milliways_bar | Entries tagged with chinthliss

Sometime after this, a brightly painted sign appears in a very visible spot in the bar.

DO YOU KNOW THESE CHILDREN?

No? This is probably because they don't have names yet. And that's where you come in.

Name Puck and Lilly's children!

That's right, this is your chance to name Puck and Lilly's adorable twin babies. The winner receives our heartfelt appreciation and many warm fuzzy feelings. Please submit your name below at some point in the next two weeks so that Puck and Lilly may consider your brilliant suggestion(s) for the names of their children, Girlbaby and Boybaby.

Beneath the sign is a large glass bowl, scraps of paper, and a pencil. Have at, Milliways.

old-lizard.livejournal.com

Chinthliss is out by the lake.

Sitting on a rock, he stares upward, his expression blank, devoid of his usual expressiveness.

The winds slow, if not still altogether. He holds out a hand, palm up. A jagged bolt of electricity, blue-white and sparking, cuts through the air, aiming toward him. His fingers curl inward, catching the bolt from midair. A moment later, it's extinguished as if it had never been.

Tricky, doing this near the water, but someone suggested he try...and there
are reasons.
Though even so, he is staying outside until he feels more at ease. He's not fool
enough to ever try this indoors.
Company is always welcome, but caution before startling him might be advisable.

Current Mood: pensive

old-lizard.livejournal.com

A shapeshifted dragon and a magical Bar are having an extremely polite disagreement, but it's clear he's coming out the loser.
"...No. Dom' arigato."

"...I'm fine. I would rather not"

"...just coffee, please."

"No, not today I won't. I got the last Castings done before I came in."

He finally gives Bar a somewhat confounded look, takes the tray on the counter, which holds several items, none of which is coffee, and heads for a quiet booth.

old-lizard.livejournal.com

Chinthliss goes to Bar to pay off his tab, and by request, does so for two other people. It's not as though he can't afford it, after all. None of them had been indulging themselves all that much
here, except in much needed rest and safety.

He's waiting for someone particular, before they go to his world for awhile; 'awhile' depending on how well things turn out, or don't. He's happy to talk to anyone else who's about, too.

old-lizard.livejournal.com

Chinthliss has been a mage a very long time.
Sometimes that's impressive, showy stuff; on occasion, though, one doesn't want supernatural fireworks or lightning and thunder. Subtlety takes more effort and is more impressive by anyone who really knows his world's sort of magics.
So there is an old shapechanger by the fireplace. You may or may not see him. He's cloaked
against magesight or ordinary vision. At a glance, it looks as if there's an empty chair, with a still warm plate of food on the table, oddly. Perhaps the patron had to step out for a moment?

He's got a lot on his mind, but that's not an argument against practicing other skills. If he can't manage work while distracted, well, that's not good.
Worried and yet determined not to mope describes his mood, at the moment.
Of course, he hasn't covered hiding from other senses. Yet.

guppy_sandhu

Guppy, having repaid his five day period of megainsomnia with eighteen hours sleep, is looking unusually perky.

He's by the infirmary, case notes on one side and a pile of books on the other. He doesn't think he has much chance of finding anything, given that it's a virus in a different world and he used up most of the sample finding out if he and Fran were carrying it.

He's botherable though. And in possession of donuts.

***

John Steed is under one of the tables, looking for a missing pen lid.

He wouldn't have bothered, but it's not the sort of pen one would want to leave uncapped.

old-lizard.livejournal.com

Chinthliss, now, had an unnerving sort of patience. It came with being required to sometimes wait as much as a hundred years for something he wanted to accomplish, or only witness.
So staying at Milliways overnight wasn't all that much of a hardship.
He's downstairs again. As he's decided that Guinness isn't to his taste, he's sticking with tea for the evening. This once, he picked a less visible location to sit. Anyone who really wants to find him will manage it, he suspects.

old-lizard.livejournal.com

Chinthliss is at a table near the front door. He's ordered Guinness, rather than anything milder.
The glass sits by his left hand, untouched. He's looking at a piece of paper on the table as if he expects it to bite him.
Eventually, he tucks it away into his coat with a wry smile, and turns his attention to the alcohol. He'll be serious later. Tonight he's not in the mood for work.

old-lizard.livejournal.com

Dragon, shapeshifter, man, the words don't matter to Chinthliss as much as they would at other nights.
He isn't tied to the moon, full or dark. He can feel the change in the air, though.
So he quietly puts his book and mug aside, and takes the door that leads to the lake and forested
area. There's little light, but he doesn't need it to see. He starts walking toward the tree line.
There are things out there you ought to be careful of, someone had said. Chinthliss had restrained himself from answering, Yes, and I'm one of them.

agnes_nitt

Your server is: Agnes

The door is playing tricks on her. She sees it out of the corner of her eye, but disappears when she turns. It may explain the headache that she's been nursing for most of the day. Reality warping around her tends to do that.

But for now, she has a job to do, and she intends to get through her shift.

old-lizard.livejournal.com

It's been a week for Chinthliss, since he left Milliways to bring Ian and himself home...
and settle accounts.

If he's startled to find himself in here, it doesn't show. He's feeling an angry, vicious sort of satisfaction that will pass, but not yet.
None of it leaks through to show in his eyes. He's restless, one might notice, seeing him glance about and keep moving. He can't sit still.
He goes to the Bar to write out two notes, one addressed to Dot and the other to the woman who'd helped him before(not knowing Rachel Grey's name, he can only hope that Bar can direct the message
properly.)
They both say the ( same thing )

The outdoors beckons him. He slips out by the lake door, needing to find somewhere not crowded or where no one asks anything of him but conversation. If that.

Current Mood: aggravated

old-lizard.livejournal.com

There is a man and a little boy, downstairs. They both look tired, and the man coaxes the child to eat but doesn't take anything himself.

He's well enough to walk, and the boy, whom Chinthliss has learned is named Ian, is healing but still sore, bruised and left arm bound. They'll need to find a full Healer on the other side somewhere.

Chinthliss carries his charge to the front door, occasionally gritting his teeth in silence.

The door opens on New York, home, and he glances back only once before they're gone.

(botherable before they go)

b-a-summers.livejournal.com

There aren't any specials on the board tonight. Just a Slayer behind the bar, fiddling with a stake that looks suspiciously like Mr. Pointy.

"You know the drill. Happy Hour's on from now until the end of my shift. Anything that's non-alcoholic is half price. So. What'll it be?"

There's something about today that just doesn't feel very special at all.

[OOC: Mun apologises for slight lateness, yet again, as there was much cinematic attendance. Mmmm 300.]

Current Mood: cynical

cheerychaplain

Father Mulcahy stumbles out of the O.R. and goes to lean against the doorway and rest his eyes -- but before his eyelids lower all the way, he realizes that he is not where he ought to be. He blinks owlishly behind his glasses. "Oh," he says softly, more to himself than anyone else, and he stands still a moment before he starts making his way to the bar. He wears white scrubs, with accompanying white cap, and the white facemask tied and dangling around his neck. The purple of the priest's stole stands out in stark relief against all the white, as do the few red drops on his sleeves and chest. There is one long smear on his right cuff.

He eases onto a stool. "Coffee, if you please. Strong." The steaming mug appears, and Father Mulcahy occupies himself with staring quietly into space and breathing in the caffeine.

funnyasallhell.livejournal.com

What they say in the vernacular about days like this is that they're pretty fucking good. Business is business, booze is booze, whores are whores, and Wu's Celestial purveyor of opiates made it into camp a day early. Trixie isn't sulking (not that he cares), Johnny kept his fucking mouth shut today, and Persimmon Phil didn't fuck up for once in his miserable fucking life. There might yet be hope for the cocksucker to keep his job. And no minor crisis yet this week has necessitated making the move to discount drinks and pussy. Not fucking bad. It's almost enough to make a fellow smile.

It's about three in the morning when Al Swearengen strides through the door of his office, and slams it behind him, and --

"If it isn't another fucking saloon," Swearengen declaims, brassy, insinuating, taking a step in further. There's only a little swagger to it. "Pray tell -- whose fuckin' joint is this?"

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

It's spring.

God damn it.

Jack is in the bar, reading the Three Musketeers for comfort, and eating toast because it's his favourite food and he needs a little self-indulgence right now.

hcliffhuxtable.livejournal.com

Cliff is grouchy, all right. He's just left the Infirmary.
Going to the Bar, he leaves a ( note )
He deposited the note with Bar, to give to any friends or, heck, for all he knew, family, that Chinthliss might have in the Bar. They hadn't had all that long a conversation.

That done, he goes in search of black coffee. No breakfast. He couldn't stomach
anything right now.

old-lizard.livejournal.com

[OOM: An unwelcome visitor]

The front door opened, and Chinthliss walked in, his expression unnaturally blank.

The coat was still stained with a foul-smelling chemical. He ought to remove it, but with only one good arm--and he had his hands full. The pain was blocked, enough for him to think clearly, if not for long. He hadn't looked at the skin under the burned fabric, not yet. Someone else came first. He set his "burden" down on a table, gently.
The entrance to the Infirmary was close, relatively speaking, but it looked a lot further away at the moment.
Approachable, but be cautious, he's not in what anyone would call a good mood.

(all/any tags welcome, slowtime probable)

sime-channel.livejournal.com

Suzi is settled in a chair looking like she hasn't been sleeping well. This would be because she hasn't been sleeping well, yes.

Her hair looks pretty good, though. No longer covered in worm spit and bug guts and all. It does smell rather strongly of tea, however. Tea cures all ills. Tea even got the last of the yik out of all those masses of curls.

Her sign is up: Suzi Darley, Jeweler. Commissions accepted.
She's got another one, too, although smaller: Richard Ryan, Jeweler. Specializing in bracelets.

In front of each sign is a small picture portfolio. Richard may kill her if he realizes she's been taking pictures of his work, but he's got to start selling things eventually.

mnt_mike

"He didn't!"

"He did?"

"So what did you do?"

"You didn't...oh no, of course you did. MapleBaby, you've really got to learn to say no to people."

"HEY! That was uncalled for. Don't get snippy at me for just stating the obvious. Sheesh."

"Okay okay okay. Think, Mike, think.....I've got it."

Mike pushes a tower of pie to the side, making a space just large enough for him to stand on Bar's top. His eyes just barely clearing one of the towers of pie.

"This isn't going to work. Can you get rid of these?"

"No I know, just do what you can. What you can't get rid of I'll take care of....one way or another"

He clears his throat.

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, I'M NOT SURE IF YOU'VE NOTICED, BUT WE'RE SORT OF INUNDATED WITH PIE HERE. NOW SOME OF YOU MAY NOT REALIZE THIS, BUT STUFF DOESN'T JUST COME FROM NO WHERE. PIES DO NOT, IN FACT, GROW ON TREES. AND THESE? WELL THEY'RE GOING TO NEED REPLACING. SO STEP RIGHT UP AND DO YOUR PART.

THE GREAT PIE OFF OF...um...TODAY HAS BEGUN."

Mike jumps down, nearly knocking over a pile of pies in the process. Soon the great boxing of the remaining pies will begin. Followed quickly by the labelling of the pies in the native tongues of the worlds from which they came.

old-lizard.livejournal.com

The woods behind Milliways seem to be the place to be tonight.
Chinthliss has come out, no weapons in evidence.

Aside from himself, that is.

He's found a spot near the border of the Dreaming, half-melted ice and warm soil slipping under his boots. Unlike most times, he's dressed much more casually; jeans, a short-sleeved, old shirt that has faint bloodstains and scorch marks.

He stops, turns his face up to the sky.

A bare gesture, more habit than any necessity for spell use, and a circle's woven in a tight perimeter about him.
It'd be visible even to mundanes as a softly glowing, transparent 'wall' of light that seems to pulse in time with the man's steps, while remaining in place, anchored to the earth. He won't mind witnesses but he's not --yet-- up for conversation. When he takes the wards down again, or before he starts work, he's entirely approachable.

Basics first, before he practices a few more advanced spells.

prone-to-panic.livejournal.com

Archie's in the bar, with a baby, for once not on duty. He's installed himself with the tiny thing on one of the couches near the fire and settled her into the crook of his arm as he reads. Svava's taking a nap, he thought they'd let her get as long as she could. So here they are, father and daughter, ready to take on the world. Or, you know, something.

stuck-mynock.livejournal.com

Atton's in one of those moods today, the ones where he has even more trouble staying in one place for any significant period of time, can't stop smiling, and is a lot more inclined to drawing silly pictures.

Thus, the Specials board has 'RUM' in bold, multi-coloured letters, and a picture of a bottle with an evil grin looming over a stick figure.

"You get an extra discount on rum if you can draw a better picture of an Evil Bottle."

old-lizard.livejournal.com

Chinthliss appears in the bar shortly after dawn, his time. It'd been a long night, between 'casting to reinforce the house wards at his house in NYC, and more mundane work. He has never understood American tax laws. He has no interest in the subject. Some horrors are better left unexplored.

"Hot otherworldly tea, and some miso, lady Bar?" he requests.
He gets them, along with a book titled Magical Defenses for the Layman. He checks the author and date.

The name's unfamiliar, the book would appear to be from two or three years in his future. "Hai? Very well. Thank you. "

Books are never unwelcome. He's startled by the apparent subject matter. If she thinks he should have it, he won't argue.
Why, he'll find out when he needs to, he expects.

Taking them to a table, he sits and digs in.

futures_of_ash

Rachel was not knitting, she didn't know how. Nor was she reading, writing, cooking, cleaning...

Sometimes it was simply hard to be fidgety. She needed to be useful, and yet...she wasn't on shift, and there wasn't exactly a call for her type of help at the moment.

A hero at loose ends could get into all kinds of trouble, Rachel? Well, she was sitting on the observation window ledge and playing with molten glass.

[Open to all, slow eventually]