milliways_bar | Entries tagged with dawn summers

There's a brunette sitting across the bar from me, chattering away with Bob. Slayer's sister. Though, mostly, she goes by Dawn.

She suggested that as a precursor to Earth's Independence Day tomorrow, that we have, as tonight's specials, the following:

Specials
*courtesy of Dawn Summers
Red Wine
White Wine
Blue Motorcycle

Well, it's good to know she doesn't know enough about alcoholic beverages to come up with anymore more flamboyant than that.

the-woodpecker.livejournal.com

It's early afternoon.

Somehow, somewhere, some magical person has effected a change.

The sun is not warm; it's hot.

The lake is not frozen; it's the temperature of water which has been warming under the sun for a summer.

The grass is green.

In the expanse of lawn between the bar and the water, there is a smallish bar set up; patrons can help themselves, or bartenders can suck up by manning it. Adjacent to that bar are tables, laden with food: hamburgers, hot dogs, bratwurst, chicken, spicy black bean burgers, potato salad, corn on the cob...

You get the picture.

So come on out. The sun won't stay like this forever.

badderthanyou

Dawn has herself folded into an over-stuffed chair by the fireplace. She'd be maybe doing homework if they were still having school back home, but as that's been called on account of pending apocalypse, she's reading up on demons and trying to find information on "The First".

badderthanyou

Alas, for the first time in quite some time, the Nibblet gets her very *own* entry post. This is odd indeed, as she's normally somewhere near that tall dark wizard guy.

So, she's sitting at a table enjoying some pizza - complete with anchovies - and a soda.

wizard_dresden

Harry's sitting at the bar here, playing his guitar - he can at least pluck out "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star" without swerving way off-key. Me? I'm just the air spirit sitting here atop the bar having to put up with his horrid guitar playing. For the love of whichever supreme diety gives you pause, come talk to me... or him even, if he makes him quit playing that thing for five minutes.

I don't think Bob's enjoying my little concert much, but since the dark-haired girl - Dawn, I think her name is - hasn't asked me to stop, I'm probably okay.

ineedavicodin.livejournal.com

He has the bottle of pills Doogie wroe for him in his pocket.

In his hand he has a note from the bar. A note that says due to his recent presciption refill, he's not getting any more pills until January, when the prescription should run out.

He balls the paper up, his fingers curling in to a tight fist.

He should have expected this.

Next time he'll have to get Doogie to fill the prescription outside the bar, and bring it back to him. But even Doogie said he wouldn't refill the script for a month.

With a grunt of frustration, he jerks the pill bottle out of his pocket and pours one int his hand. He's still got plenty, really. Not enough to get him through the month, but enough to get through a couple weeks. He'll worry about running out later.

Right now, he needs a pill.

Approach with caution, he's irritable.

badderthanyou

Dawn bounces down the stairs - what? You mean you haven't seen her around? She's been there - lounging, having pizza, doing girl things.

Now, she's at the bar, ordering a diet soda and pizza and getting a familiar-looking chocolate bar. With a frown, she holds up the candy and glances around. "You're kidding, right?"

Something looks awful fishy about this candy...

wizard_dresden

I'm sitting here, having coffee and chatting with Bob and a young lady who is from a city nearly as odd as mine. Place called Sunnydale. That didn't sound so odd, until she told me her sister's name is Buffy. That made me blink. Through my head was running 'the vampire slayer'? But, mostly I'm thinking - 'nah - that's just TV'.

Either way -nice enough girl. She even puts up with Bob's leering and overly suggestive commentary.

undignified

Wes has honestly been keeping up his practising of English letters. Just, you know, at a leisurely pace.

He's at a table now with his notepad, a pen, and the primer Val gave him, writing out as much of the alphabet as he can from memory, then checking against the sheet.

He manages about half each time.

He does a lot better at writing words like "vodka", "whiskey" and "drink".

badderthanyou

[OOM: Dawn's Diary]

I'm supposed to be going on this big hunt - and since I'm the only one of the group that ended up in the weird end-of-the-universe bar, I don't think this is where we were going. Hope this fun pointy weapon doesn't get me into too much trouble.

ineedavicodin.livejournal.com

Here's a face hasn't ben seen in the bar proper for a while. He's been keeping to himself. Recovering from the mental trauma of being shot. And grappling with the reality that he just might be dead on the other side of the bar door, which for the record, he can't see anymore.

Be careful what you eish for, you just might get it, he thought. He'd been quite vocal abou prefering life in the bar to life on the outside. His real life. He hated who he was out there, hated a lot of things. Things that were irrelevant in the bar. Maybe this was the final justice. Maybe he had no life outside the bar anymore.

He wasn't sure how he felt about that. Easier to bash it, when he knew it was there waiting for him. Now? He wasn't so sure.

1morewfeeling.livejournal.com

[OOM: Waiting.]

You hear that sound?
When he speaks you’re on fire
It sounds like dancing, don't you think?
Let me stand next to your fire
And there's the source of it at a table.
Dies irae, dies illa, solvet saeclum in favilla
He has a drink, of course. Why come to a bar if not for a drink.
C'mon baby, light my fire.

C'mon baby, light my fire.

Let me set the night on fire.
Milliways, say hello to Sweet.

badderthanyou

Nibblet sitting on a table reading a girly magazine - something about prom dresses.

Even though, since Sunnydale High's been cancelled for the remainder of the year, there won't actually be a prom, she's looking anyway.

badderthanyou

Dawn is sitting at the bar, apparently involved in a rather animated conversation with a tall guy with one of those 'hockey hair'-dos. Yeah, that'd be MacGyver. They're talking about... what else... hockey. They'd never met before today, but when you nearly spill an entire glass of diet Coke (she blames her sister for that one) on a guy, conversation tends to ensue.

Not too far away there is a confused cop not-quite-staring at a little grey guy in a large throne-like chair and a talking skull with orange eyelights. The conversation goes a little like this:

Ellison: "So, you're an alien?"
Thor: "That is correct."
Ellison: "And you are what exactly?" he asks of Bob.
Bob: "I'm an air spirit. What are you?"
Ellison: *dumbfounded blink*

[ooc: feel free to 'hop' into any of the conversations or tap any one of the five on the shoulder - well, 'cept Bob, who has no shoulders - and ask for the bowl of peanuts on the bar. Ellison would probably welcome the normalcy.]</small.

henry-jones-jr.livejournal.com

[Pre-Milliways: Baldrick's room]

Mike loves firsts. The nervous anxiety of the unknown. Were he to rank his favorite feelings, this one would top the list—we all know how he likes his Lists. Mike doesn't just wait behind the bar for Indy to show up. He vibrates. He's enthusiasm personified. Or at least... enthusiasm ex-turtlified.

Seconds turn into minutes. Five to ten. Still no Indy. He's not worried. Not in the slightest. Nope. Not Mike. His fingers drumming on the bar? That's the sign of a truly calm and collected mind. I can prove it, with science.

Finally, Indy bustles downstairs in a white shirt and black waistcoat. Notwithstanding his professional attire, he looks like a man who just woke up, with hair sticking out at all angles and tell-tale dark circles under his eyes. It should also be noted that his cheeks bear bright yellow tribal war-stripes, but he doesn't seem to be aware of this fact. Mike relaxes: "Hey! The Prodigal son returns! Afternoon Indy!"

Indy surveys the scene and hurries over. "Ok. Ok. Don't panic. I'm here!" Mike smiles and seems to want to say something, but Indy cuts him off as he checks the bar supplies with a frown. "Looks like you're on garnish duty today. We need lemons, limes, cocktail sticks, umbrellas, cherries, olives, and lots of 'em. Get that done and watch closely." He pulls open the freezer. "And we're almost out of every flavor of ice-cream..." He claps his hands imperiously. "Come on. Step to it. This ain't just a show n' tell."

At first Mike nods in agreement. There is a shortage of garnish. And the ice cream? It's a crime against humanity to run out. It isn't until Indy claps his hands that Mike realizes that he'll be the one responsible for obtaining these sundries.

So this is how the game is going to be played. Okay Doctor Jones. The first round is yours. Be wary for the second bell. Mike, his smiling face now rendered emotionless, storms back into the kitchen. All that work embroidering his apron to read Kiss the Bartender for nothing. Someone will pay. None-the-wiser (to many things), Indy turns and writes up the following message on the board:

BARTENDER IN TRAINING
You have been warned. ~~No refunds~~

He calls back to his friend as he stomps off petulantly. "Mike, remember Coughlin's law: Never show surprise, never lose your cool." Wise words coming from the guy with his face painted. Having suitably demeaned his roomie and relegated him to the background, Indy spins a cocktail glass flamboyantly, turns to the counter and prepares to serve.

"What'll it be?"

slayer_fray

The lake may be cold, but at least it's liquid.

Mel heads over to the far end of the lake, carrying a large towel from upstairs. She strips naked, leaving her gun and red shiny stabby in a pile with her clothes, before diving in and starting to swim in laps around the lake.

Not quite running along the rooftops of Haddyn, but it'll do.

faithful-slayer.livejournal.com

Faith is sitting in a booth, looking tired. This is not surprising.

What might be more surprising is the fact that the surface of the table in front of her is covered with books, and so is the bench she's sitting on. Also that she's reading one of them.

...WTF, Faith?

badderthanyou

It's Nibblet... well, that's what Spike always called her. Anyway - she's in the bar, at the bar, having a bite to eat. Pizza today, instead of paradoxes. Hey, it has most of the major food groups, if she has orange juice with it, she'll cover everything, but she's having a soda, so, no fruit. She'll cover the ice cream group later.

badderthanyou

After her sisterly chat with Buffy last night - wherein they determined that they don't suck, they're just human - and lots of sleep, Dawn ambles down into the bar. Gotta have breakfast.

go-between.livejournal.com

Richard walks in through the front door, steps behind the bar, and ties on his apron.

"What'll it be?"

badderthanyou

[ooc: Dawn's Diary]

Gonna go down...

to Milliways, apparently. Geezus, can't I just end up in the place I'm going for once? I just wanted to get a snack. Which, I guess I can do here, but still...

"Whatever."

Dawn - back at Milliways. She sighs and goes to the bar to get that snack she was after.