milliways_bar | Entries tagged with cloud

lethe-forgets.livejournal.com

There's a nymph perched comfortably up on one of the booth dividers, rather calmly (and relatively palely, all things considered) decked out in suitably flimsy - and jangly - Mardi Gras finery. The gauzy swathes of skirts are smoothed neatly over her lap and one knee is tugged up so that she can rest her book against it.

She smiles down at her bells in the manner that one might an old friend every so often, idly dinging one with a finger between an occasional turn of a pages.

She's getting rather used to this holiday.

sleazeoverstyle

Drinkin' at home or drinkin' at the end of the universe: it doesn't much matter to him. End result's gonna be the exact same, so either's good. As he opens the door, his hand goes to that knife he carries in his pocket.

Knives ain't new for him either. One hand fingering the knife's handle, he makes his way over to the bar, grabs a stool that looks like it was just made for his skinny ass, and orders himself a bottle of his usual ale. Looks around, turns his attention back to the bottle that shows up in front of him without a second thought about the shit people are wearin'. Some nights, good old Wutai Pale's the only friend he needs.

dontloselight.livejournal.com

Cloud is ...

Tiny.

And pixellated.

And he is so not cool with this.

(Except it is notoriously difficult to tell with Cloud, whether he is a gamesprite or not.)

mogget_cat

Oh. It's Halloween again.

That was Yrael's first thought after walking in from outside to find himself... transformed. His white clothes had been replaced by far too much black leather. Far too much. His short white hair had been replaced by long, somewhat physics-defying silver-white hair, flowing in an unfelt breeze.

The book on earth politics that had been in his hand, had replaced by an equally-if-not-more-physics-defying-than-his-hair katana, which made getting the rest of the way through the door rather difficult.

His second thought goes like this:

...I don't even know Latin.

Because that's when he notices the music that followed him in.

Sigh.

Someone ~~needs a hug from his Mother~~ needs a drink. Yrael may start looking for a waitrat to poke with his too-long katana.

Current Mood: Halloween'd
Current Music: "One-Winged Angel" -Nabuo Uematsu

antishinra

Tonight's Specials:
Absolute Heaven
Blue Heaven
Almost Heaven

Tonight's theme is probably not the hardest one to ever figure out, but the small smile on Tifa's face and the humming coming from her as she puts away her chalk and gathers her hair in a ponytail both say she's not so homesick that she's not content to do her work.

On the contrary, her shift's one of only times all those other thoughts fade away into background noise.

Her smile turns into a grin as she ties an apron around her waist. "Can I get anybody a drink?"

[ooc: Thanks for the tags, guys! A little later than advertised, we're taking these babies slow from this point on.]

mogget_cat

A little white not'cat paces the rafters, quietly.

...Alas, the rafters are a little high for long-distance reading over peoples' shoulders, but they are a good vantage point for keeping an eye on the bar.

antishinra

Hair swept back in a loose ponytail, Tifa's humming to herself as she sets up behind the bar. On the specials board she writes Half off anything blue!, and she's around early enough that under the half-off notice she doodles some decent stick-figure renditions of her ragtag circle of friends standing at a bar.

(The whole group, from Cloud, his spiky hair very noticeable, to Cid with his flight goggles to Vincent, cape swirling out behind him.)

Once she's done, she smiles to herself, dusts her hands off on her skirt, and leans against the bar attentively, ready to serve some drinks.

[ooc: Thanks for tagging, guys! ♥ You can expect threads to be picked up tomorrow!]

naiad-burial.livejournal.com

It doesn't look like the bar in Nibelheim. The lights are dim, but the diffused golden glow ebbs against her warm hazel eyes, reflecting from polished mahogany table tops. They are frequently used, wiped down, worn and care for, unlike the others. Lashes half-lidded from sleep and squinting, the woman only imagines how a child might appear, waking from a long afternoon nap. But children don't wear haphazard burial robes. Nor are they granted the wish of five more minutes stretching into upwards thirty-three years. Or has it been thirty-four now?

It doesn't feel like another dream. When Lucrecia touches the counter, wisps of her fingertips remain. The tags linger for just a few moments before disappearing again. It means that she can manipulate her surroundings. She sees her hands, the edges of her ivory skirt tinged aqua by her own unused vision, and no fragments, avatars, that could neither see nor hear nor sense her consciousness in observance of them. It wasn't a dream because it was unlike anything she had ever seen before. It wasn't a bar in Nibelheim. Perhaps Junon, or Midgar, or even Kalm. But no, she remembers those details, too. She remembers everything. Almost. There was time, chapters, thereafter that she could only sense. Pages in a tome with the letters washed out, blurred, faded by rain. Tears. A story she knew, innately, but never read. Not directly. She came to understand with her own heart.

"So... If it's not a bar in Nibelheim, or a dream, then this must be..." A nirvana? A limbo? "A bar in the Promised Land?"

It didn't seem quite right. She muses and thinks to herself in her pretty garb and strings of pearls, standing there in the center of the room as if it were a dream regardless of her logic. Or as if she was a specter. It wasn't particularly awkward to be anything else, but she could never seem to stem the flow of questions, a pursuit of curiousity and answers therein, lying in wait. Such was science.

mogget_cat

There is an albino young man dressed all in white on the couch, tonight. The guitar in his hands is as stark white as his clothing, its sounds gentle as Yrael's fingers move deftly over the strings.

He's in a reflective mood, tonight, and would be quite willing to play for any who would listen.

dontloselight.livejournal.com

Cloud (who has not recieved an entrance post of his own for a while) is in the bar, sitting by the Observation Window with a drink before him. He has never really given any of his attention to the universe resetting itself repeatedly until now; but tonight it gives him something to do on his self-proclaimed day off.

Life in Hollow Bastion is slow-going, and while their small community has been busy picking up the pieces, rebuilding their homes and businesses, it is still not yet complete. There is something missing. Something ... lost. Though whether it is in the people or perhaps within himself remains to be seen.

(Perhaps it is warmth. Or perhaps it is heart or light.)

gun-x-sword-otp.livejournal.com

One Squall Leonheart, now known by the name of Leon, in the bar. He hasn't been in the bar in a long time, and he's surprised by the reappearance of it, not that you could tell by the look on his face.

He could go right back out that door, but he's honestly tired of being around people at the moment. Right now, he's finding everyone back at Hollow Bastion to be acting quite excessive, and this is not something that he can tolerate for long periods. While the bar at the end of the universe is not ideal for a break, it's the best offer he can get. Clearly.

But the bar does not have a break in store for him. When he heads over to her and places an order, instead of giving it to him, she delivers him a note instead, informing him that today, he has a job to do, and an old tab to cover.

The mask slips just slightly and his eye twitches, almost imperceptibility. "This," he informs the bar, his voice dark and low, "must be a joke."

A moment of no response, before she provides another note: when opened, it presents a picture of a large smiley face. And knowing him well, it also has a list of specials. He wouldn't have bothered otherwise, and she seems to understand this.

If Leon were the type to roll his eyes, he would - but instead, he just crumples up the paper very carefully and very thoroughly, and throws it to the side. He moves into position and writes up the specials board:

Specials
Kamikaze
Lion Tamer
Sir Knight

"Happy hour," he say, to the bar in general. "I suppose."

You could sound happier about it, Leon. A job worth doing is a job worth doing well, eh?

dontloselight.livejournal.com

[oom: Sometimes we get by with a little help from our friends - in life, love and everything else.]

The door opens from the same spot that it usually does (because he wanted it to) in his world and two people walk into the warm, well-lit space. One is more or less a regular patron, and the other - a very pretty young woman dressed in pink, with bright, youthful eyes - is new.

Cloud has not been here long enough to have a 'usual spot' but he knows the place pretty well, all things considered. He looks around first, scouting the place out for familiar faces (Tifa, Leon, Sora, Riku) and finds none.

Then he turns back to Aerith.

"This is Milliways," he says.

[ooc: ~~two muns, two pups! feel free to tag!~~

It is now 3:42 AM and both of the muns must pass out! but continue to tag if you wish, and we will pick them up tomorrow! and THANK YOU for tagging!]

wellthrownstone.livejournal.com

After a certain discussion today, Garion wasn't exactly in the mood to be social and friendly... but a job is a job, and a Sendarian raised isn't about to miss work for a bit of grumpiness.

That said, the specials are somewhat reflective of his mood.
Drink Specials
Death Wish
Ale
Liquid Sword
Godslayer
Though it should be said that, as he'd been planning, he's dressed in Earth normal: white button-up shirt, blue t-shirt, jeans, boots, and his wool coat is on the stool behind him. He's still seven foot tall and if you know about it, wearing the kind of sword that would make Cloud Strife wince, but he's got on pants.

dontloselight.livejournal.com

[OOM Flashback: In a desperate attempt to find the one who stole his light, Cloud makes a deal with the god of the Underworld.]

antishinra

Not once has Tifa gotten the impression that anybody here means her harm, and now that she knows there's a fund to help people who can't go back home she feels a little more relaxed about it.

She's been spending much of her time outside or in the bar itself, never lingering much longer than necessary in her room upstairs. It's a nice cozy room, but she actually prefers for it to feel like just another room in an inn: a place to crash at the end of the day, to nap if she's exhausted, to bathe or shower when she needs to.

What passes for home these days is just outside ruined Midgar, not far from the new city of Edge. And that's... where her heart is.

She comes in the door that leads to the lake, her cheeks flushed and eyes bright as much from the cold air outside as from the run she's just taken. She's worked up a thirst, and the table she chooses to sit down at is one prime for people-watching.

imperfecthero01.livejournal.com

One former soldier, in the bar.

He is sitting at a table, his eyes narrowed at the rest of the bar, giving everything and everyone in it a Look.

He has not moved for quite some time. Nor has he spoken.

Right now, he seems to just exist for a Look.

~~Wonder what bug crawled up his butt?~~

dontloselight.livejournal.com

[oom: Millitimed to a bajillion years ago, Cloud and Aerith take a break from their tasks for the Restoration Committee to share a nice, peaceful moment - proving that yes, Cloud does have emotions.]

dontloselight.livejournal.com

It is a good night for a drink.

This is the reason why Cloud is in the bar, with said drink in hand. He is sitting alone at a table, more or less enjoying himself (though you would never know by the way his expression remains as indifferent as ever).

Once in a while, he'll take a sip.

mogget_cat

Yrael is at the piano tonight, delighting in the speed with which his fingers travel the keys in their intricate patterns, the melody driven on by the percussive rhythms hammering at the bass notes, calling aloud the unrelenting tempo, faster, faster.

The music speaks of terror, and power, and the strange, seductive allure of one who holds such power: The fluid twisting of patterns speaks of the slow, knowing smile in response to the fear it inspires. That fear is punctuated in the bass chords and patterns, striking like sharp, urgent drumbeats, driving one on.

Above all this whirls the melody, fluttering like the panicked heartbeats of a tiny bird, barely escaping (not for long) the darkness rushing towards it in the driving bass notes. The body and soul of the piece, each harsh bass note a gnashing of teeth, promises the twisting and whirling melody a swift end.

Yrael grins, his teeth very white, as he plays.

Come and listen.

dontloselight.livejournal.com

Cloud is in the bar with a drink. He is situated at a table by himself, arms crossed as he leans back, looking oddly relaxed. His sword is sitting by him, tip pointed to the floor. It's a huge thing and one is likely to notice it if they pass by him.

There is no real reason why he's here; of course, there is no reason why he shouldn't be.

In any case, he's the quiet sort, but he's not unfriendly. Feel free to come and strike up a conversation.

sime-channel.livejournal.com

Suzi is settled in for interviews. She's got paper, pen, knitting, tea, and her list of questions.

It could be worse.

sime-channel.livejournal.com

Suzi Darley is sitting at a table, waiting for her trip to Quinn's world. She's knitting, because she does that, and on the table next to her is a sign.

It is a big sign. It was written with a glitter pen. It says:

.

The glitter pen is hanging from a string taped to a pad of paper.

There you go.

truequest.livejournal.com

Zelda is sitting at the bar, though you might not recognize her. She’s not wearing any of her usual clothing. Just a plain cotton dress. No crown, no jewelry…just an ordinary nineteen year old.

A nineteen year old with more than a few problems on her plate. She's sitting with a cup of tea, and a large map of Hyrule in front of her.

Her feet are dangling off the edge of the bar stool, bouncing as she hums absentmindedly.

She leans down to look at the map closer and accidentally knocks her teacup off of the bar. It shatters on the floor. "Oh dear..." she says to herself quietly, before stooping to begin picking up the pieces.

dontloselight.livejournal.com

There is a stoic young man sitting at the bar, alone, with a drink before him.

Once in a while, he'll take a sip. And then he'll glance up on the occasion, for no real reason at all. Just curious, really.

He isn't much for conversation, but that is no fault of his (well, not really -- he's just horridly anti-social). You're welcome to try and start one up, though. He's not the biting sort.

will_scarlett

Sometimes two days can take too long as the door opens to sounds of a forest and hunting horns in the distance, Will enters resembling an illustration of a medieval ranger, leather jerkin, brown cloak, sword at his belt and a sense of weariness.

The broken shaft of an arrow sticks out from his left forearm as he limps in and just blinks at the Bar, not truly seeing it as he walks to a booth. His sword clatters against the wood of the booth as Will sits, trying not to fall asleep since he knows he has to get the arrow out, but its so nice to just sit. He smells of outside, old and new blood, smoke and pain and exhaustion and the look in his eyes should not be seen in a man of seventeen.

Help the outlaw remember that he's in a safe place.