milliways_bar | Entries tagged with dr. james wilson

wilsons-musings.livejournal.com

No car, no money. Dr. Wilson is a happy man right now. Or he is once he walks into the bar, as happy as a man in his situation can get. At least here he can eat well and pay for it later. Thus, there's a Wilson seated at a table with more food than he's had in a while. But since this is Wilson, that's not saying much.

not-british.livejournal.com

[OOM: Chase, pre-ish-Milliways]

It's been a while since Dr Robert Chase has been in Milliways--a great long while, in fact.

So it is understandable then, that when he opens the door of the Diagnostics office to find a crowded bar--Milliways, actually--on the other side, he has a somewhat dumbfounded, shocked look upon his face, as though he's made the mistake of ~~walking in on a naked House~~ entering Cuddy's office. He steps back, nearly dropping his coffee, before rubbing his tired face once more and letting out a breath.

"...This cannot be happening," he mumbles under his breath.

Yep. Chase has returned to Milliways.

[ooc: Chase has been to Milliways before, though this was ages ago. Now he is under new munagement (ha-ha); so if he happens to know any of you, just remind him of it...or something, and I'll try to work with it. Also ping me: teh frodo if you need to. :) ]

action-antihero.livejournal.com

[Milltimed to earlier this evening.]

Jack comes in from the lake for a minute to get something to drink, planning to escape the noise and bustle of the bar as soon as possible, before his nerves start rattling too much. He only makes it to the bar when suddenly everything starts to shake, sending him to his knees, one hand still on the bar.

Dishes clatter to the ground, and then a minute later, the bar is plunged into blackness.

Jack blinks, but everything's still dark, pressing in on him. There are cries of prisoners patrons, the rumbling of the quake, blood pounding in his ears, his breath coming faster. Voices, sounding distant to his ears, yelling to eachother: "Shit!" "Qǐ chuáng!" "Somebody get me a light!" Heavy boots Footsteps on stone wood floors as people move--coming toward his cell--

He's shaking all over, trying to push back the memories and remember where he is. Fear is taking over though, his heart hammering in his chest, and he can hardly catch his breath. He feels somehow as though he's outside if himself and part of him has to wonder if he's still back in that small cell, in the dark, and all this was just a hallucination.

No, no, Milliways is real, I'm not waking up, I'm not--

One hand with a white-knuckled grip on the bar, the other shaking and clutching at his chest, he looks around, trying to peer through the blackness, but his eyes aren't adjusting and all he can see are dim shapes moving through the dark.

Oh God, I'm losing my mind in the middle of the bar and no one can see me.

[ooc: No, Jack's not having a heart attack--more like a panic attack. And this is definitely not plotlocked or preplanned in any way; he can definitely have more than one person simultaneously coming to his aid. Whee!]

creator_raven

Raven is sprawled out on the couch.

Possibly he has taken advantage of the blackout to nap.

It is equally possible he will use it as an opportunity to be sneaky.

Probably none of this is much of a surprise.

winged-eros.livejournal.com

The door opens and -

No lights, no music, no drama, just a man in a blazer and old jeans, looking slightly tired. He runs a hand through his hair, messing it as he does.

It's been a while. Too long, in some ways. This isn't the right time for a drink, not yet: Eros turns instead towards the back door, heading for the lake and the night.

wilsons-musings.livejournal.com

Well, he's back.

As in: there is a Wilson at the bar with a cup of coffee and a book entitled The Art of Alfred Hitchcock. This is an activity wholly interruptable.

Current Mood: relaxed

fallen-april.livejournal.com

April inna bar.

She's got a manuscript for Tilda to read, if the 6-year-old shows up.

She's also a little bored. Which is why she's making a gum-wrapper chain.

Bother at will.

wilsons-musings.livejournal.com

Wilson walks downstairs to the bar in search for a cup of coffee. As soon as his feet touch the bar floor, his eyebrows shoot up. Why? He sees the door, that's why. He dashes up the stairs and appears moments later dressed in a suit and tie. Then he's off to the door and out of the bar.

(Fear not; he will return.)

Current Mood: relieved

i-martha-adams.livejournal.com

Mrs. Martha Adams enters the bar for the first time in a while. She is looking, all things considered, quite good. Her hair is down to her shoulders again, her skin has the faint tan of a red-head who managed not to get burned (somehow), and she's dressed for gardening.

She heads toward the bar, head high and steps even, with the natural grace of someone who has no doubt about her position in the world or her right to be any place she desires. Her order for food is firm, but not harsh, and has equal confidence. She is, in all ways, showing the spirit that caused once caused a very spiritually little man to consider her as arrogant as the Tsarina walking through the halls of her palace.

mnt_mike

Behind Bar stands a familiar red-headed man clad all in black.
Well...okay, so he's familiar, but not for being a red-headed man clad all in black...but same difference really.

He looks up from the shot glass in front of him, and begins to rant.

"And you open the door and you step inside. You're inside our bar. Now imagine your past is a while ball of healing light.
That's right, your past.
The past itself is a white balll of healing light

I don't think so

This is your bar. Good to the last pop. It doesn't get any better than this
That is your universe, and it's ending one minute at a time

This isn't a camp. This isn't a weekend retreat.

Where you are now you can't even imagine where that door will take you. Only after redemption can you be resurrected.
It's only after you've lost everything that you're free to do anything

Nothing is static. Everything is evolving. Everything is falling apart.

This is your bar. It doesn't get any better than this. That is your universe. And it's ending one minute at a time.

You are not a beautiful and unique snowflake.
You are the same decaying organic matter as everything else.
We are all part of the same cosmic compost heap.
We are the all singing all dancing crap of the multiverse.

You are not your bar tab.
You are not the tutu you wear.
You are not the contents of your armory.
You are not your airborne god-like virus.
You are not your White Russian
You are not the ship you fly.
You are not your fucking curry.

You have to give up
You have to give up
You have to realize that someday you might not ever come back.
Until you know that, you are useless.

I say let me never be complete.
I say man I never be content.
I say deliver me from kitchen gadgetry.
I say deliver me from clever art.
I say deliver me from pink skin and perfect teeth.

I say you have to give up.
I say mutate and let the pork rinds fall where they may.
This is your bar.
It doesn't get any better than this.
This is your universe, and it's ending one minute at a time

Welcome to Milliways
If this is your first night....you have to drink."

The board behind Bar proclaims tonights specials to be:

Tequila
Tequeza

And something called...

The Creme of Sum Yung Gai

prettymaids

Drusilla is sitting at a table with a jug of ice tea and some fruit. In a change from her usual long, elegant dresses of red and black lace and silk, she is wearing a pale yellow knee length summer dress with a patern of small blue flowers on it, and a pair of sandals.

Dru has her Tarot cards out on the table and she is conducting a reading while she sips her tea. Or quite possibly playing Solitaire. It's very hard to tell the difference.

wilsons-musings.livejournal.com

OOM: Something about being alone...

ineedavicodin.livejournal.com

"Which one of you is Dr House?"

"Which one of you is Dr House?"

"Which one of you is Dr House?"

Dr House would be the one laying on the floor, in twin pools of his own blood.

The one Cameron and Chase are hovering over, while Foreman calls for help.

The one who is suddenly laying in the middle of the bar. Bleeding from his neck and his stomach.

Welcome back to Milliways, Greg!

Open to anyone who wants to ~~play doctor with~~ doctor the, uh, doctor.

wilsons-musings.livejournal.com

Mun does not have a devil. She does, however, have God.

Therefore, God is at a booth enjoying a shrimp salad and reading a medical journal.

guppy_sandhu

Guppy is outside, by the lake, dangling his toes in the water.

He isn't much of a swimmer, and even if the weather is rather unseasonably mild today, it's probably too cold for a dip. So he just skims stones and watches the world go by.

sistersxkeeper.livejournal.com

Milkshake milkshake milky-shakey!!

Yes. Milkshake time. For one (Ms.) Anna Fitzgerald. Who is idly sipping at her milkshake and watching the patrons.

This place gets kind of boring for dead sixteen year olds. But she makes the best of it.

wilsons-musings.livejournal.com

Milliways' friendly neighborhood oncologist is walking around the lake, hands shoved in pockets and eyes full of Moodiness. He's been Bound for a few days. Doesn't mean he likes it, not with the [spoilery cliffhanger] in his world.

wilsons-musings.livejournal.com

In a corner somewhere is a moody doctor with a plate of food. As usual, it is odd, exotic, and probably delicious. He is not, however, in the mood to share it. Not even if your name is Gregory House.

wilsons-musings.livejournal.com

He walks to the bar and orders a obscure, health-conscious meal quite signature of his tastes. Nothing is wrong.

He claims a table for himself, eats, and drinks. Nothing is wrong.

He does not scan the bar, does not care if anyone he knows or doesn’t know speaks to him. Something may be wrong.

It’s fear that keeps him from searching. Fear he might see someone to who he shall be the bearer of bad news.

Something is very, very wrong.

[ ooc: Beware "House" spoilers! ]

wilsons-musings.livejournal.com

Wilson is at the bar, reading a medical journal over a cup of tea. He looks vaguely disappointed about something.

Not!dates suck.

glassofwarmmilk.livejournal.com

Does it even matter where he came from this time?

The World's Oldest Waiter is standing in the middle of the bar, holding his tray, and smiling.

Expectantly.

There is nothing on the tray.

He has an order to deliver.

ineedavicodin.livejournal.com

[He's been in the bar a year!]

He's been out back with Triumph. Running. Playing. Laughing. His cheeks are flushed, his legs aching pleasantly from the exercise.

He has a milk shake for himself, a bowl of water for the worn out dog at his feet.

Bar also gave him a small cake, to acknowledge his first year anniversary in the bar.

The pull of the door is greater than it's been in a long time.

[OOC: Mun will be here and away periodicaly tonight, and most definitely AFK 9-10 est for canon, but tags will be answered!]

give-us-candy.livejournal.com

Remember this notice?

Yeah, it's still there.

And now, the cretins responsible are there too!

Bar hadn't given them any food, so they've taken to gathering bugs from the cracks in the floor, a large bucket set near the Bar for collecting said bugs in.

ineedavicodin.livejournal.com

Behold!

An entrance post.

From a man who is feeling the pull of the door, and resisting with all his might, because last time, well. Last time he went "home" wasn't much fun.

And so. He's sitting in a chair near the observation window. A doberman is curled up, asleep, at his feet.

Approach with caution.