milliways_bar | Entries tagged with barbossa

It's beautiful bright sunny day. The squid is chilling in the lake. The demon bunnies are skirting the edge of the forrest, looking for easy prey. And there is a party going on.

Why?

Why not!

Who needs a reason to have a good old fashioned lake party?

Certainly not us!

[OOC: Happy Tenth Anniversary, Milliways! You know the drill! Tag one, tag all, threadhop! Enjoy!]

not_his_pa

Yesterday William was almost eaten by a mermaid and he's scared by how easily he could have died. The only person who could have told his family would have be Wade and he couldn't put his mother through that. He didn't even question who this beautiful woman in the lake was and why she wanted him to sing to her.

Since he doesn't want to worry anyone, only Urquhart knows what happened and he's been working more today than he normally does so hopefully he sleeps quietly.

As there's nothing else to do in the stables, he's by the fire with a whiskey and tamale pie trying to concentrate on his book, but its not working that well.

areyoumyjolly

And now, there is a mermaid in the lake.

Tamara surfaces in the Caribbean inlet, water streaming from her hair, and looks around in the moonlight. The palm trees look familiar; the hills and mountains further off, much less so.

She can smell it in the water -- this isn't Whitecap Bay, and none of her sisters (swarm mates?) are anywhere close. But she's resourceful, drifts near the surface, waiting for anything to come by that might tell her where this is, and how she got here.

[[OOC warning: Avoid if you're still avoiding spoilers for PotC4! Otherwise, please consult her user info before tagging. Unless plot gets the better of us, I'll never post her in except in the Caribbean inlet, and I won't tag her out to anybody who didn't ask for her. PotC mermaids aren't exactly Ariel...]]

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)

7twistedwishes

There is a redheaded irish lass at the Bar. Or at least, a Devil very (~~cheesily~~) well costumed.

"All whiskey, stout, lager and cider you order today is on me, dears. Let's celebrate, just for the fun of it."

Its should be noted that she's wearing a short skirt, and nothing of green color about her person.

Happy St. Patty's day, dare you let Lucifer buy you a drink or five?

[ Open until it falls off ]

river_meimei

River comes in from the lake area looking windblown, slightly chilly despite her long duster, and entirely cheerful. (Boukephalos is a friend who deserves catching up with, just like any other. Unlike friends who aren't horses, 'catching up with' means 'joining for a gallop around the lake.')

She stops by Bar to run her hand across the polished maple, and say a few words. What she gets in return is an enormous mug. She beams, and scoops it up carefully in both hands.

A few minutes later, she's ensconced on one of the couches near the fire, sitting crosslegged with both hands wrapped around the mug. (It contains a fair amount of hot chocolate, with a good bit of whipped cream and chocolate shavings, but not as much as you'd think from the size of the mug. Bar is good about giving River things that are hard to spill.)

Tinytag: Teller

pirate_jack

The front door opens, and a pirate pokes his head through.

Captain Jack Sparrow takes a quick look around the room, and then brightens. He promptly saunters in, just as though he hasn't a care in the world and certainly hasn't done any such thing as that.

"Hello luv," he says to Bar as he reaches her, patting her top gently with one brown, beringed hand. "How's the both of you, eh?"

Her wood brightens to maple, then deepens first to cherry, then to mahogany, before returning to its normal hue, and Jack nods in perfect understanding. "Glad to hear it. In that case I'll just--"

A folded piece of paper materializes under his hand. Jack blinks.

"-- be getting a letter," he finishes, startled. A beat. "It is a letter for me, isn't it, luv?"

As Bar's hue darkens again, Jack hastily adds, "Of course it is, you wouldn't have delivered it otherwise, don't know what I was thinking, right then--"

He unfolds the paper and looks at the signature.

"Beatrice?" Jack glances up at the empty air. "Do I know a Beatrice?"

He ponders the question for a moment before glancing back at the page again.

"... well, well. 'Time for a mutiny,' is it?"

bushel-o-apples.livejournal.com

He doesn't expect anybody to join in, not in here, so he started work early. Some of the wood he can gather from driftwood strewn along the beach surrounding the Caribbean inlet, but most of it, enough to build a pile almost as tall as himself, has to be cut, which is hard work for a balmy mid-summer's day. Thus Barbossa can be seen at the lakeshore during most of the morning, cutting and assembling the wood, his hat and coat neatly placed on a flat rock, his shirtsleeves rolled up to show wiry, weathered arms, his hair held back by a faded yellow brocade bandanna.

Once the pile of wood is assembled, and after taking some rest, he goes inside and holds a whispered conversation with the Lady Bar, after which he bows deeply and proceeds to move one small table to a spot near the firewood. Other supplies soon cover the table, provided by the Bar as well. A large but shallow earthenware pot, several unlabeled bottles of clear liquor, a handful of roasted coffee beans, a couple lemons, and a generous portion of cane sugar. That done, he sits on the flat rock to wait for nightfall.

( Under a Caribbean sunset... Alcohol, fire and traditional magic )

( And at midnight... Barefoot across the flames )

(OOC: Party post, kinda, Millitimed to the 23rd of June. Threadhop at will, me hearties!)

(ETA: Player is going to bed, will continue tomorrow. Post remains open forever for people to tag in.)

bushel-o-apples.livejournal.com

The door opens into the captain's cabin of the Black Pearl and Barbossa, a wry little smirk on his face, strides in with the nonchalance of someone who's not a stranger to passing between worlds.

He looks around and nods once, satisfied, then heads towards the bar. As much as he loves the Pearl, sometimes a man needs a quiet place to think and plot, and having missed Cubefall by a few hours that's exactly what he gets. Thus he can be seen in a booth, taking measurements from a set of ancient navigational charts and comparing them to a small leather-bound book that rests close to him on the table.

That is, until some other patron decides to drop by and bother him.

Boromir son of Denethor has hardly been aware of Cubefall arriving and passing. Yes, the tables and chairs seem to have undergone some sort of... Structural rearranging, and some patrons are even stranger than the usual. All of that he would probably notice if his attention wasn't caught by something else.

Sitting near the fireplace, the book held in his hands and quite close to his face, Boromir's reading is dangerously approaching the end of "The Fellowship of the Ring". He could use some distraction before he gets a stroke from all the accumulated stress.

Tarik walks in from the lakeside, rifle slung from his shoulder and sword sheathed at his side. His ballistic jacket is zipped up and his red tagelmust wrapped around his head.

He stops by the Bar and leans down to mutter a few questions, the answers appearing on the usual napkin form. After that he smiles and bows his head politely, then he types the instructions for a money transfer from his own accounts to the Joe Manco fund on the keyboard of his wrist-mounted comlog. "Thank you, I hope that is enough."

Zakat thus satisfied, he heads for the door, stopping to take a look around at Milliways and shake his head one last time before crossing back into his own world.

Time to go back to Paradiso. Back to war.

morethanprops

When a door to Milliways appears as Moist is heading outside to start his day, he debates going through it. After a moment's thought, he walks through and grabs a coffee, his three piece suit isn't fully put together just yet.

His waistcoat isn't buttoned, but he lets that go as he drinks his coffee and considers the Bar. Cubefall was a rather unusual holiday and it was strange to be around so many wolves who acted like dogs.

Tiny tag with an assumed name: Moist von Lipwig

bushel-o-apples.livejournal.com

The door opens and Barbossa walks in at a slow, almost solemn pace, sword in one hand and a large, ornate wheel-lock pistol in the other. The sounds of men fighting and muffled cannon fire follow him through the door.

He pauses right after the threshold, stopping the door from closing behind him wth a booted foot, and his lips purse in a gesture that's half smirk and half scowl, then shoots a look back over his shoulder. Seemingly satisfied with what he's seeing he releases the door and heads for the bar, sticking the pistol back into his sash and removing his very impressive hat to reveal a dirty golden brocade bandanna covering his head. Setting the hat on the counter, he bows to the Bar.

"I would love a bottle of vinho verde and some writing implements, Señora." When the bottle of Portuguese white wine appears, he uncorks it and pours a small glass, looking at the blank sheets of paper in thoughtful silence while he sips his drink. After a while he will head for the back door and the flat rock on the lakeshore where he usually sits to watch the Caribbean inlet.

(OOC: He is botherable either inside or outside. Player gone to sleep, post remains open for tags, will pick up in slowtime tomorrow.)

pirate_jack

[From here.]

The lake door bursts open, revealing chaos.

"I warned you to keep your distance, mate!" Jack yells. Metal clashes as he brings his sword up to fend off Leonardo, followed by the crash of wood as he promptly upends the nearest table between them.

[ooc: not plot-locked! Jack and Leo may be a little distracted, given that they're in the middle of a swordfight, but feel free to react -- either here or in any post where their battle leads them!]

7twistedwishes

It has been quite a while since last time, so The Devil once more has a sign on her table in a 'central' booth, where it will be the most visible. To pass the time until someone approaches, she is playing the violin.

Free Advice

Relationships, lifestyle changes, legal choices, business goals, personal goals, career goals, education goals, religious beliefs, personal growth, motivation, inspiration, no matter what, let a Celestial Entity offer you guidance on what has you worried.

No compensation of any kind is expected, no responsibility for any unfortunate consequences is accepted.

Under it all, there is a line in smaller print: Help Wanted, inquire here.

bushel-o-apples.livejournal.com

It's a nice almost-Spring morning and Barbossa is walking around the lake towards the Caribbean inlet. The water is warmer there in case he would like to take his boots off and wade through the surf. He has a small satchel hung from his shoulder, the brass eyepiece of a spyglass poking out of it, and is absently throwing a small green apple up in the air and catching it as it falls. He is in a good mood as is usual when plotting. And of course, a man who loves the sound of his voice so much will have nothing against conversation.

With the approach of Spring the weather is mellowing, and the son of Denethor is reminded of how much more pleasant days were in Minas Tirith with the ending of winter, when the people of the Tower of Watch brightened as if a burden had been lifted from their shoulders as the trees started to bud (all but one) and even the Dark Lord's power and malice seemed to grow farther and lesser for a short time.

And thus he has decided to spend the morning outside, relaxing in the fair weather. He started the morning with a long walk along the shore of the lake, and can be found now sitting on the comfortable cushion of needles beneath an old cedar tree, his travelling cloak wrapped around him and a book in his hand.

Soon, he will go back to Paradiso, and to war. Soon there will not be time to contemplate the terrible beauty of the frighteningly fertile jungles of the planet. But for now, Tarik is free to enjoy the timelessness of Milliways.

At some point in the night he discovered the door leading outside, and found the lake. Now, as the sky begins to lighten in the East, he prepares for prayer. It's been months since he performed his ablutions in a lake like this: Clear and cold, the water is a pleasure. Since he got here in his uniform and field equipment, he must make do with it. His greatcoat doubles as a prayer mat, and his ballistic jacket, wrapped around his sheathed sword, serves as a prayer screen. As is common practice in Haqqislam (since there is no easy way to calculate the position of Earth, and thus Mecca, for the average faithful), he turns his face towards the sky before beginning to pray.

[...]

Afterwards, he can be found sitting on a rock near the lake shore, watching the sunrise tinge the lake with all the shades that the sky holds between black and blue. He has emptied his flask and refilled it with water from the lake, and occasionally lifts it to his lips to take a sip. All in all, he seems oddly peaceful for a man with an assault rifle and a sheathed sword resting across his knees.

[TinyTag: Tarik Mansuri]

try_corsets

Elizabeth doesn't know what to expect from her first baby shower and is, in fact, rather apprehensive when she arrives in the bar this evening. Not that she would let reticence keep her away however, and once the door is shut and she's had a chance to look around she is too busy taking in the decorations to concern herself with how strange the idea still seems.

Mike has outdone himself. He's gone and turned what was once merely a watering hole at the end of the universe into an intergalactic tiki bar. Each of the free standing tables has been decorated as its own private island by way of blue table clothes and cray paper palm trees. Some even have palm-sized plastic fish hanging from the hem like fringe. Booths are done up like various mainland ports of call with salt and pepper shakers in the shapes of ships and barges. And as if there wasn't enough in the way of horizontal surfaces to decorate, Mike brought in two full length tables to serve as anchors for the buffet and gift station. After all, what's a baby shower if not an opportunity to wheedle presents from those nearest and dearest to your heart. Just... ignore any passing resemblance these tables have to The Flying Dutchman and The Black Pearl. Along the floor are lines marking distances in latitude and longitude, with large red Xs denoting the various important features of decoration.

Though... strangely absent from this Pirate Ninja themed baby shower are... well, the ninjas. One might have to look close indeed to find them, but there are inch tall ninjas hiding in every nook, cranny, and shadow of the decorations. Just waiting for any opportunity to flip out of a palm tree, streamer, or egg salad sandwich and steal your life.

Glancing down a the large 'X' upon which she's currently standing, Elizabeth stiffens when someone -- a brave someone, she presumes -- removes her hat and slaps another on her head. It feels vaguely... conical.

"Arrrrrr. Permission to come aboard?" says Mike in one ear. Then, moving to her other side, "Permission granted!" With that, he prods her toward a very proud Bar, whose finish fairly beams with it (though please don't go asking her for drinks during her party).

[OOC: Welcome to the first ever Milliways Baby Shower/Happy Hour! Come one, come all, come in pirate or ninja costume... yeah, the invite on the noticeboard probably put that out there as an agreeable option. We are running this as a traditional party post, so there will be several comment sub-threads ASAP: Introductions/Reactions/Arrivals, Drinks & Food, EVIL KARAOKE MACHINE, Presents (to be evenly distributed among all expectant parents, if not expressly labeled for certain people), and dancing... to the evil karaoke machine? Who knows! Go crazy. :D

Pauses likely on our ends for commuting and food, but... thread hop away and party on!]

pirate-gibbs.livejournal.com

Here's a face that hasn't been seen lately. But rest assured, Gibbs still knows how to find the Bar. He's just still wary of the place. Sometimes, though, after the seas are beset with gales that want to be hurricanes and require all hands to give it their all, a quick trip to someplace that isn't swaying from side to side is more than welcome.

So is rum that doesn't have any saltwater in it.

[ooc: Slowtime for work likely]

blowupthefloats

"Break time, Toots," Munch says as he steps behind the bar and pats the bartop. "Take five."

He turns and starts writing on the Specials board.

Tonight's Specials
UFO
Green Alien
Full Moon

Tell the bartender a good conspiracy theory (Earth-related or otherwise), your drink is half off.

That settled, he turns and regards the Bar proper. "Happy Hour time, folks. What'll it be?"

[OOC: Aaand...slowtime is now in effect! Any tags added to this entry after this point will be responded to in the morning. Thanks, all!

Der Tag of Tiny: Weasel]

turned_captain

The warm Caribbean inlet in the cold Scottish lake was created by a particular patron with a particular aim in mind., as far as she can be said to have aims. It's easy to forget that as well as being an oasis of tropical weather in a temperate early spring, it's also a connection to a ship that sails the seas of the living and the dead. Easy, as that ship isn't seen that often.

Today, it emerges with all the large grace of a whale surfacing, and comes to anchor offshore. The Captain stands at the railing, looking out at the springtime flowers off the other shores.

try_corsets

A few days ago Bar was reminded of an argument and that, while she clearly has a fondness for pirates, the exception to the rule is one Captain Elizabeth Turner. Therefore, when said Captain Turner arrives, turns a haughty eye on a wait rat and approaches Bar with her mind on a hot meal, there's no question who will be pressed into service tonight.

The first note on a napkin informs Elizabeth of this. "I think not," is her reply.

Another napkin replaces the first. Elizabeth's affronted, annoyed expression becomes a cold little smile. "Actually, I think you'll find through further study that I was not to blame."

A flurry of napkins explodes from Bar, a few making it high enough to flick Elizabeth's face. Some are covered in writing; others display very expressive stick figures. The images of Jack are especially detailed. Elizabeth is quick to ascertain the nature of the information thus displayed and gathers up the napkins, angrily stuffing them down her black sleeve.

"Very well, I'll do it. And I'll have a barrel of rum for my crew when I'm finished," she informs the beastly piece of furniture.

Bar produces one last napkin that says We have an accord and helpfully supplies Eddie's drink book. Ignoring both, Elizabeth purses her lips and writes the following on the board:

Tonight's Special

RUM

She dusts the chalk off her hands and turns to face the room, head held high, looking as if she had meant to be there all along. What can the pirate surreptitiously shredding napkins into the trash get you, Milliways?

[Tiny piratical tags: Jane Austen, Arnold, Dinah Lance]

twiceahero.livejournal.com

When Babs rolls into Milliways this evening she's grinning like the proverbial cat. Her proverbial canary? One Roland Desmond. Or, more precisely, one Roland Desmond's most recent set of off-shore accounts.

She was really enjoying imagining the look on Blockbuster's face when his computer security guys explained this one to him.

If she were someone else, she might even whistle merrily. But for now the grin would just have to do.

bushel-o-apples.livejournal.com

The door opens, revealing a mere glimpse of candle-lit dimness before being blocked by the tall figure of Barbossa in the full gaudy glory of his usual attire, ostrich-plumed hat included. The old pirate's lips curl slightly into a faint sneer as his dark eyes gaze around the alien place. Sooner or later, the door was bound to reappear, he knew.

With solemn if slightly limping strides, he walks up to the Bar and leans slightly towards it, both a gesture of greeting and a practical way to make sure his voice is heard above the local din.

"Good evening, Señora. A mug of rum with something good for scurvy in it would do me a mighty fine amount of good right now. May I say, you look exceptionally polished and beautiful this night?" After that bit of flattery he stands back, taking the mug when the Bar offers it. "Thank you so much, Señora." Then he heads to one of the booths, sitting a tad heavily, mug cupped in both hands and his long legs stretched under the table.

Come bother the old pirate as he nurses his grog.

[OOC: I'm back for a few hours at the very least. Continue to tag away!]

bushel-o-apples.livejournal.com

Barbossa is not a happy camper. Okay, this could be a general assertion, but right now he is definitely not a happy camper. He has had warning of the kinds of things Milliways can do to time, and heard plenty of whining about its magical mishaps. But of course, none of that had actively affected him so far, at least not in an adverse way.

Until today, that is. Waking up and finding that almost half a year has gone by inside the bar hasn't made him happy. The lack of a door back to the Black Pearl hasn't improved his mood. Later, he will write yet another sign in case Jack Sparrow hasn't had time to get himself killed looking for the Fountain of Youth. For now, he is content with brooding in a booth, cupping a goblet of watered-down rum in his hands.

Come bother the guy in the impressive hat!

bushel-o-apples.livejournal.com

The door opens, showing a hint of candlelight in a dark room on the other side before Barbossa steps through, blocking the sight as he closes the door behind his back. There's one neatly folded and sealed sheet of paper in one hand and a nice green apple in the other. With a faint smile, he sets both together on a corner of the counter, the letter clearly addressed.

( To Jack Sparrow )

This done, he places a silver piece of eight on the countertop.
"Señora, would you be so kind as to provide me with some rum and a small pitcher of lime juice? It'd do me a power of good."

After which he limps over to a booth to settle down with his drink and the small leather-bound book he has been carrying around lately.

bushel-o-apples.livejournal.com

(OOM: Somewhere on the shores of Cuba, Barbossa finds himself some leverage after a few months of aimlessness. Which leads to...)

The door opens and the tall, dark and ominous figure of Captain Barbossa steps in, stopping right past the threshold to gaze around Milliways. No known faces in sight, which is good for him. He turns around and opens the door just a crack, checking the other side. Then, with a satisfied smirk, he heads towards the Bar with that slight limp which doesn't make his strides any the less impressive.

He places one hand lightly on the top of the Bar and produces a thin silver coin from one pocket of his coat.

"If you would be so kind, Lady Bar, to provide me with a bottle of Port and writing implements, I would be most thankful"

The writing, though, may wait. He's in a gloating mood, and gloating over a glass of wine is a pleasure he hasn't had in some time now.

(OOC: Back -again-. Hope it's for a decent amount of time. COme bother the evil old man, please)
(OOC 2, the Son of OOC: And at about midnight GMT, I need to grab some sleep. Slowtimes will be retaken tomorrow. Thanks!)

turned_captain

As the winter draws on, one part of the lake stands out more and more as being distinct from the rest: the part that isn't Scottish lake at all, but warm Caribbean sea remains the same even as the lake around it gets colder and colder.

And tonight, on what would be the stroke of midnight were there a clock around, something else changes.

It doesn't explode suddenly. It doesn't crash through dramatically. The ship rises out into the ocean's surface as gently and as naturally as a humpback rising to breathe, and sits comfortably on the ocean surface.

On board, three men have a discussion. Two of them come ashore.

The captain stays, and waits.

[OOM: Explanatory back room post coming. This post is not in anyway plot locked: you may assume there is a dinghy at the lake shore to come aboard on, and come on board at any time. Otherwise, reaction posts welcome.]