milliways_bar | Entries tagged with hel

banished-to.livejournal.com

Hel is possibly the largest of the current patrons, topping out at fifteen feet tall and a good ton or so. She is also in the running for the ugliest, but she's pretty much over that issue.

Ironically, even being as touchy as any other young woman, she's probably one of the easiest characters to come and talk to because any set of gods out there knows she doesn't have to fear anything in the bar.

Except her father, and Baldur.

sf-nosferatu.livejournal.com

He's still not totally comfortable with the idea of sitting out in the open, but Daedalus has braved the mass of people long enough to get blood from the bar and find a booth that isn't completely shrouded in shadow.

The Nosferatu is liable to bolt if you stop and gawk, but if you're not planning on it, feel free to have a chat.

banished-to.livejournal.com

Hel enters the bar from lake's side, limping pretty badly. Its cold out there, damnit. She wants cocoa. She wants blankets. She wants to be nine feet shorter.

Two of the three are obtained.

blinded--faith.livejournal.com

Theoretically, a blind man who opens a door and expects to find a certain setting on the other side won't be able to realize immediately that he has found someplace... else.

Certainly the young man walking in through the front door-- hardly more than a boy, really-- with a bag over his shoulder isn't expecting to find himself here. He's not looking around, and there is a certain hesitation to his movements as he fumbles with the door likely to inform anyone used to the movements of the blind that another of their number has just arrived.

There's a pale streak darting in through the door behind him, resolving itself into a large cat, cream and red, approximately the size of a large mastiff. The cat pauses, as the door swings shut behind them, one paw arrested in midair, and the boy's empty hand falls to the cat's head, lightly.

"... either they redecorated last night," the boy says slowly, "or this is not the inn."

Curious, perhaps, that he can tell this, when he is obviously (to some) blind.

A moment later he continues. "That wasn't a Gate, though. And you didn't Jump us, either."

"... no, that's not helpful."

loyaltyinmotion.livejournal.com

It's getting to be that time; the moon is getting harder to ignore.
Therefore, Jason is standing in the clearing clutching a to-go cup of coffee. They don't break as easily when you drop them mid-shift. He looks to be waiting for stragglers before starting his hunt.

latino_menace

Ramon's in the bar, sitting at the table nearest the office door. He's about to go into the cells voluntarily for a couple of nights - no, he can barely remember why it's necessary either, but he'd thought it was a good idea at one time - so if anyone wants to talk to him, now's the time.

Oh yeah, and if you're his boyfriend? You should probably find out about this before he goes in...

sf-nosferatu.livejournal.com

It was the hunger that pulled him downstairs. No, that sounds too normal. It was the Hunger.

Daedalus has come to the top of the stairs a number of times since his arrival, just long enough to peer at the blank wall to confirm the door has not reappeared. The bar is alive with life at all hours, and so he's stayed clear of them. But after days of such, with no blood to sustain him, the pull of it has brought him back among the humans.

He is standing in the shadows, tenuously holding on to the last shreds of his control. All he needs is someone to venture just a little too close to the darkness. Hopefully before the Frenzy sends him over the edge.

[ooc: not plotlocked, but mortal characters beware -- he's hungry]

banished-to.livejournal.com

Hel settles into her favorite seat with a faint sigh. Then she sets a faint smile on her lips and bends her head to the embroidery in her hands.

She's adding red to the skirt she has been making. As bright, and warm, a color as she could find.

dragonofgrey.livejournal.com

Conflicted young wizard in the bar.

Hidden in a booth, watching.

Much with the brooding and thinking.

banished-to.livejournal.com

OoM

Hel enters the bar, basket of sewing over her arm, and heads for her usual seat with a faint (and faintly sad) smile on her face.

ardens-guard.livejournal.com

One Amberite, inna bar.

Julian's not doing so well. He's been trying to stay away from this place, for a number of reasons - but now he's stumbling through the door, a large angry welt under one eye, blood dripping from his lip and a burn on his shoulder that's visible through the rip in his white shirt.

Amber? Not so much with the safe, these days.

fathers-cleric.livejournal.com

Preston's still trying to digest what he's been learning, but what's learning without a little experimentation?

So, upon the advice of naraht and others he approaches bar-cautiously.
"Bar..."
Preston's voice trails off.

"I'm in the mood for experimentation-not that way and um-WELL..."
Ask and ye shall recieve Preston.

Bar presents him with This or a reasonable facsmilie. He eyes it suspiciously when his horror is compounded by This or another reasonable facsmilie.

Ah, the smell. It turns his stomache.
"I'm supposed to eat this?"
It then provides him with a drink.

"Could this get any..."
Bar tops itself off with one of these
One very confused cleric who dared to be different. Explinations are love?

banished-to.livejournal.com

Hel, still in charred clothing, has abandoned her current sewing endeavor and slipped out to the lake.

The leaves are mostly gone, their colors muted by rainfalls and time. This time of year starts to remind her of Niflheim.

She'll go in, soon.

banished-to.livejournal.com

Hel enters from outside, and moves toward the booth she thinks of as "hers". It has more leg room than any of the others, and she needs that the most as far as she can tell.

She is grateful that Halloween is over, and the gratitude shows on the half of her face that she allows to be visible.

namo

The Vala looks much improved.

Well, at least where his face is concerned. A full day's rest and the bruises have healed, and his lip only has a small cut in it.

Can't say the same for the rest of his wounds. But no one can see those, and he is careful about moving.

At the moment, he is sitting in a booth -- stiffly sitting, must be careful of the stiches ... he's a bit afraid of Martin -- sipping tea and reading a book.

He would not mind company.

witchy-rebel.livejournal.com

Morgan's crouching on the floor next to her normal table, picking up bits of broken glass.

Picking them up, twisting them in the light so they shine and refract and glitter the way only broken glass does.

Her fingers are slightly cut, but she hasn't noticed.

gorlim.livejournal.com

Gorlim comes down to the bar with his daughter. The little one is wrapped in a colorful blanket that looks like it might illustrate some kind of story if unwrapped. He takes the infant to the bar and sits there feeding her. However, it appears Gorlim only has her downstairs to show her off for a little while: soon after the baby finishes her bottle, Eilinel shows up to reclaim her. Gorlim makes several attempts to convince the woman to let him keep her longer, but she seems insistant that Kelly is too young to be exposed to so much noise and crowding for long periods of time. Eventually Gorlim gives in under her incessant good-natured teasing. Like all true lovers, she knows all the right buttons to push -- the most potent of which would appear to onlookers to be a threatening... handful of dried flowers from her apron pocket. Seeing those, Gorlim makes a face and passes the child into his wife's arms.

Eilinel replaces her strange weapon serenely. She leans over to place a kiss on her husband's forehead, then turns to return to their room. Gorlim watches them go with a distracted smile on his face. Now that he isn't actively chatting at an infant, he appears a touch frayed around the edges. He's been busy lately, from singlehandedly altering the psychological makeup of a Vala to preaching ideals of loyalty and brotherhood to a terrorist, while at the same time caring meticulously for the baby, the idea of sleep is far from his mind, and food is even farther. It's likely the drink he had with Ramon the other day is the closest thing he's had to a meal in... a considerable amount of time. And from the looks of it, he's not thinking much about food now, either. So! Come talk to the fidgety Tolkien-boy and maybe see if you can get him to eat something before his blood sugar level realizes it's dropped almost low enough to send him into minor shock.

Current Mood: happy

latino_menace

Ramon is back in the bar. He frowns a bit when he walks in, looks around...and then heads upstairs straight away. He looks better than he has done in a while, which possibly isn't all that surprising. Still, temporarily living in another universe doesn't stop him having to deal with some issues that are obviously important.

He emerges a while later carrying a well packed bag, walks to the bar and asks for some paper and a pen. There's a retreat into a booth to write something down, then he goes back to the bar. 'Make sure he gets it please.'

( Letter for Arithon )

Then he orders tequila, fighting back the urge for tea and hoping that there's not going to be another scene today. The last one literally nearly killed him.

[OOC: Warning in the first OOM for - obviously - smut. Language in the second one.]

no-more-chianti.livejournal.com

Clarice is descending the stairs. Her hair is tied back, and yes, she is in a tutu. Give Q a round of applause for that one.

~~Actually, she makes a pretty ballerina. She's wasted on the silly FBI.~~

She does not look pleased-- but that's mainly because in addition to the rest of her clothes, her shoes have also vanished, and she has been forced to come downstairs barefoot.

Summary: Clarice meets Hel and tries to convince her that she doesn't hate her. Also, she and Anthy discuss the Meaning of ~~Life~~ Shoes, employ the Socratic method, and hose down a sheep.

Current Mood: irritated
Current Music: "Wheels"-- Cake

half-giant.livejournal.com

Hagrid comes down the stairs, looking for a distraction before tomorrow's battle, and gets a tankard of ale from Bar before settling in on his favorite crumpled stool. Come talk to him, if you like.

banished-to.livejournal.com

Hel is in the bar, with a plate of bread which has been more picked to bits than eaten and a glass of water. She's dubious about the water, but the bar wouldn't give her small beer or wine.

white_flowers

The woman in white walks into the bar, carrying a canvas bag. A glint of metal can be seen poking out of the top. Blodwen goes to a corner table and settles there, then pulls out what appears to be a partly-finished crimson sweater, yarn, and her needles.

Bright silver flashes from the table as she works.

banished-to.livejournal.com

Pre-Milliways

The door opens, with a slam. No one coming through, yet. Somehow, with the optional physics that Milliways has, looking out it is like looking up. A very long way up.

Dimly is the figure of a large man seen. With something in his hand. And then the something is falling.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

She hits the ground, in the bar. Physics apparently changes enough that she ends up on the floor near the door, scrambling to her knees just as it slams shut. She pounds on it, gloved left hand and un-gloved right hand, screaming.

"NO! I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING! DADDY, DON'T LET THEM! I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING!"

Her hair is over the left side of her face, glimpses of the right show a teenage girl who could be, somehow, related to Svava. Blue eyes, blond hair. Taller than the Valkyrie, yes, but looking like she's got more growing to do.

Her fists pound the door unceasingly, and she continues to scream for her father.