milliways_bar | Entries tagged with emma peel

shimmershift.livejournal.com

Candice has her feet propped up on her table as she people watches from her corner booth.

With her very pink martini. (It almost sparkles!) She keeps twirling her finger around the rim of the glass after every sip, comparing the sounds.

were-needed.livejournal.com

A large, tied-up sack is thrown into the bar.

It makes an 'Oof' sound as it lands.

A few moments later, a very tiny periscope nudges its way out between the rope at the top and peers around. It disappears back into the sack.

Then the sack rolls over towards the bar and, with some difficulty, mounts a barstool.

After a few mumbled instructions, the sack is provided with a small knife. Part of the sack reaches and grabs onto it after a few false starts, then attempts to cut the rope at the top.

A little help, anyone?

regtuesdaysuit.livejournal.com

Okay, just because he is important and influential, Josh does not want to know about your mindless trivia. This goes for the President telling him about every national park in the United States, and this certainly goes for Donna reading him factoids about what life was like a hundred years ago. It does not matter. Josh has to get a new Chairman of the Federal Reserve together, since the old one seems to have keeled over this morning, and the President is dragging his feet, and on top of all that the First Lady and Sam are doing some sort of power play tango that he just doesn't have time for, and Toby is being a complete pistol on this meeting with the three Democrats from the House and just--

He really, really doesn't need any more stress right now. Not that he ever welcomes it, but--

"Damn it," he hisses, when he walks through the front door.

"DAMN IT," he shouts, when the door vanishes behind him.

[[tinytags: charlie crews, the pirate king]]

e_delmar

After. Or Before. Or somewhere in between.

What comes after after is this. This here and this now, and this place that Ennis don't even know how he got to. This place that Ennis don't even remember, or won't, or can't, because you can't remember what hasn't happened yet.

But here he is, sure's hell, blinking the darkness of the room out of his sun bleached eyes, hands deep down in his pockets and a frown of confusion on his face.

*Please refer to this post for any questions/explanations.

feederofpigeons.livejournal.com

Coffee, as always, was sitting next to Control, being sipped occasionally from the white mug. You would be kind enough to forgive his immobility today, as he is also sporting a broken right arm. Or rather, the wrong one.

Flippers might be absent and trousers might be present, but he is just as conversational as the next modified door handle.

amateur-spy.livejournal.com

Emma Peel strides into the bar wearing a black leather catsuit with zippers running diagonally down both shoulder blades, two small zippers running diagonally down both sides of her hips, a buckle around her collar and a buckle at her waist. On her feet, two shiny black boots with short heels. She perches herself on a barstool, seemingly unaware that some might find her attire...unusual.

his-sarah-jane.livejournal.com

It's afternoon back home, two days after their last trip here. James is still in the office. And mother and daughter are both restless.

So they're in the bar instead, a place where there are more people and animals than at home in Notting Hill. Valerie is in the pram today and Sarah gently pushes her back and forth as she reads a book.

The background noise is rather comforting. Not quite reminiscent of work, but not the silence of home either.

slightlymonkish.livejournal.com

[ooc: Many threads going on, will possibly be slow -- but tag away, please. *cackles*]

Monk, confident that Milliways is now a much healthier place due to his efforts, comes striding in with a big smile on his face.

He begins walking towards Bar, past the Window, and --

-- doesn't get any further than that.

He looks down at his feet that won't move, then up.

Mistletoe.

"... WHY?!"

dean-o-dell.livejournal.com

It is, Cyrus would admit, not the most wonderful time of the year for him. He misses what he had. He misses the big tree in the living room and the family squabbles, he misses the occasional trips to Aruba or Grand Cayman, he misses the parties (including that one time he was invited to the Echolls party, where he never actually met the infamous couple). He even misses the long Christmas letter his sister would send every year.

He plans to make the best of it. But if there are any books on what to do for Christmas when you're dead, he's never had the luck of reading them.

So today he's just eating a light breakfast and reading a book on teaching ESL (just to pass the time). And he's not paying much attention to the decorations that seem to eat more and more of the main room each day.

[ooc: mun has errands to run - will be around as I can]

gone_byebye

Ray wanders in from the Firehouse with a notepad in hand and Francis the robot dog takka-takka-takka-ing along just behind him. He stops at the Bar for long enough to get himself something to eat-honestly, he's not really paying much attention as to what- and a knotted rope laced with strands of reasonably flexible metal. After he sits down, he tosses the knotted rope into the generally empty space between some of the tables. Francis' yellow 'eye' light flares; the dog announces, "WHURF", and runs off after the rope. Ray flips his notepad open and leans back to read.

He'll be retrieving the rope from the magnet under Francis' "chin" and chucking it into what he's guessing is the empty space between tables for a while. Francis doesn't ask for much when they're playing fetch, so Ray's attention is primarily on his notes. This could, of course, lead to trouble.

amateur-spy.livejournal.com

Emma is painting an abstract image of the bar onto a small tile. Distractions are not at all unwelcome.

[ ooc: warnings for work related slowtime. ]

is-out-there.livejournal.com

Mulder chews idly on the pencil in his hand, taking it away from his mouth when he realizes he's bitten into the eraser; a brief look of disgust crosses his face as he picks the errant bits of eraser particles from his tongue. He's also surprised at the numerous bite marks he's chewed into the writing utensil. Clearly, his focus was erratic at the moment. And it was a lovely pencil too, pity that it's now marred from his incisors.

Mulder places the pencil down and folds his hands. He's working on a crossword puzzle, but he's not terribly absorbed with it. At the moment, he's glancing at his door. He really is planning to go home soon, he has some holiday shopping to do, after all. But he's still a bit reluctant to leave. It's warm and buzzing with pleasant noise in the bar tonight, and he'd rather be among strangers than alone with his thoughts.

So...FBI agent, possibly trying to work out the answer to four across. But he wouldn't mind a reason to disregard the blasted crossword puzzle, and the pencil which has gallantly sustained unwarranted war wounds.

amateur-spy.livejournal.com

Yesterday, Emma Peel read a book on physics. Today, she finished it. Today, she is writing the author a polite but assertive letter detailing the incorrect facts in his book. This may seem very progressive for a woman in 1965, but it is possible that Emma sees this as nothing more than writing a mere letter.

Such are the inner workings of one Mrs. Peel.

Current Location: a table

born-running.livejournal.com

The door into Milliways once again takes the palce of the living room. This time, Luke is better prepared. He has done research. Admittedly, not research that is not overly useful when coming into actual contact with a multi-dimensional bar, but research nonetheless.

While you could always use more research, field research, too, has its place on the scale of Usefulness, and it's an especially high place in this instance. That would be why, after the door is opened, it stays open for a minute or two while Luke runs for a notebook and a pencil.

Beware, Milliways. Luke is going to ask you questions.

{~~And mun is off for a few hours, will be~~ back ~~to tagging then!}~~

were-needed.livejournal.com

Steed dives into the bar, closing the door before the explosion can occur outside.

He then straightens up, checks through the door for anything on fire (which their isn't), then shuts it and wanders over to a booth.

Someone left a bomb in one of his favourite spare hats, which was terribly rude of them.

[ooc: Gone out, back later, sorry]

twiceahero.livejournal.com

Barbara Gordon walks into Milliways.

Then she stands there looking very, very confused.

Two expressions flicker back and forth across her face while she struggles to decide whether she was absolutely thrilled, or utterly infuriated. This might take a minute or two.

amateur-spy.livejournal.com

Mrs. Peel digs the outfit bar's put her in today. It's not shiny, for starters, nor is it strongly reminiscent of a mermaid's fins. She does wonder, however, why bar has not also provided her with a horse to go along with the costume.

Ah, well.

If you need her, she's at a table enjoying a bowl of fruit. And tea. (What, you think she had champagne for breakfast?)

gotham-knocking.livejournal.com

One look at the decorations, and Knox knows it's Halloween. Which he's never been here for (and which was two months ago in his timeline). He heads in from his room and to the Bar for breakfast. And has the strangest feeling.

He looks done and sees he's in a button-down shirt and tie. When did that happen? And then he sees his face in the mirror. "Robert Redford?" (As he says this, he's relieved that while the face is All-American Boy, the voice is pure Gotham.) He stares, and wonders why that tie looks familiar.

He next notices a press pass clipped to his belt. He unclips it and studies it. The photo is Redford, but the name is Bob Woodward. "Okay, this is weird. I'm not Redford. I'm Redford playing Woodward in All the President's Men. What's up with that?" He clips the press pass back onto his belt, and gets out his wallet (which is his). He finds his own press pass and clips it to his shirt pocket, so that people know he's himself. Sort of.

He orders breakfast from a rat and sits back with a smile. There are far worse things to be than Robert Redford. Or one of the great reporters of the 20th century. Or both.

Breakfast naturally comes on china from the Watergate Hotel.

[ooc: Mun will be quite busy for good chunks of the day but welcomes slowtime from all comers.]

badboybutterman

He doesn't have a bevvy of babes with questionable monikers; he doesn't have a car that fires machine guns from its grille; he doesn't know anybody named Q.

But you can call him Butterman. Danny Butterman.

...He doesn't like martinis, though. So. Y'know. Don't bother offering to order one for him.

[[OOC: Slowtimes as of 1:30 am est. Will pick up tags all through Halloween and beyond.]]

gone_byebye

Ray was in earlier, because he thought he'd be going out the door. The Landlord had other plans for his first actual Halloween in forty-seven years. (They don't do Halloween on Gara.) He's not going ANYWHERE for a few days. He just went upstairs to get something to read while he waited, and came down.

This way Ray gets to get stuck with a costume here for the first time in ever. He's always been working when Halloween rolls 'round, so he really didn't expect Bar to stick him with a particular coat, hat, and scarf...

Francis has no idea how lucky he is not to be in the Bar tonight. The magic didn't change what Ray actually looked like, it just bestowed the outfit on him- the entire thing. Francis, however, would be stuck with K9's locomotion setup.

"Um," Ray says, from behind an astonishing amount of garter stitch.

[OOC: Forgive the icon for the moment, I have to get one of Ray properly photoshopped.)

amateur-spy.livejournal.com

~~Teresa di Vicenzo~~ Emma Peel has no idea what she's wearing today, but okay. She's certainly worn stranger.

If you need her, she's at a table sipping a glass of champagne.

madolyn-madden.livejournal.com

Madolyn suddenly feels very cold.

Her hands quickly fly to her stomach, which she discovers is bare. She also is beginning to see that her hair is no longer blonde, but dark brown. And, and, and, are her clothes made of leather? And is that a quiver? Are those gloves? And is that a bow? Is that a braid in her hair?

So, she'd been looking forward to Halloween but is now seriously reconsidering that thought. Turning a bright shade of red, she immediately heads for the nearest corner booth.

She's trying to get her gloves off, but to no avail.

[ ooc; Mun going to sleep as of 11:32 PM Central Time. Feel free to create a new tag if you feel like it. I will be slowtiming everything to completion. ]

cursedrider.livejournal.com

It's halloween and that requires a suitably halloweeny puppet.

Thusly there is a ghostly bounty hunter in the bar. Well okay, not ghostly.

More like "On fire."

The rider's taking a night off. (Two nights off if you want to be accurate) which means that Johnny's (weather he wants to or not) is probably going to be incommonicado.

Hell, he'll even let this den of miscreants slide. Unless their sins are really worthy of the pit.

So when the door to the outside opens and a flaming skeleton steps in, Bar...lets him. However briefly. The Ghost Rider's promised to behave.

unless...y'know...you make him mad.

[OOC: Slowtime is very probable but don't let that discourage you from tagging! The Ghost Rider will not penance stare anybody (unless you REALLY want it). He gets a few days off like the rest of Satan's minions. Tag at will. If you DO want to be penance-stared im me at clericpikachu and we'll talk]

his-sarah-jane.livejournal.com

Today when Sarah Jane walks into the bar, it's with James' laptop under her arm. She has a couple of writing samples in the form of opinionated women's lib articles to get out to some potential employers. And while she'd typically work at home, with all the boxes and packing, she's found it hard to concentrate.

With her Bar-acquired typewriter packed, the only choices she has left are pen and paper or this laptop. So she makes herself comfortable at a booth, lifts open the screen and stares. It takes a couple of moments to find the power button and the rest?

Well. As soon as she remembers where Word is on the list, she'll be in the okay.

She hopes.

[ooc: mun here alllllll day doing work and catching up on slowtimes!]

amateur-spy.livejournal.com

The stereotype says girls hate math. However, in a stunning turn of events, Emma Peel is defying feminine stereotypes by throwing herself into solving a difficult math question. (Well, it would be difficult if you weren't a certified genius like Emma. If you are, then the question is an amusing way to pass the time at a table beneath the Observation Window.)