milliways_bar | Entries tagged with mal

beauty-marred.livejournal.com

The weather is starting to cool. Narcissa is certainly not the first to notice it, nor is she likely the first to complain. But she will anyway.

She has obtained a wrap from the bar and a cup of darjeeling. Her tab is also starting to creep up again and she briefly ponders having another conversation with Mr. Bauer. That, however, can wait.

Tea in hand, she makes her way to the fireplace and chooses a seat close enough to warmth, but in a relatively unpopulated area. Chances are, she'll be spending a good deal of the winter here.

kurosakiboy.livejournal.com

The door opens as it does so many times every night and all day. And in steps a young man with fiery hair, his dark robes and white clothed sword giving him his usual, slightly unique look. He glances around, turns slowly and looks at the entire bar from one side to the other. Really looks. His eyes pick out people he recognizes by name or voice or just by their face, and many more than he doesn't recognize at all. He takes in little details, the sounds and smells that assault his senses along with the usual sights to take in. He hasn't really done this before, just stopped and really looked. Not just a glance or a casual look, but really seen the bar as a whole.

When he's done, or close to it, because he could stand and stare forever and not have seen it all, he smiles a small, soft smile and makes his way calmly, quietly, over to the bar. He takes a seat, glances to his left and to his right, seeing who's near him just for the hell of it. And then he rests his hands on the bar, and his smile grows a little, and he just sits like that for a while, so happy to be free again. Just so damn happy.

not-one-drop.livejournal.com

Mal's at the bar, as she usually is, sipping a coffee absently and glancing around.

Could be her eyes are landing on her door more often then not.

Could not.

rigthegames.livejournal.com

Arrr!

~~Dread Pirate~~ Sands is in the bar, looking completely unimpressed. It’s not the frilly shirt causing him such consternation, or even the tricorn hat perched at a rather jaunty angle on his head (and let’s just pretend there’s an icon showing him in his piratical splendour, as the mun hasn’t any room).

Instead, he’s glaring down at the glass of rum in his hand.

Softly, “But why's the tequila gone?”

smallestopener

Ingress likes to dress up.

Some days, Ingress likes to dress up as a pirate. This is one of those days.

This penchant for dressing up does not, however, explain why Tom, who walks in with his sword-wielding pirate lass, is suddenly sporting an eyepatch.

The last time he turned into a pirate was at Halloween. That was most interesting indeed.

OOC: Yes, a double post and I am fated, no doubt, for slowtime land. But la!

not-one-drop.livejournal.com

Yarr, mateys! Seems a certain vampire isn't too pleased with this particular holiday (it could - just could - be the fact that her outfit seems to be a cross between this and this).

So Mal's perched on a barstool, staring glumly into a bottle of rum and attempting to become invisible.

Make even one joke about wenches, and she'll probably bite you.

rigthegames.livejournal.com

Sands is lurking in a convenient shadow, looking twitchier than normal, and that’s saying something. If looks could kill, his table would be very, very dead.

Approaching him with caution might be wise.

… poking him with a stick would be completely unwise, but probably very funny.

[ooc: my brain has melted, so I'm off to bed! Will pick things up in the morning.]

http://users.livejournal.com/_pale_ghost_/

He takes a step in, and strikes his foot against the threshold of the door and stumbles forward, shoving his arms out to catch himself before he falls out face-first with a confused, "What?"

He lands thump and the floor seems terribly familiar. "Milliways, 'lo again." From the tangle of skinny limbs and too much pale hair now sitting indian-style.

ather-fledgling.livejournal.com

Anyone watching the door would notice a stunning Roman looking man appear there. Not walk through the door into bar, just appear. He's been out of the bar for a bit, though except for the slight edge to his eyes and the stiffness to the way he holds himself he doesn't look any different.

His black silk shirt clings wetly to the right side of his body, and as he moves towards the bar it's apparent why. There's a sliver knife embedded in his back just under the shoulder-blade. One of the spots that a person can't reach one their own. His movements are stiff and slow, very much the sore human.

He sits himself at the bar, and giving the top a small stroke with his left hand, asks for vodka and received the vodka as well as a glass of blood. He gives a faint smirk and downs the blood before starting on the vodka. Give him a minute and he may notice anyone else in the bar.

[Plot locked for the moment. Say sorry.]

angela-edmunds.livejournal.com

Angela enters the bar tonight wearing jeans and a t-shirt, her hair up in a ponytail, with books and notes and laptop.

It doesn't take her very long to begin work. She occasionally checks a book or two, then goes back to writing.

She'll be happy to stop work at any time and chat!

This place tends to get her creativity going.

not-one-drop.livejournal.com

A door opens, and Mal stalks in, running her fingers through dirty hair. Without opening her eyes, "I don't know. Pack what we've got. I can probably find more somewhere."

And then she trips over a chair and catches herself, blinking. "What - Milliways?"

She frowns briefly, then shrugs and heads upstairs.

***

Fifteen minutes later, she's back, in clean clothes and with wet hair, having just showered. Perches on a barstool and orders a coffee, staring into space.

Conversation would likely be a welcome distraction.

sansa-stark.livejournal.com

"The woman who has been taught only to please will soon find that her charms are oblique sunbeams, and that they cannot have much effect on her husband's heart when they are seen every day, when the summer is passed and gone."
-- Mary Wollstonecraft, A Vindication of the Rights of Women

That's the part where Sansa puts A Vindication of the Rights of Women down. At least now she's understanding the history of why women of Earth are CRAZY.

The young woman in medieval dress looks around for someone. Anyone. There must be something pleasant to talk about, surely?

mnt_mike

The door to the Staff Hallway open and in walks a track-suited Michaelangelo.
There's a familiar orange bandanna tied around his forehead.
Someone's been working out pretty hard in the Gym out back.

As he reaches Bar a bottle of Gatorade appears...along with a note.
After a good hearty swig, and quick glance at the note, Mike addresses the bar at large.

"Ladies and Gentlemen. I have before me a note that says our usual Thursday night bartender will be unable to tend this evening, so I guess this means you're stuck with me.

Bar is open.

Specials are...uh...Wild. Specials are Wild."

He wipes a wrist band across his forehead, and takes another swig of his Gatorade.

not-one-drop.livejournal.com

Mal wandered down for a coffee at some point today, and ended up getting this note.

Now, after spending most of the day in her room, she's back down in the bar with a pair of decently clean breeches and a blouse. She can't find her uniform shirt anywhere, and Santino's got his jacket, but that doesn't really matter. She's not going to stay at home long.

Just long enough to get her mind back.

There's a note left at the bar for Sands, and then she's gone.

fighting_mad

Plourr has a booth under the observation window, her boots on the seat opposite. She also has a small container and a rag, along with a mid-sized blaster, which she is currently engaged in methodically taking apart and oiling. Spent power pack off to the side, spring coil tipped against the half-empty mug of ale, and the rest of the parts set out in two perfect lines in front of her. The bacta patch that she has been wearing is nowhere to be seen and she moves her arm with little hesitance; it'll be time to go home soon. Another day or so and she'll be able to pass off the injury as an old scar.

She isn't entirely engaged in her task. She pauses every few minutes to look around the bar or, more regularly, to get lost in the view out the observation window. There's a thick streak of black oil just above her eyebrow that someone might want to tell her about, though it's debateable whether or not she'd mind its presence.

[have just been struck by sudden bout of illness, and, with a million apologies and promises for slowtime, i am gone.]

bohemian-mark.livejournal.com

The door opens, and Mark walks into the bar, perhaps a bit too cheerful, considering what's been going on lately. His hair's a mess, and he's wearing a white T-shirt that says :Wanted: Christian Grey for crimes against Today For You. Reward if brought to justice. He plunks at the bar and orders a tea. Looks like he actually meant to be here for once.

jack_f_twist

Putting a stable back together takes a lot of time, and effort, and manpower, and--

Well, that's Jack's excuse, anyway, for helping out with the work even though he ain't exactly a proper employee. But it gives him time with the horses, and keeps his mind from wandering, and, well, all that time spent working with Ennis ain't something to be sneered at.

Still, it's taxing, and Jack always has liked his comfort and company, so tonight he's lounging by the fire, boots up on a coffee table with a half-finished beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He's earned it, right?

shufti

Mum and babe in the bar, sitting near the trilobite tank. Jack is whimpering irritably, occasionally breaking into tears. Shufti is trying to soothe him, trying to keep him quiet and calm. It isn't really working.

misterparker.livejournal.com

Parker's out by the bank of the lake, unlit cigarette hanging from his lips. Resting his elbows on his bent knees, he looks relaxed.

He's always up for company.

fighter--pilot.livejournal.com

Shalla is in a booth.

Except not really. Shalla is lying on a table in a booth. It's easier to think when she can swing her legs in the air.

On the datapad in her hands is some sort of list. The list reads: Yrael, Atton, Mal, Sam.

Next to her, in paper, is a different list. This one has the following names on it: Atton (obviously), Wes, K--something (Jedi girl), Gavin, Mal. (must ask Wes if he knows more people.)

:D!

latino_menace

Ramon's in the bar. He looks tired and rather pissed off.

Bother at will.

rigthegames.livejournal.com

Sands is looking unusually cheerful as he wanders in today. First stop is Bar for tequila and a half-hearted apology

(“-I know I said I’d bring them back, but I threw one at a giant dragon and I’ve no idea where the other one went-”)

and then he finds himself a not too secluded couch to sit and admire the doomless view from.

fallen-april.livejournal.com

The door opens. A head peeks through.

And April grins widely because the door Ray uses worked for her - it's Milliways! Huzzah!

So she slips in, with one last fond look over her shoulder at New York, and lets the door close behind her. It promptly disappears.

She's carrying a new sketchbook filled with quick sketches done of people all over New York (Washington Square Park, the Village, Alphabet City, and the Life Cafe, mainly. And the subway) and a pair of striped men's pajamas - a gift from Winston, after she thanked him so profusely for letting her borrow them. Without a second thought she plops down on her usual couch and beams at the room.

As much as she loves and misses New York, and as much as it will always be home... she'd missed this place.

not-one-drop.livejournal.com

Mal's down in the bar, as usual, playing with Orion and grinning to herself. Seemingly despite the terror and angst and woe of the last few days, she's managed to perk up quite well.

This might have something to do with a certain maniac ex-CIA ex-blind pistolero.

Just might.

Bother at will!

rigthegames.livejournal.com

Sands was on the floor on one side of a portal, and now he’s on the floor on the other, hands still poised to tug hopelessly at his now-free leg. Slowly he blinks around at the familiar grounds, and then at his leg, and then back at the grounds again.

“Ah. Milliways.”

And he sags down onto the grass.

[ooc: C'est plotlocked, merci!]