milliways_bar | Entries tagged with felix gaeta

What with one thing and another, Cullen hasn't been around much. But today's one of the days he feels like if he's around Kirkwall for another second, he's going to... do something dire. And there's been quite enough of that around Kirkwall.

Ci's big enough, and trained enough, to constitute a real threat these days. It would be good to do some mind-clearing exercises, he thinks, after he lets Ci run for a while.

These "mind-clearing exercises" Cullen's engaging in, hidden from the bar by a convenient rock at the Caribbean inlet, are actually a nap under a gently undulating palm tree. A literal watchdog keeps vigil, her ears pricked, her head resting on her paws.

faithful_lt

After so long, after the devastation of finding the ruined Earth, they'd once again had hope, of a sort.

Until it all fell apart. Again.

President Roslin had collapsed almost at the same moment that Galactica rocked with an explosion against the ship's hull. The deliberate close-proximity jump Boomer had made with her stolen Raptor during the kidnapping of Hera Agathon had damaged Galactica beyond repair. There had been no other choice, really, but to begin decommissioning her for parts now, before those last few planned jumps; with the President in sickbay, there's no chance to try an evacuation, not now. Fleet command will be transferred to the Cylon Baseship, and that soon.

Hoshi's still reeling from it all. When the Admiral's call had gone out, and they had all gathered in the bay to hear him speak, he hadn't been sure what he would do at first - but it didn't take long to make up his mind. He'd had to volunteer for the mission, no matter the risk; for Helo's sake, for Hera's, for all the many reasons... it was the right thing. He had to.

But as it turned out, Admiral Adama had other ideas.

(Admiral of the Fleet. Oh, gods.)

When Louis Hoshi steps through the door into Milliways, he's pale as death, but determined. Hard though it may be, his duty is clear, and there's no question in his mind.

He won't abandon his post. No matter the cost.

[ooc: open until it scrolls.]

hate_gettin_older

There's a small scuffle happening at the back of the main barroom. Not a violent scuffle as such, but a noisy one, punctuated as it is by the sound of a baby thoat making protesting noises.

"Look," Edgar tries again, "you are not supposed to be coming in here --"

Nitwit bawls again in complaint.

"Well sure I've been in here, but that's different, isn't it?"

mr_gaeta

Gogo found his current nestmate by being very good at sniffing out when people are sad. It's a skill! He's very good at it!

So when he and Nestmate came down to the bar this evening, and Gogo noticed the big dodo with the silver arm huddled in a miserable little lump by the fireplace, he threw Nestmate a look -- just to be sure he was okay first -- before waddling across the room to investigate.

Bemused, Gaeta followed a few paces behind. Curtis didn't even notice until the other side of the couch sagged under a new weight (i.e. a thirty- or forty-pound extinct bird hefting himself onto the cushions), and by then it was too late: a second later, Gogo flopped down over Curtis' thighs, plocking out a quiet reassurance. IT'S GOING TO BE OKAY, GIANT DODO STRANGER.

"...Sorry," Gaeta says, rueful.

"No, um." Curtis blinks down at the bird; tentatively, he settles his right hand on Gogo's head. "It's. It's okay."

Gaeta's had enough frakked-up days himself to know a bad one when he sees it. He takes a seat not far from Gogo and Curtis, but doesn't say anything, busying himself with getting some coffee and dinner instead. For a while, it's quiet in their corner of the bar.

Then: "Is this a dodo?" Curtis ventures.

Gaeta cracks a smile. "Yeah."

The ensuing conversation's soft, lurching along in little fits and starts, but another thing Gaeta knows about bad days: sometimes, it helps to talk about nothing. Or about the dodo that just threw himself into your lap because you were radiating so much pain and grief, as the case may be. Maybe they'll move to something else later. Maybe not. It's fine either way.

[ooc: two pups, tag either or both!]

faithful_lt

[OOM: Millitimed back a few months to just after this...

A difficult dinner conversation.

]

presidentpythia

[Immediately after this....]

The front door cracks open.

"... right now, Madam President?" There's the faintest hint of alarm in Hoshi's voice, quickly controlled.

"I don't see any reason to wait, do you, Lieutenant?"

"No, Madam President."

Lieutenant (Junior Grade) and Senior Officer of the Watch Louis Hoshi pushes the door all the way open and braces to attention at the side of it, holding it for the woman who walks through after him.

Laura Roslin is moving slowly, with a tightness to the corners of her mouth that belies a certain degree of pain, but she's clearly determined for all of that.

As soon as she's inside, Hoshi closes the door, signals the nearest waitrat, and hurries to pull out a chair at a vacant table for Roslin.

Shortly afterward, the two of them are seated across from each other. Roslin has a cup of tea, and Hoshi a cup of coffee. Both appear to be watching the room.

(For some reason, Hoshi's a lot more tense than Roslin is.)

[ooc: tag either or both!]

mr_gaeta

Gaeta has a new project. He's been meaning to do it for a while, but the recent calendar change from one year to the next -- discovered when Bar gave him a giant pair of plastic 2015 eyeglasses a few weeks back -- spurred him to action.

He's going to reconcile his world's calendar with Earth's calendar, godsdammit.

It's complex as hell, and makes for a good distraction; yes, the Colonies had a standardized calendar, but even that required reconciling the orbits of twelve different planets. Now he's throwing a thirteenth one into the mix, which counts its days, years, and possibly even its hours and minutes by a completely different scale. This math's going to take weeks, if not months, and he couldn't be happier about it.

(Especially since Louis has been...not distant, really, but quieter than usual. More reticent. Every time Gaeta tries to nudge him into talking about how Galactica's doing, his partner expertly flips it into asking Gaeta how Milliways is doing instead. It's worrisome.)

Also an excellent distraction? Cake. Having received confirmation from Bar that it's perfectly normal, perfectly delicious cake, Gaeta nibbles at it absently as he flips through page after page of calculations.

heisgroot

The door creaks open.

In pokes a head. It's probably quite unlike a head most patrons of Milliways have ever seen, on top of an eight-foot-tall body to boot--but the eyes are gentle and there's a smile on his mouth as soon as he realizes the door opens to a bar.

He is Groot, and Groot is in the bar.

[ooc: Please see this back_room entry regarding communicating with Groot.

AHH Y'all are wonderful but I must close the entry to new threads as of 11:15 pm mountain time. Thanks!]

i_am_your_host

Money makes the world go around
The world go around
The world go around
Money makes the world go around
It makes the world go 'round.

A mark, a yen, a buck, or a pound
A buck or a pound
A buck or a pound
Is all that makes the world go around,
That clinking clanking sound
Can make the world go 'round...

The door flies open to a burst of brassy music and raucous applause and cheers. The Master of Ceremonies dashes in, wearing a top hat and a white tuxedo coat with tails (shirtless beneath it), and clutching a small briefcase marked with an X. A fake American dollar bill, garishly green with "$$$" on it, is held between his teeth.

As soon as he realizes he's not backstage in his dressing room (again), he plucks the slip of paper from his mouth and sighs.

And then he goes to the Bar for a glass of gin and a cigarette, because he might as well. At least his entrance didn't involve blood and tears like the last time.

[OOC: Slowtimes for all! *tosses fake money into the air*]

thekidfrombrooklyn

[OOM: Felix's vacation weekend continues...

Orpheus and Felix enjoy a rooftop smoke.

Felix tastes his first frappucino.]

baptizemyself

It's beautiful bright sunny day. The squid is chilling in the lake. The demon bunnies are skirting the edge of the forrest, looking for easy prey. And there is a party going on.

Why?

Why not!

Who needs a reason to have a good old fashioned lake party?

Certainly not us!

[OOC: Happy Tenth Anniversary, Milliways! You know the drill! Tag one, tag all, threadhop! Enjoy!]

never_shall_yield

Javert enters the bar backwards this evening, because he's dragging a large crate with him. It is making a lot of noise, and there is a spinning wheel on top of it. He pulls it all the way through the bar, and out to the stables...everything is going well until he opens it in an empty stall. Enraged at being pulled around, and stupid creatures that they are, the chickens erupt out of it in a flurry of white and brown feathers. Javert ignores this, but then two manage to escape out of the stall door.

'The deuce!' he mutters, and proceeds to spend the next hour chasing them back inside.

That done, he returns to the bar and leaves a note.

( Ellen Park )

After some hesitation, he writes another.

( Ganymede )

That done, Bar provides him with a note of his own. He frowns at it, then puts it in his pocket and stands, undecided. Back to France, or stay a while? A coffee appears on the bar, so he supposes that decides that.

[OOC: Catch him in the bar, in the stables or help him catch some chickens! Open for the next few days.]

mr_gaeta

[Out of Milliways, directly after this:

I frakking hate Cubefall.

(Or: the start of Gaeta's weekend vacation.)]

mr_gaeta

Gaeta's been a little antsy the past couple of weeks. One eye to the calendar, one eye to his memories, he counted down to what should have been that frakking awful robot holiday he had to endure last year. Then the expected weekend came, and...nothing.

Maybe Bar had been wrong when she told him it happened every year. Maybe he still isn't wholly attuned to the Milliways calendar.

Either way, his guard's down when he enters the main bar, and when he looks up to see the Lego-lined walls and the furnace burning in the corner, he grabs for the banister like he's been punched in the gut. Pale and frozen, he stares out at the room.

Oh, gods. No. Not again.

[ooc: this one's plotlocked -- sorry, folks!]

the_obverse

Grantaire sits at a table, contemplating what is -- believe it or not -- his first drink of the day. It's half empty currently; as an intellectual experiment (but only that) he is seeing how long it will last him.

On a napkin, he has been doodling angry cartoon pears.

mr_gaeta

For the first time in a very long while, Gaeta is walking -- slowly, yes, but still walking -- without his crutches.

For the first time in a very long while, he's also sliding behind the bar to chalk up the specials board.

(Bar, it seems, took the lack of crutches to mean he's up for doing this sort of thing again. Gaeta can't complain; he has missed it.)

TONIGHT'S SPECIAL
Coffee
any kind

because it's the nectar
of the gods & anyone
who says otherwise is
a dirty liar

"Happy hour," he calls. "What can I get you?"

[ooc: off to bed! slowtime now in effect; post is open until I say it's not.]

singthesong

A door opens, and a man enters the bar.

He's dressed casually, jeans and a shirt with rolled-up sleeves, and there's a guitar slung across his back. The Balladeer swings it around to his side as he comes to a surprised halt, in an easy practiced motion that looks like instinct.

This isn't entirely unheard of; goodness knows the little piece of existence he calls home isn't especially stable. He's walked out of Maryland, 1865 right into New York, 1901 more times than he can really count. But this is different. He doesn't recognize this, and it doesn't quite seem to belong the way the other places do. There's no music to it.

After a moment of thought, he turns on his heel and opens the door again, just cracking it enough to stick his head through inquisitively. Yep. Everything's still there on the other side, just like he left it. If he went back through and tried the door again, would this place still be here?

Shrugging to himself, the Balladeer shuts the door again and goes to sit at the bar instead. It's not like he was doing anything important anyway - why not?

mr_gaeta

[Upstairs, not long after his conversation with Javert:

It wasn't that bad.

]

never_shall_yield

Javert has spent the last three days in a state of numb disbelief. He has left his room only to work at the forge - which he does in complete silence - pray in the room being used as a chapel, and procure some basic food. He only comes downstairs tonight because he can no longer stand the silence; if the numbness wears off when he is alone, he is afraid of what he might think of.

He sits right in front of the Observation Window. This might not be immediately recognisable as odd to anyone who was not here when he arrived, but there it is. He is also dressed...well. Even when returning to the bar from working, be it in the forge or on the church, Javert is always neat. His clothes may be scuffed and dirty, but they are tucked in, his cravat is placed just so, his waistcoat buttoned. Tonight...his cravat is off-centre, and the knot is loose. The lower button of his waistcoat is unfastened, and his belt buckle sits to the side. Small things perhaps, to anyone who is not Javert.

There is also a bottle of wine on the table. It is open, and the glass is in his hand. There are no qualms about drinking tonight, it seems.

[OOC: Apologies if he's less than forthcoming and/or rude. He's stressed. :\ Open until tomorrow evening for new threads, then slowtime. <3

Annnd, must slowtime for sleep. Thanks, all! <3 <3 <3]

thekidfrombrooklyn

Here's a Steve, flipping through the Big Book of Drinks and frowning.

TONIGHT'S SPECIALS
Suggest a good theme and your first drink is on the bartender.

It's been a while since he's done this. Be gentle.

[ooc: No new threads please! Slowtime in effect as of 4/20 at 10:23 mst.]

mr_gaeta

When Gaeta arrives downstairs, he's barely taken a seat at the bar before a large cup of coffee materializes in front of him -- along with soup, grilled cheese, and a pair of oranges. Pleased, but puzzled, he smiles.

"You know me so well, ma'am," he says. "Thank you."

A napkin appears near his hand. Gaeta picks it up; slowly, the smile fades. "What?"

A second napkin.

"Oh," he whispers. Pressing his knuckles to his mouth, he stares down at the food for a long beat. "Could I, um. Could I please have a bottle of ambrosia, too?"

Bar hesitates, but provides the requested drink.

"No need for a glass."

An even longer hesitation, and the glass disappears back into the bartop. Taking the bottle -- and leaving the food -- he levers himself up, limping over to a free chair near the fire.

Next to his abandoned plate, the napkin reads: It's been a year.

mr_gaeta

[Out of Milliways:

"Do you know where you are right now?"]

collects_strays

[OOM: your life is separating from reality. Warnings for violence, nightmares, and mild allusions to gaslighting and cannibalism.]

It's warmer than he was expecting. What was he expecting? The moment Graham walks through the door, he can't really recall. (A doorway effect, move from one room to another and forget why you did in the first place.) The distant roar that was in his mind swells and disperses into the clatter of utensils and an unfamiliar mix of voices.

He squints, eyes still adjusting to the sudden brightness, and thinks of headlights. But there are too many voices, too many sounds he doesn't recognize, nothing he knows as the room comes into focus. And as he stays outwardly still, the previously slow and steady beat of Graham's mind picks up pace, whirring from awareness to full-on panic as he realizes he doesn't know where he is.

It's too much to speak, or step any farther into the room, or even look around. Graham's hand trembles as he reaches into the pocket of his jacket for his glasses, the most immediate defense mechanism he has.

[ooc: Hi! This post is open, but all other threads will take place after the one with Dr. Lecter. Please see this post for warnings concerning Will's canon and how I intend to play him, and information about his "empathy."]

mr_gaeta

As slow going as it's been, the physical therapy seems to be working. Gaeta still needs to use both crutches to get around, but he can walk for longer, and with less pain, than he could a mere month ago. All the hard work means some of the elated shine of having a prosthesis has worn off; still, the increased mobility has done a hell of a lot for his mood.

He's upstairs in the gym, keeping up a slow, measured plod on one of the treadmills. Not too long ago, Bolin made his way up there, too -- seeing the guy with the metal leg got a surprised stare, but he hastily covered it up with some cheery pleasantries before jogging over to the weight bench.

(Pabu, on the other hand, has taken a seat right in front of the treadmill with his head cocked. Gaeta's leg. It's so SHINY.)

[ooc: please specify who you're tagging! post is open until I say it's not.]