him. "Has something caused so serious a face? It seems quite a night for the opposite here."

Re: Anywhere but here [Free Skate]

[au_bulwark]

A lot of things have happened since the last time Bacara was here. Gone are his white GAR armor and his regulation blacks; gone is his undercover trader's garb.

He's wearing a coarse, heavy jacket and trousers over a lighter shirt. A fishing net is slung over one shoulder, and his feet are planted in synthrubber boots. The only weapon he's carrying is a neatly sheathed utility knife, and that only for preparedness against tangles.

His dark hair and beard glint reddish in strong light. His skin is a little more weathered, his smile lines a little deeper than on his last visit.

This isn't Marshal Commander Bacara of the GAR. This is Bacara of Nova of Vode, a free man at last.

All the same, he heads to the Bar to find out what's going on. After he's been introduced to the concept of Thanksgiving, he goes out the back door—now that he knows something about oceans, he wants to take a closer look at the Caribbean inlet.

Arwen for All Too

[theevenstarofherpeople]

Winter fingers through the leaves, promising further unfurls of the autumn colors and then the snows. Though their kind is much untouched by the blur of the changes, that doesn't count them unnoticed. Ephemeral, fleeting beauty taught deep and held bosom true, earned at the feet of those most loved and respected who chose these paths long ago.

Lothlórien changes without warning; different whispers on a different wind filter through different leaves in different trees, singing a different song. A bright warm feast and many voices of Men. The smell of sea and salt and flowers mixed, but the soft strains of the song of creation were woven there still. The stone and snows of not so far-flung mountains.

Though she knows not how, Arwen knows that around her and behind her is no longer the Golden Wood,
and still, the sounds of the merrymaking of Men draws her to the edge of this strange new forest land.

Re: Anywhere but here [Free Skate]

[forceandstyle]

She's read the literature and lost herself in the Window, had food and drink, and now she's testing out the punching bag in the gym. It's weird that it's just a bag hanging there but it does allow for heavier punches.