milliways_bar | Entries tagged with el mariachi

songofbullets.livejournal.com

El walks into the bar, and wearing all black, hair curving around his face, he looks like he should be silent, but he's not. His chains make musical jangles and his boots make firm sounds on the floor. With every step, he makes the sound of I'm here.

Settling down at the table, he waits for something.

didntseeit.livejournal.com

So, Milliways has done it again. This time it is amnesia, and Ajedrez wants no part it in. So the federal agent/cartel princess is staying firmly outside, kicking a football about in an effort to entertain herself.

No way is she going inside. Nope.

songofbullets.livejournal.com

El enters the bar, chains musical as he walks.

Settling at the bar, he says, "Tequila."

kurosakiboy.livejournal.com

See this? This is Ichigo. It may not look like Ichigo, but it is, and Ichigo is Not Happy. This much, at least, is clear. You can tell by the pissed expression he's sporting on his (strangely feminine) face, and the way he's slumped over the bar, chin resting on crossed arms, his foot swinging back and forth, repeatedly kicking the bar. The hair, far too long for his tastes, keeps getting in his face, forcing him to blow at it until it removes itself from his way for a time. And let's not even get started on how creepy it is for him to have breasts. Or how weird he feels wearing a bra.

He avoided this place the first day he got stuck with this body ~~(and he did nothing inappropriate with it, ya damn perverts)~~, but he can only sulk and brood in his room for so long. Besides, at least here he can mutter angrily at Bar all day long.

"Nothing's sacred in this place." Kick. "This isn't the first time you've played with my damn gender either." Kick kick. "Stupid bar. Hope you get turned into firewood someday. There's gotta be some arsonists around here somewhere." Kick kick kick.

"...and now my foot hurts."

rigthegames.livejournal.com

[oom: once upon a time]

So, a man walks into a bar, and he says:

“-Carlos, Carlos, Carlos. How long have we been working together? Long enough for you to know by now that if I tell you to- yes, Carlos, I did tell you to. And I am the boss of you. And, correct me if I’m wrong- and I really don’t think I’m wrong, Carlos- but when I tell you to-”

His cell phone cuts off with a buzz of static, and Sands glances up sharply.

“Oh shit.”

He spins on his heel, snapping the phone shut and reaching for the door handle in one smooth motion. Not smooth enough. The door clicks shut, and fades away into the wall like it was never there at all.

After a little while, his hand falls back down to his side. He keeps right on staring.

songofbullets.livejournal.com

El comes in, chains making music to his steps.

The a sharp ring when he turns to sit down at a table.

He looks at a waitrat. The waitrat looks back. There is silent communication between two beings that use few words.

The waitrat brings him tequila.

didntseeit.livejournal.com

It is a normal day. Normal day at work, normal knock-off time, normal coming down the stairs, normal ordering coffee, normal scanning of the bar-proper. Window, tables, people and chairs.

And a door. She takes in a deep breath at the sight of it. It's just a plain, ordinary door but she's never seen it before. That doesn't, however, mean that she doesn't know what it is.

The front door. Her way back to Mexico and Culiacan, where she could-
save my life kill sands

stand and shoot

and save papa but i could not i could i could he made daddy stop

i love him

i don't want to and it's

blood
f
o
r
blood

The door vanishes and, slowly, she lets out her breath again. Still slowly, she sits down and clenches her shaking hands in her lap. If anyone should ask what's wrong, well. For someone who can't lie, she can do it very, very well.

didntseeit.livejournal.com

Work shift?

Ended.

State of Ajedrez?

Need in coffee. Strong, black, sugary coffee.

Anyone who stands in her way?

Dead. Oh so dead. See the gun on her hip? Dead.

She'll be human after the coffee, the mun promises. Or, at least hopes.

songofbullets.livejournal.com

El is sitting quietly at a table, no guitar, but his fingers tapping a beat against the surface of the table.

He's watching.

didntseeit.livejournal.com

Yesterday? Was a Good Day. There was football and quest-for-a-cello planing and the backanswering to a skull.

And today she is now gainfully employed. Her father would have a fit if he knew, but, hey. Barillo's not here, and fingerscrossed he never will be.

So, cue one sorta-federal agent, humming happily to herself as she orders a drink.

songofbullets.livejournal.com

El. In the bar. Coffee.

didntseeit.livejournal.com

[OoM: in a little village in Mexico...]

Ajedrez walks through the door. The front door, this time, not the back. Not as brittle as before, but still...quiet. She makes her way to the stairs and then stops. She backtracks to the bar, and quickly writes a ( note. )

"Bar, could you give this to Suzi Darley? Gracias."

That done, she continues towards the stairs.

didntseeit.livejournal.com

[OOM: and after this, Ajedrez dreams. Warning for possibly disturbing imagery and blood]

It is a very different Ajedrez from yesterday who comes down the stairs. Jeans and jumper as normal, with the twin holsters with their guns, and her mass of brown hair (currently damp) has been tied neatly back, also as normal. But it’s her AFN boots instead of the quieter, more comfortable sneakers. And unlike the bright-eyed bounce of before she seems…brittle; eyes a little too wide, a little too empty, a little too red.

There is also, if you look carefully, a not-quite scabbed over scratch on her throat.

She heads for the Bar instead of the couch by the fire and, for the first time since she came to Milliways, Ajedrez is intent on getting thoroughly plastered.

With tequila, naturally.

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

He's humming a song, soft and lyrical, smiling to himself.

This is because it's a dirty bar-tune he's picked up from France. The sort with the innuendos that are anything but subtle and the shouting and laughing.

Speaking of which, Jack's back from France, looking slightly sunburned and with messy hair and dirt under his fingernails.

songofbullets.livejournal.com

El walks back into the bar with a small smile.

So, it is still here, after all.

He takes a seat at a table and asks for some Italian pasta. A man can't eat the same thing all the time.

ladyfirestarter

Charlie McGee's in the bar, in jeans and a grey blouse, sitting on a barstool and drinking a rum-and-coke (light on the rum).

She's open to conversation.

songofbullets.livejournal.com

One Mariachi in the bar, looking a little less confused (not that he ever looked that confused to begin with). Playing guitar.

He came in because he was curious if the bar would still be there or if he'd finally get to taste the mole that everyone said was so good.

songofbullets.livejournal.com

El looks down at the grip of his guitar case as he walks into the restaurant. When he looks up and sees a completely unexpected bar, he raises an eyebrow.

This is the first in a long line of pueblos that he's settled in, so it's just his guitar in the case.

However unexpected, he's not going to turn down a drink.

youalleverybody.livejournal.com

Liam arrives in the bar, without Megan, his face grim and tense. He makes straight for the guest corridor, and his old room.

There's a moment's shock when he sees what's waiting for him there: Charlie lying unconscious on the floor, the door wide open and the room obviously empty. He drops to his knees at his brother's side.

"Fuck. Charlie?"

The Bar at the End of the Universe

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