milliways_bar | Entries tagged with axel

Sunshine finally finished up her solstice-gift baking earlier today. It'd taken longer than she'd expected, but soon, baskets with tags labeled "Happy Winter Solstice, from Sunshine" are left with the Bar for: ( Balthazar Blake, Thirteen, Ben Wade, Ned, Axel, Teja, Finvarra, Urquhart, James Watson, Howard Stark, Gene Hunt, Elrond Halfelven, Juliet O'Hara, Shawn Spencer, Burton Guster, Steve Rogers, and David Stutler )

The baker herself, is asleep on the couch next to the fire. In Sunshine's opinion, whoever said that winter was 'the most wonderful time of the year' was lying through their teeth.

Current Mood: sleepy

forgottenmotley

The sky is dark without a moon and only the stars glimmer give a tiny bit of light casting the world into shadows and more shadows. The lake glistens like a mirror reflecting the stars and near the edge was the Fool. He's gotten a bonfire going and is standing besides it watching the flames flicker.

He starts to sing in a low voice a song that doesn't really have any words that are recognizable. It's an old song, somewhat cheerful if a bit melancholy at times. The Fool likes the night like this. This is when men were most afraid and would huddle close together to tell stories around their fires.

The Fool's shadow flickers with the firelight, for once moving because it should and his bells are muted.

He's also got some marshmallows from somewhere which he occasionally puts on a stick to roast and eat. Because everyone can appreciate marshmallows. And on moonless nights besides a bonfire they're even more appreciative.

mogget_cat

The couch has an extra pillow on it, tonight. It seems to be purring faintly.

Be careful not to sit on it accidentally!

Current Mood: sleepy

killitwithfire

Usually, Axel likes to sleep in. He enjoyed having a good sleep even when he was a Nobody, but now... Well.

Today though, he's awake early - before the sun - and, hell. He's up before the sun? Then he might as well go greet it.

One Axel, out back, waiting for the sun.

sunbaked_baker

(OOM: Fight and flight.)

The door of the bar slams open with enough force to send it bouncing off the wall behind it. The figure mostly in dark-red that follows is running as fast as she can. Fast enough that it's only in the instant that she runs into the first table nearest the door that she realizes where she is.

The edge of the table sharply impacts her right hip, twisting her to her right as inertia carries her forward. Unable to keep her feet, she falls, stars exploding behind her eyes as her head hits the floorboards. She lands on her left side, sliding slightly in the still-cooling blood that coats most of skin, mats her hair and obscures much of her lime-green shirt and purple jeans.

(ooc: Mun is going to bed, but post is open for any and all tags, forever and ever.)

Current Mood: distressed

killitwithfire

The afternoon finds Axel having a nap - or at least the appearance of one - on the couch by the fire. There's a half-finished plate of cookies nearby, and a pot of tea three-quarters full.

There's nothing wrong with either of them - if you happen to like tongue-blistering spiciness. Still, if you don't they might be unpleasant to consume. On the other hand, there's a plate of apparently unguarded cookies, and sometimes, even in Milliways, people can't resist the lure. Stolen food tastes better, right? Right. Especially if it's a treat.

Possibly the nap is feigned, in order to observe whether or not anyone steals a cookie, and, if they do, how they react to the flavour. Possibly.

He might actually be napping.

igetthatalot

Varric had meant to enter the Hanged Man this evening, but if the odd magic bar decided to appear instead, who is he to argue? Although the note that appeared when he went to see about getting a pint was pretty well unexpected, he reads it and solemnly nods. "Far be it from me to cause trouble when there's magic involved," he says. "But I'm going to need a stepstool."

He gets one.

Specials Tonight:

Antivan Brandy
Ale
Wine

After some thought he adds:

Drink a pint of Orzammar dwarven brew without making a face, and your next drink is half off

He's a surfacer. He can get away with that.

sunbaked_baker

Sunshine has been up since sunrise. She's still a bit sore from the other evening, but that's not going to stop her. She leaves her apron hanging over the back of a chair in the kitchen and goes for her run around the edge of the lake in the early-morning sunlight, while the unbaked cinnamon rolls rise in the moist warmth of a cooling oven.

The dough has risen to perfection by the time she gets back. She checks their progress with an expert touch, and, satisfied, she closes the oven door and turns it on.

While the warm scent of cinnamon and sugar slowly fills the kitchen, Rae washes her hands and heads outside again, this time to find a place to stretch out and soak in the sunlight.

The grass is soft and the sun is warm.

Current Mood: in her element

sunbaked_baker

Rae's been feeling the pressure to return to her world, lately. Axel had (and she hates to use this word) loaned her three of his Assassins, to help her find the vampires who were moving into the recently-vacated hunting ground that is the city of New Arcadia. She sometimes forgot they were there, until she saw the shimmer of movement at floor-level, the slight change in the shadows they did not cast.

But when she goes down to the bar today to pay off the last of her tab, she finds the place completely changed. The vid-screen that pops up when she approaches the Bar explains what the situation is.

"Strangest holiday ever, but... it sounds interesting? What can I pick?"

Rae touches the vid-screen.

"Dear gods and all the angels, no."

The second image that appears... she just looked weirded out. Fucking Milliways. She doesn't approve.

The third... stops her.

"You know that's really not me, either," she says, frowning slightly.

Baker in the bar! Help her choose?

Current Mood: curious

twiceahero.livejournal.com

It's not often that this particular redheaded woman is seen in the bar with anything on the table in front of her other than a laptop, but there are apparently exceptions to all trends because today the laptop is closed and set to the side so that there's room for the massive plate of pasta in front of her. Spaghetti carbonara with a huge crusty piece of Italian bread, still steaming from the oven.

And boy is it good. Barbara's eyes are half-closed in pleasure as she actually lets herself relax. Well, sort of relax. As close as she gets.

sunbaked_baker

The long day of baking had been cathartic, and Sunshine had needed it. Rae... wasn't thinking about what was going on back home, just yet. Wasn't ready to, so wasn't going to. Not right now. She had just set the tray of still-warm baked good on the bar when she'd received a napkin.

"...Well, all right. You get some sleep," Sunshine says, slipping behind the bar and grabbing one of the drink recipe books.

She's in lime-green jeans and an electric-blue top, though they're mostly covered by the sunflower-dotted apron still tied about her waist. Where her clothes are not effectively covered, they're dusted with flour (how unusual!).

Soon, the Specials Board is up. Some the writing might be a bit cramped, but she'd had to make sure everything fit.

Happy Hour Specials!
Tequila Sunrise
Sunburn
Sun of a Beach
Sunset

Non-Alcoholic
Sunshake

AND Sunshine's Fresh Baked Goods
Cinnamon Rolls As Big As Your Head: $2.50
(Extra Icing: $.50)
Bitter Chocolate Death: $2.50
Caramel Cataclysm: $2.25
Lemon Lechery: $2.00
Chocoholia: $2.00
Muffins: $1/ea, $10.00/dozen
(Blueberry-Candied Pecan, Strawberry-Chocolate, Oatmeal-Cranberry, Jalapeno-Sweetcorn)

"Happy Hour starts now, denizens of Milliways," Sunshine says, smiling as she snags a gooey, fragrant cinnamon roll for herself. "What will you have?"

(ooc: Mun is tired and heading to bed. Post is open for tags forever, though. <3)

Current Mood: okay

nitro-is-ace.livejournal.com

Ace would like to protest, for the record, that this time, it wasn't her idea.

Of course, it's considered the height of bad manners to blame one's TARDIS (at least in certain circles), so she might end up taking the rap for it anyway.

Either way, there's a small pyro picking pieces of gravel out of her skin with tweezers over by teh fire. She'd do it in the TARDIS, but they're sort of sulking at each other right now, and if she did it at home Spoon would flail. So.

gorgonfondness

Cepheus is napping, curled up in his mother's arms. All the better for him not to see her brooding.

Mrs. Malfoy is sitting in an armchair near the fireplace, a cup of tea that's long since gone cold and the family's Tales of Beedle the Bard by her. Story time was simple, if repetitive: a few tellings of Cepheus's current favorite, The Wizard and the Hopping Pot. This copy, with notes from Dumbledore, has occasionally brought up the family name.

Malfoy.

Ever since her rather disastrous conversation with Harry, she's been questioning herself. Her morals, her actions, everything she ever was, is, or will be. Surely something's been compromised in her youth so that she could be with Draco, though Draco has grown to the extent that such compromise is no longer necessary. But is he the one who's changed? She certainly couldn't have been static all these years. She must be different from the young lady she once was. Perhaps she's let herself slip.

Does marrying someone also espouse you to the ideas of the whole family, regardless of how you may feel about them?

Mrs. Malfoy's thin fingers stroke through her son's hair, more for her comfort than his as she continues to ask herself.

Is she really nothing but another Malfoy?

undeniablestyle

An old man sits alone at a table, fingers steepled in front of his nose, contemplating a chessboard.

The black and white pieces, on and off the board, contemplate him back, waiting expectantly.

“Knight to E-7.”

The small black knight charges forward and across, and triumphantly drags the white king off of the board.

Dumbledore sits back from this solitary game with a satisfied nod. There’s something to be said for an above-board battle. Especially now that he is devoting more and more time to countering Tom’s underground machinations.

Not that the Headmaster of Hogwarts can’t pull hidden strings of his own. But it does make you appreciate a straightforward game all the more.

Botherable.

nitro-is-ace.livejournal.com

Ace finds herself to be a very busy girl these days. Between maintaining a home life in Yorkshire, dealing with an ever-more-vigilant (aka paranoid) Gallifreyan government, sorting out the more and more frequent mauve alerts, all on top of the trouble she gets into naturally... who would of thought someone with so much time could be constantly bumping up against deadlines?

So Ace, in self defense, sometimes tells all those folk to go hang for a while. That'd be why there's a small pyro sprawled on a sunny rock near the Caribbean outlet, reading something horribly trashy that she's fairly sure would offend Spoon on many levels.

Being offensive on many levels is one of the charms of trashy novels, doncha know. Besides, Mr. Billingsworth just left Amanda destitute in the street (the cad) and it was about time the hot latin stud on the cover made his appearance into the story.

mogget_cat

When Yrael refused to wake up to acknowledge the accumulating napkins informing him of his impending bartending shift, Bar turned to other methods. The waitrat Ivanhoe relished the opportunity, certainly, shoving the sleeping not'cat off the countertop with enthusiasm.

Of course, the hard landing on the floor was still only enough to wake him long enough to switch shapes, put up the Specials Board, and switch back, curling up on the Bar to fall back asleep.

Happy Hour Specials!
Top Cat
White Lightning
Green Eyes
Fuzzy Bastard
Wake the cat and get your drink ~~half-off~~!
Bribes accepted and encouraged

The cat snoozes below.

(ooc: ~~Open forever!~~ Tornadoes Suck. I'm heading downstairs.)

Current Mood: lazy

sunbaked_baker

There are delicious smells coming from the bar's kitchen, today. Cinnamon rolls and brownies, and a variety of other fresh, mouth-watering baked goods, from the smell of it. Sunshine had come in from a lazy Monday off from work. Spring had finally coerced everything into bloom in New Arcadia, and Rae was cherishing the sense of peace the brilliantly sunny days brought, just in case the peace didn't last.

Twelve hours of sleep last night had done wonders for her sense of well-being after the hectic 13-day work week (last Monday had been a holiday celebrating one of Independencia's war heroes, meaning Charlie's had had to be open), so after going over to Mel's house for some late-morning lovemaking and a rather dreamy lunch, Rae had decided to visit the local library to meet up with Aimil and see what was on the new acquisition shelves.

Of course, the bar had had other plans, deciding that the library door should lead to Milliways instead, but Sunshine didn't much mind. It was a gloriously sunny day here, as well.

So, should you wonder what wonderful things are making those mouth-watering smells, you'll find Sunshine in the kitchen, flour-dusted and kneading dough.

Current Mood: peaceful

boston_bruiser

"What? Bullshit."

Guess who got The Napkin?

I don't see why you're so upset.

"Oh, gee, I don't know, maybe it's because of that MRE bullshit you pulled a couple days ago?"

Can't you take a joke?

"So long as it doesn't give me goddamn indigestion, yeah."

Look, this is the fastest way to pay off your tab.

"What tab? I paid all that shit off days ago. You'll do anything to screw with -"

Just do it.

Voodoo sighs and gets to work - that specials board isn't going to fill itself out.

Two minutes later, it's done.

Specials
Everything except cocktails

Don't ask me to make a cocktail and your drink is half off

We never said he was all that imaginative.

Anyone passing by will see Voodoo sitting on a stool behind the bar, crossed feet on the bar and reading through a copy of Paradise Lost. The M60? It's behind him, on top of the drinking cabinet. Well inside his peripheral vision, though - he's not stupid.

mis-adventurer.livejournal.com

Bedraggled and rumpled, Rincewind walks through the backdoor and immediately squeaks in shock as a waitrat passes by him. He dodges out of the way only to find himself in the path of another one and so dodges yet again. He's used to rats, as anyone who grew up in Ankh-morpork would be, but even those illustrious rats never get this size (they hunt in very well organized gangs though). He spins and runs, making it a few tables before yet another is before him and he alters his flight again. Eventually he falls behind Bar and lays panting.

Once his breathing slows, he peaks out at the bar area (having removed his hat of course) and finds a note waiting on the Bar for him. He puts his hat back on and reads.

"What?" he says obviously confused. "But I don't know…" Another note. "I can't…" Yet another note.

As they talk, the specials board is writing itself to read:

Ale
Wine
Explain the rules to the new patron and your first drink is free.
Half off your second if you explain Milliways.
And just written in pretty nice, but obviously different penmenship:
Sodas too

"Okay," he finally says very hesitantly, "but what's a 'Happy Hour'?" No more notes appear and Rincewind gets a terrible feeling in his gut as the grain of the Bar is starting to look familiar…like he's seen it somewhere before.

[OOC-And I'm done for the night. Thanks all, I had lots of fun. I'll get back to slows tomorrow but since I had so much fun I'll consider this open to new threads until the next posted Happy Hour.]

alreadyknowhow

Some birthday.

Sure, Johnny Hooker is finally old enough to vote (and drink), but what had seemed like a promising score had gone south in a big way--long story short, he'd had to give the mark all his money back, and lost all the money he still had left from his last score by way of a police shakedown to avoid getting arrested, and the cops had roughed him up pretty well in the process, and on top of all that, the girl he'd had plans with tonight stood him up.

Oh, and then the bar presents him with a note (and a cupcake). A guy can't even come in and have a drink in peace--well, it's not like he was doing anything else with his night anyway. With more than his ego bruised, he moves behind the bar and writes on the board:
Specials:
Sidecar
Clover Club
Old-Fashioned
Egg Cream

Try your luck: Double or nothing

Hey, a man's got to earn a living somehow. At least he got a cupcake out of the deal.

[ooc: open forever!]

killitwithfire

Axel isn't what anyone would call a brilliant artist, but Bar gave him a sketchbook and a Sharpie today with his breakfast this morning and it'd be rude not to use it, right? Right. At the moment, the page he has open is mostly covered with what most people would call abstract doodles, if they were being generous.

Toward the bottom of the page, the doodles are starting to take on more of a 'designed' look, and maybe Bar was onto something this morning; it's been a long time, but Axel thinks he could use a new tattoo.

the_gene_genie

Gene wanders in, slightly the worse for wear. When Bar presents him with a napkin reminding him, in no uncertain terms, that he has still yet to pay any of his tab, plus there's the bill for that scanner he broke on top of it...well, he knows what's coming.

'Nope.'

Another napkin.

'Not interested.'

There's a pause for thought. And then an iPad appears on the counter.

'...what. Is that?'

The screen moves. An image appears. Gene prods at it suspiciously a couple of times, scowling at it around his fag.

...an hour later, after the prodding and swearing has reached a level even he finds unacceptable, he walks behind the bar with the iPad still in his hands. One reaches out blindly for chalk:

HELP

Bar's open.

[OOC: Mun is celebrating being done with essays for the term! As such, this is open allllll weekend for tagging; if anyone wants to thread with him but can't make it tonight, feel free to hit him up at any point over the next few days. :D Annnd, the sore throat and getting-late hour is winning. I'll pick up everything tomorrow, people - thanks for tagging! Still open to new threads as well. :)]

bushel-o-apples.livejournal.com

It's been months since he took the Pearl from Jack, and lost the charts to him, and still no news at all. No one in the whole of the Caribbean seems to have heard of Jack Sparrow. Either the many defenses around the Fountain have killed him (And Barbossa is in no way optimistic about that) or he has gone to ground.

And so it's a sour-faced Captain Barbossa that enters the bar from his cabin in the Black Pearl, stopping by the Bar to order ("Mencía if you have anything the like, and a chaser of orujo") and then heading over to a booth with his two bottles, one of red wine and the other, smaller, filled with a clear liquid.

Maybe people-watching with alcohol will lighten his mood.

(OOC: And player is off to bed, will pick up any tags in the morning GMT-side)

mogget_cat

It's a quiet, patient sound, the melody winding through the crowded bar, twining through people and chairs like an invisible cat, a faint, soft pressure on one's awareness. Yrael's fingers are deft and gentle against the keys of the piano, pale as the ivory beneath them.

The song is slow to build, like the steady rise of the tide, timeless and patient as the change of the seasons. The slow awakening of the day carries no more beauty than the twisting, teasing melody being played now, promising light and love and joy and unknown adventure beyond the next phrase.

Current Mood: giddy
Current Location: at the piano

aleister_author

Tyler is having a perfectly sodden day with slush deciding it can levitate as soon as he steps anywhere near the stuff and a wind angled just right to blow between buildings and under umbrellas. Which is part of why he smiles when the door opens here instead of the publisher’s office. One of the real bonuses about Milliways is that no one is going to look at you too oddly about ordering dry socks and a towel with your beer.

Well, maybe just a little.