milliways_bar | Entries tagged with faramir

When the door opens to the bar, Sara is a little surprised.

It's been a couple of months.

She finds a seat in a booth and orders decaffeinated coffee from one of the waitrats.

[ooc: This is Sara's last post in the bar before her retirement. Come one, come all. Slowtimes accepted.]

gentleprince.livejournal.com

The door opens.

In just a few days here, almost two years have passed in Middle-Earth; but if anything, Faramir looks almost a little younger than he would have seemed when he left here. Peace and joy have that effect on a person.

He is whole now.

He had wondered for some time whether his strange other life would ever return to him. He had looked for it now and again in dreams, and at times went off from his soldiers in the woods to see whether they would part and find him facing again the stables or doors of Milliways.

He had not expected to find it in his wife's underwear closet when asked to fetch her a different underskirt than the one she had chosen, having given her servants a day off. After all, a woman who slayed the Witch King can certainly dress herself, and it is pleasant to spend an evening alone with those she loves best...

It seems obvious to Faramir that his wife's clothing is not presently available. Faramir knows well that a year in the Bar is not even a moment outside it, and so he steps in, his arms carrying what seems for a moment to be a bundle of cloth... Seems, until he turns to close the door (which, he is glad to see, does not disappear), and shifts it in his arms so that the baby wrapped in the fine, dark cloth can see the Bar as well.

"Welcome to Milliways, Elboron," the Prince whispers to his son, and goes to take a seat at a table. A rat ambles presently by, and Faramir asks it to bring a pot of tea and a bottle in case the baby should get hungry.

He settles in to watch the bar, and discover how long he has been gone, all the while speaking to his son in a soft voice of the strange things that happen here...

gentleprince.livejournal.com

The door has been there for some time now.

Arrangements have quietly been made. He has told no one but the one or two who might need to know to cover his Security duties for however long he might be gone.

He takes with him the clothing he arrived wearing, and a small bag of keepsakes easily hidden or destroyed so as not to pollute his own world.

A note is left with the bar:

To all my friends:

My time has come.

Forgive me for not giving my farewell to you each in person. I may return tomorrow; or I may never see you again. If this is the one selfish thing I do in my life, I must beg forgiveness for it. I could not stand to be torn again. Know that my love is with you all, at the end of all things -- especially to you, my brother.

Faramir

He steps through the door.

[ooc: After a year and a half in the Bar, Faramir is in need of a canon shift before I drive the poor muse insane keeping him away from his soon-to-be wife. He'll be back!]

fallen-april.livejournal.com

[[OOM: Sometimes, the plans get changed without your permission - April goes to Ray's world and runs into a big problem]]

April is noticeably (to those who know her, at least) absent from the bar. She was supposed to be back yesterday.

Ray came in a while ago, however, looking rather serious, with a few notes in his hand. He left them with Bar. They are for a variety of different people, and most of them have at least a couple tear stains on them.

( Faramir )

( Miniver )

( Boromir )

( Angel )

( Mark )

( Anyone who would ask after her )

gentleprince.livejournal.com

It's late. The bar is quiet, but that's how he's preferred it of late. More and more a hermit. More and more going through the motions instead of living. A silent guard, a watchful pair of eyes, but not a man.

Not that he has noticed, or would complain if he did. But it's become harder to breathe here. His eyes are almost like polished stone instead of human eyes as he descends the stairs and looks out over the mostly-empty tables.

And sees a door.

A door where no door has been in almost a year and a half.

Suddenly those eyes come alive again, a shining brilliance that radiates out from him.

Home.

Home, where a woman waits who will be his wife. Home, where a stretch of green forest spreads piney arms to embrace the moon over the mountains -- his princedom. Home, his free, beloved Gondor, his King, a world somehow more immense, more joyful and sorrowful and majestic than all the worlds there are. Home always is.

Home.

Yet this place has become his home of sorts in the past many months, and he has friends and obligations, so he does not go to the door, trusting that it will remain. Instead, he turns back up the stairs.

There are preparations to be made.

( ooc )

mistressmaryquitecontrary

Perhaps the best word to describe Mary Lennox tonight is 'smug.' Smugness is practically radiating out of her. She sits on her chair smugly, she drinks her milkshake smugly, and she flips through her book on exotic plants virtuously and smugly as she compares the pictures to the small pile of plants on the table next to the book.

Wouldn't you be smug, after all, if you'd completed a successful raid on the room of an evil fairy, freed his prisoner, confiscated his blatantly suspicious magical plants, trashed his stuff, and gotten away scot-free?

gentleprince.livejournal.com

A Prince comes into the Bar.

His clothing seems... ill-fitting.

Fucking Milliways.

He adjusts his belt for the 8000th time and wanders to a booth, ordering a mug of ale from a passing waitrat.

Nothing to do, really, but wait for it to go away and listen for screaming indicating any possible source of the disturbance.

dragonofgrey.livejournal.com

Draco and Miniver were sitting at a table. Draco was currently reading over a book on basic charms to Miniver, and practicing with his wand to demonstrate. So there were sometimes bubbles, smoke creatures, or other simple trifles.

Earlier Tom agreed to help Miniver out with a trip to Ollivander's for a wand in his world. Draco was wanted there, or a version so it was out of the question for him to go along. Cover story of an American wizard who got his previous one broken. Quick-Spell course materials were picked up over at Flourish and Botts, as well as a few basic books. And some extra ones since Tom is nice that way.

This was going to take a long time. He was only about a decade and a half behind on training after all.

(ooc: two muns, two pups, with Tom-Miniver handwaveyness. You know the drill.)

gentleprince.livejournal.com

Faramir is in the Bar tonight, security badge clipped to his belt... but he's not really patrolling. He is reading, nearing the very end of an extremely large book. He's stopped turning the pages.

Come ask why he's grinning like that.

lvpd_sidle

One year ago, on this date, Sara was a crumpled sobbing mess on the lake shore, clutching a red spandex costume to her chest.

This year, she's not doing anything so dramatic.

A candle is lit and she stares out at the continuing destruction, almost entranced.

the-woodpecker.livejournal.com

There's no real sign that a party went on yesterday; the loompas made an exception and got busy outside once most patrons headed in to sleep.

It's much like it was yesterday.

Hot sun. Warm water. Abundant food. Unending drink.

And a certain air of lassitude that only an entire weekend of lying around in the sun can bring.

If you haven't yet joined the party, you might as well. We're only just getting started.

gentleprince.livejournal.com

...

..."Oh dear."

Faramir walks into the bar. And then finds himself hopping into the bar.

Sock puppets apparently don't have legs.

"Oh dear," he sighs, and continues hopping until he finds a chair he can hop into.

Not too close to the fire.

He sits there rubbing his head curiously with his non-hands and hoping someone ELSE is on Security duty right now, because his sword is a glorified chopstick and his head is stuffed with what feels like a shredded schoolgirl uniform kilt.

Fucking Milliways.

sonofwhitecity.livejournal.com

Nights when he works late, Boromir sleeps in his own room so not to disturb April.

Now he's wishing he hadn't last night, because something is off and he doesn't know what or why.

He's carving by the fireplace. It's possible that only people who know him well will notice the tightness around his mouth.

alwaysroomforhope

Steph has a book, and a tiny kitten, and a seat by the door. The book is face-down on the floor; the tiny kitten is hogging all her attention. It's tiny and cuddly and warm, and Steph's watching it try to walk straight lines with a vaguely adoring expression.

gentleprince.livejournal.com

[OOM: Room 771 - Winter's Breath In which April is very good at keeping Faramir from sulking, and Faramir is more maternal with her kitten than many women are with their human babies.]

fallen-april.livejournal.com

Sometimes disappearing into one's room for a few days to work on an idea is a good thing to do. And that's what April's been doing the past few days. That and teaching a certain troublesome kitten to use the litterbox.

However, she is downstairs now, sans notebook and kitten, and is sitting by the observation windows with a mug of hot chocolate, sipping on it slowly while she watches the universe end.

She is more than open to conversation.

gentleprince.livejournal.com

Moonlight.

Moonlight and stars and one needs no sharper knife in the darkness than the sky reflecting against the bright white snow. And so it is the stars on the snow that light his path as he walks beside the lake.

Winter is a cocoon. The stars are freedom. He could walk here like a man through dreams until sunrise and never know the time had passed.

Perhaps he could use some company, though...

gentleprince.livejournal.com

[OOM: Room 771 - Self-analysis a la Faramir. Look for a Prince inna Bar near you in the near future!]

princeinexile

If you didn't think Zuko could get anymore grumpy, think again.

It's been a long couple of weeks; his temper is short and his plans are-- well, not plans at all. More like seeds, hopes, dreams-- something he wants to do, but has no idea how to accomplish. How does he regroup and regain himself in Ba Sing Se? How does he gain resources? How does he prevent himself from simply wasting away as a peasant tea-slinging refugee instead of going home with honor?

How does it make it all work?

From the fact that he just pitched a scroll at the fire place and dropped back against the couch, covering his face with his hands, Zuko has no idea how he's going to do anything anymore. The fire leaps and crackles wildly, his rage fueling the flames.

sonofwhitecity.livejournal.com

Boromir sits at the bar, expression thoughtful. "Good lady Bar," he says after a moment, "if I were to request clothing--"

At once up pops leather trousers and a linen shirt, his usual.

"Thank you, good lady, but I am looking for something more . . . modern."

The clothes disappear, and there's a pause.

"Casual," Boromir tries.

Narrow it down, is the silent suggestion.

"Something April would like."

Ah! Jeans and a cotton shirt, then. Boromir smiles as he picks them up, and leaves behind a good chunk of his pay. "Thank you very much."

He's not going to shave, though. He's had a beard since he was old enough to grow one--that's not going to change.

works-in-space.livejournal.com

Personal log, stardate unknown. Unknowable. After several weeks in this strange place called Milliways, I am still no closer to finding a way to return to my own timeline. It has become increasingly clear the guiding force or forces that brought me and the other inhabitants of the anomaly here wish me to either serve a greater purpose or receive some sort of lesson. I do not enjoy being treated like a student, and yet I cannot say that, compared to other such experiences, that this one is as unpleasant. Jim feels better being able to at least record his impressions. An echo, no doubt, of a career spent keeping records of his every experience. He pauses and wonders about the irony of a veteran instructor at the Academy being the student now. I remain determined to find a way home, but I am quite certain that what I want will not resolve the situation..

Jim turns off the recorder and stares out the window. At least, as chaotic as that view is, he can understand what he's seeing, name some of the phenomena. But at the same time, he longs to be out there. It would be, to paraphrase a book he still fondly recalls, an awfully big adventure.

[ooc: slowtime possible for work]

Current Mood: contemplative

gentleprince.livejournal.com

The Bar always seems able to provide quiet corners for those who look for them. So, stationed somewhat out of the way of the hustle and bustle, with a well-lit table and a set of watercolor paints, there is a Prince fiddling with art. At the moment, he's painting seagulls.

He's quite good at it, actually.

lvpd_sidle

In a way, being Bound hasn't been a bad thing. Gil has spent a lot of his time with his family--his daughter is finally beginning to speak.

Sara has done her best to rest and not worry, futile as the latter effort proved to be.

Today, they are sitting in a booth, drinking coffee and talking quietly to one another.

Sara starts. "Gil....I can see the door."

He turns swiftly. "So do I."

A look is shared. Gil goes upstairs, speaking to Jack.

When he comes back down, Sara is getting out of her seat.

They head for the door.

[ooc: Last chance to catch them before new canon.]

namo

[OOM: Námo visits Faramir in Gondor before the Man arrives for the first time in Milliways. On his way back to Nerdanel's home, though, he is waylaid by Ruin who imparts a little warning. No warnings necessary.]

singlesoledjest.livejournal.com

"No, no, the nose is a small target, it should be worth at least five points." Mercutio has paused in his construction of a scoresheet to look up at Wes.

"Yours isn't," Wes says.

There is a pause. A Pause Of Great Dignity. "We are not talking about me. I will not be a target." The voice has Great Dignity. "And my nose isn't all that big, anyway. It's merely because you are so short, everything is magnified." The Dignity has disappeared.

"You're quibbling because you're a scaredy jawa." Wes grins, broad and bright. "You know you're going to lose. Bignose."

"Lay on, flying man."

The Great Cookie Throwing Competition has begun.