milliways_bar | Entries tagged with fire

maydaybrat.livejournal.com

You spend too much time in the space between tick and tock, and this is what happens; you lose track of the other time. You know, that other time. Where you talk and breathe and think.

And maybe Mordred's spent too much time in the time where you don't do that, you just exist. Maybe.

Or maybe he's just been avoiding people.

Whatever it is, he's in the Bar now. Hair short, jacket black leather (naturally), lounging at his normal table with his boots on the table-top and watching the Bar and the bar with golden eyes.

bright-burning.livejournal.com

The longer she stays in India, the longer she sleeps in Jack's apartment and decorates the walls and windows, the more Fire feels she's taking from him. And while ordinarily she wouldn't care, this is Jack she's talking about and...well...Jack.

So she's in the bar, sprawled over an armchair and whistling to herself, lighter in hand. Vaguely bored, but then that's nothing new.

She smells of smoke.

Very strongly of smoke.

Almost like she's just been in a fire.

bright-burning.livejournal.com

India is beautiful, but the bar is always a welcome change. And so it is that there is a personification curled up in an armchair, working on more decorations for the apartment.

She's not sure why, exactly, because she knows they'll just end up in the dumpster outside. But still, she threads bits of colored paper and mermaid's tears and fluttering streamers of cloth onto a glittering strand of wire, to be hung on the window or the walls or just to be admired.

Never let it be said that she dislikes pretty things.

bright-burning.livejournal.com

She's been having a lovely time. Jack's apartment is small and sparse and she loves it, sleeps in until the sun is high in the sky, does tourist-y things all day. It's spectacular.

So she's not really expecting it when the door to a cafe turns out to be the door to the bar.

At least it's still the same sort of place?

Oh, well. She gets a cup of tea and a newspaper from 1988, sits back in a booth to flick through the news.

Bother at will.

http://users.livejournal.com/_to_the_bone/

Just passing through, gathered loot neatly vanished, except the beads tucked into the center of his curled hand, they're what really matters.

Just passing through.

Of course, he can spare a moment for a drink of water. Might as well. There's not much around for a good while in any direction where he's going back to, so he makes it a bottle he can keep in the front of the car.

bright-burning.livejournal.com

'Ouch' pretty much describes Fire's entire state of being right now. Clothing covered in ash and dirt, blood dripping from wounds in her throat that look disturbingly like they've been inflicted by teeth. Her neck is burnt, burnt from cold and stained with handprint-bruises. She breathes painfully.

But she didn't technically lose, so that's alright, then.

She was only on Earth for a few moments, long enough to realize that she didn't have a place to sleep, long enough to realize that the bar was warm and friendly and had rooms she could sleep in, sleep and heal and wait for Frost's marks to fade from her body. And so it is that she returns, wincing as she half-walks, half-stumbles to the fireplace, curling up in an armchair in front of it.

Family, she thinks vaguely to herself, rubbing her neck, suck.

Ouch.

http://users.livejournal.com/_to_the_bone/

Having fought, and fought dreadfully, they find the bar together. The scent of fire, charred and dead, floods through the door as Serafine the Fire and Jack of the Frost cross through. Jack's leaning heavily on her.

The first chair they find, he falls into, arm slipping from around her shoulders. She, in just as much of a sorry state, leaves quickly. Leaves him, coughing for breath, covered in dirt and ash and with blood in his mouth. Jack forgets to thank her for the help.

[ooc: violence in the oom]

bright-burning.livejournal.com

It's cold outside.

It's winter, which probably explains that particular phenomenon.

Now, generally, Fire steers clear of anything cold. But today she stepped into the bar, and it was annoying crowded, filled with people and too many people just get on her nerves. So she escaped outside, and is now leaning rather glumly on a tree and looking at the mountains.

She's almost positive that they weren't here last time.

kurosakiboy.livejournal.com

There's a boy at a table, leaning back in his chair, a book held in his hand. He's not really absorbed in it, but it's a pretty good read, so it has his attention.

Hell, he doesn't ever notice the mistletoe hanging over his table...

[ooc: The mun should be shot for this. At dawn. Or right now.]

bright-burning.livejournal.com

[OoM: Somewhere on Earth, Belial and Fire meet for the first time since the ballet. Warnings for extreme theology and mind games.]

Fire is really, honestly not surprised that she's just walked into the bar instead of her apartment. But it's a welcome surprise, really, and she makes her way to a couch, only stopping to order a mug of hot apple cider from Bar.

Then she sits, feet drawn up under her and chin resting on her knees, and stares off into space, her lighter held tightly in one hand.

She's got a lot to think about.

snorkacklover.livejournal.com

There’s been no sign of igneous woodworm.
Or gluttering miffwiggs.

Or- well- anything, really.

But Luna, sat cross-legged on a table and leafing dreamily through a textbook doesn’t let that bother her. They’re probably just hiding.

Constant vigilance, and all that.

cleanemandfryem.livejournal.com

That door's been opening for an awful lot of new faces the last few days. So it shouldn't be much of a surprise when a tall, fair-haired man with a tremendous bushy mustache strolls in through the door, yelling back over his shoulder.

"The bet's $20, but no fair starting before I get back. You can wait 45 seconds while I run to the bathroom, right, Mav?"

As he walks in the door, he turns his head to watch where he's headed--and the cocksure grin draped across his face simply melts away. "Mav? I think they've done something to the men's room."

Silence answers him, and he turns to look over his shoulder with a confused look--just in time to notice a complete lack of any sort of door behind him. "Mav--the hell? How'd I get in here?"

He looks around him, and takes in much of the scope of the place. "And where the hell is here?"

eiattu_pride

Over by the fire, away from any possible plot that has been planned, there's a Rial. He's in an armchair, datapad and stylus near at hand, but for now he's just staring into the flames.

It's been a long few days.

He's tired.

~

And over by the bar, sipping white wine and flicking a lighter in her hands, is a personification of Fire. It's winter, and she's really not terribly impressed by the cold.

As is perhaps evidenced by the frown on her face. Approach at own risk.

[ooc: many apologies, but i must go. slowtime is love, back in a couple hours.]

didntseeit.livejournal.com

There is, in this very Bar, a sight to send the entire AFN division for Sinaloa into collective hysterics if they saw it.

Ajedrez, curled up on the couch in a long, flared denim skirt, is attempting to knit.

The key word here is 'attempting'.

http://users.livejournal.com/_to_the_bone/

'Everything ever should just go away and die,' is a good approximation of how Jack's feeling this morning.

Fortunately for him, he's at the End of the Universe, so there's a nice view to stare at while, while he sips his water.

kurosakiboy.livejournal.com

Ichigo's totally unaware of the Halloween shenanigans as he walks into the bar, running a hand through his hair. The door closes and he takes a moment to survey the area, and then it happens, he, meanwhile, none the wiser. The change is instantaneous, and it takes him a little while to catch on.

As in, while he's standing there for a few seconds, his tail twitches, the little bell tied to the end of it (with a ribbon) jingling merrily at the same time.

And he freezes.

"What the-"

Because Ichigo does not have a tail. And his voice is not supposed to be that girly and high pitched either.

But then again, he's also pretty sure, as he checks himself over, that he's not normally a perky little catgirl either.

He screams. Like the little girl he seems to have become.

If anybody wants him (her?), they can find the little gender confused thing hiding underneath a table, trying desperately to keep the far-too-short skirt down and not let it reveal anything he'd like to keep covered.

http://users.livejournal.com/_to_the_bone/

[oom: Once upon a time there was a ballet.

Which is to say, millitimed to an age ago.]

the-woodpecker.livejournal.com

Barman inna bar.

At Bar.

Watching Game 2 of the World Series.

Kicking his feet nervously.

Glancing at the Staff Wing every so often to see if his girl's coming out today, since she gave him the cold shoulder all day yesterday.

Sipping a chocolate milkshake.

Beware.

didntseeit.livejournal.com

Ajedrez has parked herself next to the Obeservation Window. Her arms are folded on the table, her chin is on her arms, and she's just watching the show in morbid curiousity.

It is, she has to admit, kinda neat.

In a morbid, explosion-y kind of way.

bright-burning.livejournal.com

Ah, now, would you look who it is? Fire, wandering downstairs and yawning hugely.

She makes her way over to the bar, and orders a coffee. When it comes with some complimentary chocolate, she blinks in some surprise, taking the mug but leaving the chocolate bar.

Bad for the figure, you know.

So to recap, personification of fire sitting at a table, sipping a cup of coffee and staring into space. Conversation or distractions welcome.

blueeyedjohnny.livejournal.com

Johnny is in the main bar, lifting himself up on the rafters for arm exercise. He's done about twenty so far.

After a while he swings himself up and hangs down by his knees, looking around to see if anyone looks suitable impressed.

dragonofgrey.livejournal.com

Draco was in the bar, currently sitting in the back at a booth. He occasionally gave some treats to Martin, his pygmy owl. Finally recovered from his hangover from last night's craziness. Sticking with tea with a bit of lemon in it. He was also reading.

It was actually Poe's Complete Works that he got from Wednesday the other day. Currently engrossed with the Fall of the House of Usher.

Go ahead and distract the git.

bright-burning.livejournal.com

It's possible - just possible - that Fire is sprawled over a couch, staring at the ceiling and amusing herself by lighting small bits of paper on fire and flicking them into the air. As one does.

It's equally possible that, if asked to move, she'll glare. Or laugh. Or glare and then laugh.

It's even more possible that the mun has no idea what she's rambling on about.

Regardless, Fire inna bar.

didntseeit.livejournal.com

[OoM: Day of the Dead, Mexico, 2003. Warning, contains torture.]

Beatriz Barillo has had a long day before she walks into the bar. Coup d’etats are always exhausting, but when you throw in the meeting of legends in the desert, a race through a hospital to rescue her father, the torture of her boyfriend in the back of a café by her father and then the discovery of the paid-and-agreed new president’s corpse, well….

It has been a long day. And it’s about to get longer.

She walks into the bar and immediately stops. It’s been a long, draining day, and for a moment the young Mexican woman just blinks stupidly at the room. Automatically, her right hand, with the handgun, comes up – no, not straight out, just pointing to the ceiling.

This isn’t the street. No cobbles, no smoke, no bodies or Sands…

It’s about then that Beatriz Barillo of the cartel, Beatriz Ajedrez of the AFN, notices the Observation Window.

And shrieks.

[ooc: note, this is being millitimed to when Sands and Mal aren't in the Bar - all muns concerned wouldn't mind if no one mentioned that Ajedrez is in bar just yet, there is Plot. Thank you]

latino_menace

One drug lord, striding into the bar with a grin on his face. Judging by the suit and briefcase, he's just come from a business meeting or something - whatever it was, he looks damn happy about it.

A minute later, he's in a booth with some tequila, opening up a laptop. If you bother him, he may well buy you a drink.

Unless he doesn't like you already. Then he won't.