milliways_bar | Entries tagged with emma bishop

lady-detective.livejournal.com

OOM: A lost gift returned...as a major complication.

It looks like I won't be getting any rest tonight - or this morning, back in my world. Not in my own bed, at any rate. Especially since the Door vanished when I closed it.

Perhaps it's for the best. I need time away from my world - and my partner - to think. And if thinking will not suffice to provide a solution, I can perhaps find someone here to help me. Little if any chance of that back home.

I drag myself over to the Bar and sit down on one of the stools. "Can I have a mug of chamomile tea, please?" Hopefully, that will help me sleep.

I don't get chamomile tea. Instead I get a glass full of some green fizzy stuff that doesn't look fit for human consumption. I blink at it, frowning. "What the bloody hell is that?"

[OOC: What it is is Mike being groggy from waking up just after Happy Hour (I know he's got more of a handle on Bar-powers by now). Yes, this is millitimed to then.]

cant_kim

Kim ducks in from London with her typical furtive glance over her shoulder. She's noticeably taller than last time she came in, hair slightly shaggier.

That, it turns out, isn't the only noticeable change.

She lets out a yelp as her clothes go from jacket, shirt, breeches, and boots to loose cotton trousers and top, and light slippers. Her first instinct is to snatch the top closed tighter -- then realizes that might be counter-productive and settles for leaving it as is and staring.

At least she still looks like a boy, as far as she can tell. Even if it does come at the cost of looking like some toff in pyjamas.

azure-mercy.livejournal.com

An indistinct someone or something emerges from the painting of dogs playing poker. After a moment the shape resolves itself into a slender human woman of about forty. The woman stumbles and almost falls over but, fortunately, manages to brace herself against a wall before that happens. She raises her hands in front of her face and regards them with a wide-eyed disbelief that may soon mature into panic.

Her face probably isn't recognizable to anyone in Bar, unless they know her well and are particularly observant. The blue and silver robes, however, provide a fairly obvious clue as to who she is.

~*~*~*~

When Mouse steps into Milliways, looking for a quiet drink, she starts to feel a little funny. And then...well, she keeps on feeling funny. She looks kind of funny, too - at least, she does if you're another computer sprite.

~*~*~*~

YT just can't wait until nightfall back home to show off her costume, so she decided to put it on and flaunt it in Milliways. Evidently the Landlord is satisfied with her pirate outfit - red and black, gold-ish buttons, short skirt, knee-high boots, and a truly kickass hat - because the costume doesn't change when she comes in. She's got a passable replica of a seventeenth-century pistol on one hip and a not-so-passable replica of a cutlass on the other.

~*~*~*~

"YEEEEEK!"

Bloody hell. I'm quite sure everyone in the bar and possibly the grounds heard that. But I don't think I can be blamed, considering that my clothes have somehow changed into a scandalous red-and-black outfit of the sort worn by ladies of negotiable virtue.

I also smell like too much cheap perfume, and I'm sure that when I look into a reflective surface I will see that I am wearing an inordinate amount of garish makeup as well.

"I'm not going to..." My attempts to turn the handle of the Front Door are all in vain. It seems as though I am stuck here being the butt of someone's practical joke, at least for the nonce.

not-on-her-own.livejournal.com

There was one door she hadn't gone through, in Sarah's attic. Sarah and Luke were downstairs making tea, and Maria doubted Sarah would mind her snooping around a bit, provided she didn't touch any of the equipment. She'd learned by now just how sensitive and important Sarah's various gadgets were.

So, ever the curious one, Maria pushed gently on the oddly-shaped door in the far corner of the attic, stepping through.

"What..."

Maria looked around, taking a deep breath. Well, this clearly wasn't Sarah Jane's attic.

"Is this..." She finished, a moment later.

Oh, it bloody well figured.

lady-detective.livejournal.com

I return to the party absentmindedly rubbing my knuckles. Punching Theophilius Dare proved surprisingly satisfying, and I am secure in the knowledge that he will not tell anyone about it. He's too arrogant to admit that he got knocked flat by a woman, and will have to find some suitable excuse for his split lip.

I'm three steps through the door before I realize that I am not, after all, at the party - I'm in Milliways once more, this time in formal eveningwear. Ah, well - aside from the much-deserved blow I dealt to Dare, there wasn't much of interest at that soiree. I'm in no hurry to return.

Smoothing my skirts, I take a seat at the Bar and order a glass of cherry cordial.

lady-detective.livejournal.com

Normally my partner has a constitution you could build a house on, but a weeks spent living in an abandoned hut on the eastern moor during our most recent case together proved too much even for him. Simon caught a severe cold that, to me at least, seems to verge on influenza. Ophelia and I, for once in perfect agreement on something, are making a coordinated effort to force Simon to take much-needed rest, medicine and food. We also decided not to allow him to see any newspapers, lest he discover some interesting crime and go haring off to investigate it. Of course, all of this has made my partner even more insufferable than usual.

And now Dame Wycliffe's jewels have gone missing from the safe in her house and she wants Simon to look into the matter. Which means I have to do it, all while making sure that Simon has someone keeping an eye on him at all times and ensuring that he does not get involved and make himself even sicker. Bloody hell.

So I am actually rather glad to see Milliways when I walk through the door to what I thought was Dame Wycliffe's house. I could sorely use the chance for a rest and a quiet drink. I sit down at the Bar and ask for a snifter of brandy. Although it's morning where I come from, I don't suppose that matters at the end of the universe.

cant_kim

Sometimes, jobs don't go like you hope they will.

And sometimes, the only way out of them is to run like bloody hell, and duck into the first hiding place you come to.

And so: the door to the bar is flung open by a small, skinny shape, and slammed shut.

The child -- a boy, judging by the dress, and about thirteen -- stops dead as the sound of the slam fades, and stares, eyes big in a sharp face. This is a posh place, not the disreputable boarding house expected. And the nabbing culls are outside, probably, and--

If she wasn't in trouble before, Kim thinks to herself, she is now.

[ooc: A few salient details.

ETA: So much with the bedtime, unfortunately. I love you ALL.]

lady-detective.livejournal.com

Milliways has, for once, caught me in a good mood - though true to form, it has brought me when I'm at something less than my best. The bruise around my left eye is fading but still can't quite be concealed by makeup, and I'm still moving stiffly due to various aches and pains (the worst being in my ribs). Being punched and falling out of a second-story window will do that, but I have the satisfaction of knowing that the responsible party ended up much worse off.

I make my way to the fireplace and settle cautiously into one of the stuffed chairs. A barstool or a wooden chair at one of the tables would be a little too hard on me this point.

~*~*~*~

YT's not training with Steph anymore, but she's still taking hand-to-hand lessons, now from a small but tough-as-nails Korean guy who's a friend of a friend of Hiro's.

Right now, she's using some of the moves she's learned to wail on the punching bag outside. She's a small person and it's a very big bag, but that doesn't seem to bother her. She's more bothered by whatever's motivating her to attack the bag.

~*~*~*~

J.C. is on the firing range, but not practicing with a gun. Instead, he's tossing throwing knives at one of the targets. For him firearms practice is training, but knife-throwing (which he did not learn in the course of his formal instruction) is more of a way to unwind.

[OOC: Tag anyone you like. Emma is in a good enough mood to treat you to a drink, if you're reasonably polite. YT is pissed, but not likely to do to you what she's doing to the bag. J.C. is...well, himself. Lots of slowtimes until about 6 PM.]

lady-detective.livejournal.com

I slip through the door, push it shut and simply lean back against it for a few moments, eyes closed. "Next time," I mutter, "Simon can wear the nun disguise." It's not the first time I've masqueraded as a Druidic nun (purple and blue habit, hood, wide-brimmed flowered hat and, in this case, bare feet) for the sake of an investigation, but so help me, it will be the last.

Belatedly, I realize that the ambient noise and feeling of space here is not what I expected. Or, more to the point, that it is not what I usually find on the other side of this door. It seems I am not in my cell in the Two Hills convent of the Druidic Church, but back in Milliways. And although I had had quite enough of this place when I left it a few weeks ago, I am profoundly relieved to find it now.

"Thank God," I remark as I make my way to the Bar, removing the hat and hood. "A pair of shoes, please. And some tea. And something to eat that's decently cooked and has meat in it." The Bar provides me with a pair of slippers, a pot of tea, and a roast beef sandwich.

As I sit down to my providentially provided evening meal, I consider staying here overnight. If I have to go back to that convent without a break I have no doubt it will drive me stark raving mad.

lady-detective.livejournal.com

OOM: Shortly after returning home from Milliways, Emma gets back to work, gets into trouble, and is reunited with her partner.

lady-detective.livejournal.com

[OOC: Millitimed to about two weeks ago. Yes, I know, I am horribly late. ]

I always check for the Front Door when I come downstairs in the morning, and by now I don't expect it to be there. So it comes as something of a shock when I discover that it's come back.

Well, now that I can get home, there are two important things I must do first: one, I must put on the same clothes I had when I first arrived, and two, I must let my friends here know where I have gone. It would be rude of me to leave them without so much as a note. I've had that done to me often enough (thank you, Simon) that I should know.

( To that end, I leave the following message with the Bar, with instructions to pass it on to Kirk, Sarah Jane, and anyone else who might ask about me. )

Of course, if I see anyone I know before I leave, I would much rather say my goodbyes in person.

his-sarah-jane.livejournal.com

So, this is a sight that hasn't been seen in Milliways for a while, due to the mun's insane travels: one Sarah Jane, lounging on the couch by the fireplace with a silly romance novel and a glass of Pimms. Although, if you were to ask her, she would quite possibly deny the existance of her book all together.

Or claim that it really is an amazing work of literature.

rebel-falcon.livejournal.com

"Chewie!"

There's a frustrated, messed-up head hanging directly down from the roof, where the access hatch is.

"Chewie, you great hairy fuzzball, ain't y'had enough yet? Bar ain't that great a place!"

Han eyes the bar in question.

"...well, a'right, except for the booze. And the women. And avoidin' that whiny kid and the old guy. Hell, this is the longest damn time the Alderaan trip's ever taken. Yeah, I'm comin', I'm comin'."

He swings down the ladder, which promptly vanishes behind him, and stalks over towards the bar, still grumbling under his breath.

lady-detective.livejournal.com

During the past few days, I've taken to feeding the duck-things in the lake. I call them duck-things because, while they are ducklike in most respects, they have the shells of turtles, and I don't know the proper name for such creatures.

They're friendly, anyway, and have taken to swimming up to meet me when I walk on the lakeshore. Where food is concerned, at least, they learn quickly. I'm currently entertaining them with pieces torn off a loaf of white bread.

~*~*~*~

J.C. is on the firing range, practicing with his miniature crossbow. He started out just shooting the target, but he's taken to diving and rolling, coming up on his knees and then firing (this is a trick he's had to do fairly often, and will no doubt have to do more in the future). Almost all of his shots are hitting the target, but not so close to the bull's-eye as he would like.

[OOC: Work-related slowtiming possible.]

callitavesper.livejournal.com

One pop culture legend is usually seen behind the bar on Thursday nights. He is unable to tend bar due to his injury; thus, another pop culture legend is filling for him. Problem is that this one isn't as easily identifiable as the other. The other, at least, has always looked the same, and has a preference for a certain kind of hat. This one changes his look every few years, though he does have a tendency to wear a certain type of outfit. Unfortunately, he's unlikely to wear said outfit while bar tending. In fact, what he's wearing tonight is decidedly less fancy: just black slacks and a gray buttoned-down shirt with faint dark gray stripes. Oh, he's stylish tonight, undoubtedly, but unless you're from 2006 and after the name "James Bond" wouldn't immediately spring to mind upon seeing the man behind the bar.

And the man behind the bar likes it that way.

Going on recollections of how other bartenders and his waitress friend Valerie rolls, our modest-but-stylish bartender writes on the specials board:

Your bartender is:
James

Tonight's Specials:
~~Mango Bellini~~
Pimms
Emerald Martini
Bourbon
Flamethrower
And now with a new addition by the bartender's fiancee:
Shaken, not stirred.

The aforementioned injured man with a hat fetish is nearby, supervising the aforementioned face shifting man with a fetish for fancy clothes, but rest assured, if the regular bartender can trust a man who's never tended before, you can, too!

[ ooc: Indy mun's not here, but I am! Tag away! ]

wizard_dresden

[There's a lazy wizard behind the bar, plucking at the strings of a guitar. Whatever he's playing might not be exactly music, but he's getting better - really.]

In the meantime:

"So, while the gimp is picking on a guitar, who wants a drink?"

[We're not sure if the skull can actually serve drinks, but we'll find out...]

lady-detective.livejournal.com

Sudoku isn't detective work, but it's challenging enough to keep my mind engaged so that it won't run about purposelessly and complain of boredom like a spoiled child. The puzzle is a hybrid of magic squares and crosswords - although unlike a crossword, sudoku squares become harder to fill in as one progresses, not easier. I think Simon would enjoy these, but I can see no way to introduce them to him without telling him about Milliways. He wouldn't believe that any more than he'd believe me if I said I'd come up with the things myself.

Perhaps it's for the best: my partner is obsessed with puzzles and cares little for anything else. That quality makes him a great detective but a miserable human being. No, more puzzles are the last thing Simon needs.

They're certainly doing a world of good for me at the moment, though.

[OOC: This is millitimed and millispaced all over the place for the day. You can place Emma anywhere in the main bar or the grounds, within reason. Slowtime in effect after 12:30 P.M. EST.]

Current Mood: pensive

bigfurryoaf.livejournal.com

An access hatch opens into the main bar, and down the ladder comes--well, fur.

Seven menacing feet of it.

The Wookie looks around, and his resulting rumble can probably be best translated as "What the kriff?!?"

"Wrrraugh mmrr gruuung mrarrg wuurffl grrrmmmm hrrrrgh mrraaaah wurrl!" I think I know why the hyperdrive's not working--there's a tapcaf where it should be.

"Yeah, no shit, fuzzball." Han is grumpy and preoccupied.

A second passes.

"Wait, what? I thought you couldn't see that!"

"Rrrrrrrrraurgh! Mrrgg frrrg grmmm brrraaauuugh!" Joke's over, meatbag! Where's the hyperdrive motivator?

"Go get one from the Bar. Do I gotta baby you every step of the way?"

Chewbacca's tone gets decidedly more testy. "Waruugh marf rrrrgg wurrerrrr! Mraugh fllrrr bruuuugh mraugh!" Can it, nerfherder! Bars don't sell motivators, and even so, I can fix it if I can find it!

"C'mon, Chewie, this ain't my fault. I ain't the one put the Bar there in the first place. It ain't gunna go away unless y'go in, anyway."

With a huff, the tower of fur moves in the general direction of the Bar. "Mraaa frmmm rrrgggg..." It's NEVER your fault... HE requisitions the part he's looking for, heads back over to the--

Where'd the ladder go?

"WWWWWRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHH!"

[A note to all those playing with--or hoping to thread with--Chewie: In quotes is the sounds coming from his mouth, as Wookiees are incapable of speaking Basic. HOWEVER, in italics, Bar will translate for Chewbacca, and those speaking to him will understand the growls kinda-sorta-telepathically. Think of it almost as a Babel fish.]

cmdr_sir_samuel

If there's one thing that can be said about Sam Vimes, its that he's got his feet planted firmly on the cobbles. Practically glued to them in fact, even these days when he's forced to wear decent leather boots that don't let the rain in on a damp autumn night. So when he opens a door that should have let him into his new office in Pseudopolis Yard and instead finds himself in a bar, he doesn't think he's dreaming or hallucinating or that he's lost his mind. He just sighs and pulls a packet of slim cigars from his pocket.

'Bloody magic,' is the faintly audible mutter. He suspects wizard involvement. And then he raises his voice and says to the world at large,

'Alright, very funny. Good joke, I'm sure. Now someone tell me what the bloody hell's going on because I haven't got all day.'

'Diplomacy' is not a word that he feels he needs to be friends with. Not when this is clearly some kind of prank the universe is playing on him - and at least there's no sign of weapons being pointed at him just now. That's always guarenteed to make a man feel better about a situation.

[OOC: New mun for Vimes - Sam will have no recollection of previous interactions in the bar.]

lady-detective.livejournal.com

I rarely find the time to practice using a slingshot back home, in spite of Simon's insistence that I ought to. Here, I've got a lot of time and little else to do. So, after gathering a goodly number of suitable stones out on the grounds, I started to practice.

With one of my scarves serving as an improvised weapon, I'm flinging projectiles at a dead tree about twenty yards off. Roughly half my shots are on target. Some come up short, or miss by a few feet. On occasion, one of my stones goes wild and flies off in a completely unexpected direction.

Much as I hate to admit it, Simon was right. I really do need to practice.

[OOC: If you want to start a thread by having your pup get near-missed or clipped by one of Emma's stray shots, be my guest.]

nitro-is-ace.livejournal.com

Ace is fine with Spoon off catching cyberized monkeys. Really. Monkeys like that need hunting down. They're just kinda freakish, and obviously someone's had entirely too much time on their hands.

But he's still not back.

She's trying to not be the worried little female, ready to scold and penalize just because she's worried.

But it's been days now.

So Ace is sitting at the Bar, stabbing viciously at Caesar salad.

lady-detective.livejournal.com

Although I suppose it was good for me to relax for a time, and this place did strike me as quite interesting (once I got over the initial shock), I am now feeling restless and very bored. A person who enjoys detective work is not content without it.

Without an intellectual puzzle, I have to substitute a jigsaw puzzle. This particular one consists of one thousand pieces and depicts a fantasy landscape, with a castle, rainbow, and a herd of unicorns. Or it will depict that landscape when it's done.

kittenscrap.livejournal.com

Its a playfull kitten! She's bounding around the bar pouncing on random feet, attacking robes and shoelaces alike.

Did she pounce yours? Did you even notice this Scrap of a kitten when she play-attacked?

his-sarah-jane.livejournal.com

Sarah Jane has been busy lately. Not with wedding planning, as those who might not know her so well may think, but with travelling and with writing. It's not a bad way to live, if you ask her. Between spending time in James' world with him and working on her journalistic career there or travelling with the Doctor across the universe and seeing things she never thought imagined, life has been well occupied.

When Sarah comes in to the bar today, it's from her own world - world being a very loosely used word. It's from the TARDIS actually, with the Doctor promising that they'd reach London soon. But it's still been days (back home anyway) since leaving Harry and the Brigadier to get to London by train.

Someday, maybe. But right now, she's content to sit by the fireplace with a cuppa.

pirate_jack

He's getting more and more restless with each passing day. If asked, Jack Sparrow wouldn't be able to say when the last time was that he was away from the sea for this long. Even rum isn't helping all that much, not any more.

That's why he's currently sitting on the white sand of the beach, hands resting lightly on his knees as he meditates.

With his eyes half-closed, he can even pretend the blue water of the lake is somewhere else entirely.

[ooc: and, since the question's now come up-- Jack's post is not plot-locked. tag or not as you please!]