milliways_bar | Entries tagged with feuilly

Outside on the grass, from the Scout Hut towards the beach, there is bunting and fairy lights and a large banner.

MILLIWAYS THIRD COUNTY FAIR

The fair is here for the whole week, and there's something for everyone, so come along and join us!

[ooc: OPEN TO ALL!
Threadhopping encouraged!

For further details, this post, and this post.

Horticultural show entries are now CLOSED.
Sports threads are now CLOSED.
Stalls/other are OPEN]

ownerless

It's the middle of the night in Beach City when Pearl slips out of her room and into the Bar, a sword tucked under each arm. Not that she's sneaking. She has any number of reasons ready to hand for why she's still going back to that strange place... her work on the door, the potential access to new technology and research, the need to monitor if any other gems have arrived there...

Alright, the swords would be be a bit harder to explain. But if she's going to linger here for perfectly legitimate and logical reasons, she might as well be able to practice to pass the time! Right?

(ooc: feel free to waylay her at the bar, or en route to the practice room!)

tu_vas_triompher

((After all that IMDB flu business, Harry and Feuilly catch up with each other and decide to go out for some fresh air away from the germs. (Or to rebalance their humors.) They find the Labyrinth, and end up with some flashbacky bodyswappy strangeness: Feuilly finds himself at a point in Harry's past and Harry finds himself at a point in Feuilly's.))

harryhotspur

[oom: Harry loses his temper, then wakes up not quite feeling like himself.]

Smoking with the flu-- it's a stupid thing to do, and Ashley knows that, but first off, he's still pretty sure this is all a dream, and second, dream or not, the place is unsettling enough that he can do with something routine and calming. So he's standing just out back behind the bar, looking more than a little under the weather (pale and feverish, red nose, every couple drags on the cigarette punctuated by a barking cough), but perfectly alert, aware of everyone who passes by.

For all that he bears Harry Percy's face and frame (and he hasn't quite worked that one out, except as another element of the dream, why should suddenly be so much younger, and be in the kind of shape he was definitely never in, even in his twenties), he doesn't carry himself in anything like a Percy-ish manner. He leans idly against the back wall of the bar, jeans and a leather jacket, a checked shirt and a bland jumper. And the cigarettes. He has an approachable look-- not Harry's resting scowl-- he'll probably share.

[harry currently believes himself to be ashley cowgill from the TV series happy valley. i'll be on slowtimes for today, but around properly tomorrow and through the weekend]

mogget_cat

The bar room of Milliways is always full of sound - the clatter of dishes and clink of glasses, chairs being scooted back or further in, footsteps upon the floor, rats squeaking, the background murmur of conversations overlapping one another.

But tonight the main door to the bar opens to the mouth of an city alleyway, to a caucophony of noise and music, full of seething crowds and colorful parade floats, the smells of food and sweat and smoke and beer and those colorful fruity drinks sold in yard-long plastic glasses with umbrellas in them. Mardi Gras is in full swing and New Orleans has outdone itself this time.

Yrael enters, trailing laughter from a section of the crowd on the other side. His white hair is decorated with purple, gold and green feathers, his pale face partially hidden by a sharp, glittery cat mask of gold, behind which his green eyes are bright. Over his white shirt this evening he wears a shiny waistcoat of purple, gold, green, and black. It's clearly party time, big time, show time -

"And then some!" he grins, seeing Milliways. "Fat Tuesday is upon us, Milliways! Welcome to Mardi Gras! Come, dance, explore! Laissez les bons temps rouler!"

Yrael will make sure the door stays open for any party-goer who would like to partake in the joie de vivre, and the Bar can certainly provide a change of costume...

(ooc: The post will be open all weekend and into next week as needed! Usual party-thread guidelines apply! Tag in! Threadhop! Meet new people and get into trouble! :D Yrael will be around, but his mun will not be able to tag much until Monday evening. <333333)

onceaviking

The door opens, briefly showing a view of a slightly cluttered living room.

A vampire steps through.

The door closes behind him and disappears.

He is tall, the vampire. Dressed in dirty blue jeans and nothing else, with a bare chest and bare, muddy feet. His hair is tousled and his eyes are wide.

This isn't Sookie's kitchen.

He turns and sees the bare wall. No door.

The look in his eyes edges toward full-on panic.

What is this place?
And why is he here?

{ooc: and welcome to Season Four of True Blood. This is Eric. He is a vampire. Those are the only two things he knows about himself. Clean slate, child-like naïveté. Please don't break him.}

lark_in_flight

You -- yes, you, whoever you are -- got an invitation to the party. All of Milliways is welcome!

If you choose to come, you'll find Bar directing you to a big round tent that went up this afternoon on the lawn outside the bar. Marius and Cosette and various friends spent a lot of time this morning ferrying decorations in, and the waitrats spent a lot of time in the afternoon ferrying food in, but the doors won't officially open until close to sunset.

But this isn't a cheap white plastic tent, oh no. It's warm and domed and made of thick fabric, something like a very large yurt. A bit of magic keeps out the drafts, making everything extra cozy.

There's a fire in the middle of the floor, with a low screen encircling it but also magic meaning that this fire puts of warmth but will not actually burn anything, even if you step right into it. The floor is wood -- great for dancing, if you feel like it! There's a piano over against the wall for anyone who wants to make some music.

Everywhere there are garlands of European evergreen branches and herbs, studded with bright dried fruit and sparkling ornaments. (Mistletoe might very well be among them, though the Pontmercies haven't thought to supply that as an intentional party game.) There are candles and lanterns everywhere, and a big chandelier. There are no electric lights at all -- it's all fire -- but a good number of them are magical, so that nothing's going to get set on fire or covered with smoke. The general intended impression is of genteel, welcoming festivity, in a very French and very early 19th century European way.

There are food and drinks galore. Come in and enjoy the party!

[OOC: Party-style post! Subthreads for various categories and activities, etc. Open from now until whenever!

Edit: As of Joly's arrival, Cosette now has a mini-polaroid camera. Fear, Milliways. Feel free to assume that she's popped up to take a candid picture of your character(s) at any point, as long as they're not doing or wearing anything scandalous! She will happily give the resulting picture to your character if they want; it probably won't be a very good picture, in terms of composition or focus, but it will be cheerfully enthusiastic.]

death_gone_mad

Last year, a prowling, yowling thing caused the Yule Goat to set itself on fire. But this Wintumber, the night is dark, long, and lonely. Well, save for a waxing quarter moon, but by midnight it disappears below the horizon. If only if it wasn't for the pesky cold, such a night would be perfect for mischief.

--

The sun does eventually rise, and those who rise with it and look toward the lake will see a giant shaggy goat made of bamboo, hay, and palm fronds standing on the lake shore, staring at Milliways. Its eyes, made of cacao husks, look almost insectoid this year.

It is completely coincidental that Captain Sarah Black came in through the back door half an hour or so before sunrise, wheeling in a cartload of barrels, full of fragrant roasted cocoa beans, grown right in Milliways' backyard. At least that is what she has claimed every time she has come in with a shipment. At the present moment she and some of the waitrats have taken over a wide table near a window with a good view of the lake. They have been haggling over the price of chocolate, the quality of the beans, and Captain Black's outstanding bar tab for what seems hours already. There have only been two pauses in the intense negotiations so far, one for breakfast and another before that for... well, the waitrats are still trying to figure out why the captain requested a bunch of lobster traps and string from the bar before going out the back door again. It was still before sunrise when she got back.

Interruptions might be welcome?

[Elf-free except for threads which spawn off the first comment, let's keep the little devils contained]

pro_patria_mortuus

Enjolras had been planning to get some work done in his room in Paris. There's a pamphlet Joly put together, yet another attempt to clearly educate the citizenry on basic wound care, that he promised to look over for edits, and another pamphlet on avoiding typhus that he wants to look over for his own understanding. Besides that, he wants to spend some time thinking on their next steps in liaising with certain other groups, though that's nothing he'll commit to paper.

But the door opened on Milliways. He trades a look with the brown and white eagle on his shoulder. "Might as well," she says, and Enjolras agrees with the slightest tip of his head.

Very well: the bar for water, and then to a table.

Except that Bar gives him not just water and an unrequested sandwich, but also a packet wrapped in brown paper, with his name written on the outside in his own handwriting. A packet he has no memory of creating.

He trades another one of those looks with his daemon. Jeanne hops from his shoulder to peer at the package up close, cocking her head one way and then the other.

"Not here," says Enjolras, quietly, and Jeanne reshuffles her feathers with a head-bob. He tucks the packet away in a pocket of his coat, and takes his lunch upstairs along with it.

It's quite a while before he reappears. When he does, the packet is back in a pocket, rewrapped and retied with string, and both Enjolras and Jeanne are wrapped in deep and troubled preoccupation.

He'll take a seat at a table, one hand curled at his mouth in absent thought, and fall into a reverie. But Jeanne, perched in a rafter above, is keeping an eye out for friends -- especially friends from home, but others would be welcome, too.

[OOC: Enjolras is from the same daemonverse AU as last year, and your character is welcome to have met him before or not! Also, he can be caught before or after he goes upstairs. Mun is going to bed within an hour or so, but slowtimes are welcome.]

tu_vas_triompher

Feuilly is usually a morning person, a daytime person, up and working early and spending his evenings quietly with friends. But after failing to just-happen-to run into Eric the last few times he's been in the bar for dinner, he's made a point now of taking work to the bar in the evening.

So there's a young dead Frenchman at one of the tables, with a portfolio and various notebooks spread out, and a somewhat neglected dinner at his elbow. He's here to look for his vampire client, but he's at least as much here to socialize with anyone who happens to come by.

((Aaah, sorry Eric-mun, it's been ages since they talked at the fair, but I haven't forgotten the commission!))

i_am_your_host

The door opens and in steps a slight and slender youth, dark haired, doe eyed, and rosy lipped. He might be sixteen, seventeen, eighteen -- who knows? Not even he does. But dressed in a white button-down shirt, with flannel slacks and a waistcoat (all neat but secondhand), he may be trying to appear older or educated. He's aware that he's not particularly convincing. It's just part of the game.

"Milliways," he murmurs under his breath as his lips curl in a smile.

The memories come flooding back. He hadn't remembered a thing when he left, his mind seemingly wiped clean of this place and the people he'd met. But now, he remembers. And he wonders how he could have ever forgotten.

He goes right up to the bar and orders a really, really big mug of beer.

tu_vas_triompher

((After the fair. Feuilly and Harry come to the conclusion that they are happy.))

is_the_motion

Out back, the lawn and the Scout Hut have been decked out with bunting, chairs and tables set out. There are games and stalls, and someone has even set up a doggy assault course. The sound of fairground music and the delicious scent of good food floats over the garden.

The Milliways County Fair has arrived, and everyone is welcome!

[ooc: Open forever! IC date 4-9th July, but open now to maximise people being able to take part. Threadhopping encouraged. See Back Room Post and Original Back Room Post for details.

All entries in the horticultural show must be posted by ~~9pm GMT/3pm EST Wednesday 6th July~~ Entries are closed - Judging in progress]

tu_vas_triompher

Don't mind the sudden delighted yelp from one end of the bar: it's the continued football invasion of Milliways, and Poland just scored.

Feuilly had found himself honor-bound to support England, and he'd valiantly suppressed any hint of delight at the Icelandic upset. But by God, he'll cheer his heart out for Poland. Even if they haven't been the most...stirring team of the tournament so far.

Poland is not yet lost.

harryhotspur

So arresting Henry was weird.

And it has, to his faint irritation, set Hotspur into a rare contemplative mood. Of course, even a year on, having the time and space to be forced to actually think things through is still not a circumstance to which he is accustomed. But when riding, practicing, tramping through the woods, riding again, and then practicing some more do nothing to dispel his nagging thoughts, he ends up sitting at the bar, prodding moodily at a plate of leafy greens that the bar insists are meant to be eaten.

(He is skeptical.)

bigarmy_strangepants

Ragnar Lothbrok is sitting at the bar, drinking ale and trying to comprehend the game going on on the screen behind the bar.

It's some blue guys against some white guys, and the blue guys have names that sound familiar to Ragnar. One of them is even called Ragnar, too. And they definitely know how a shieldwall works.

He doesn't quite understand what is going on, but he is probably getting there. And rooting for the blue ones whenever he understands what they are doing.

le_centre

Bar has turned very red today. Courfeyrac had come down for lunch, and received a note asking if he'd mind 'tending later. And of course he doesn't! He's been meaning to give it a go for a while.

But this is not a normal day, and while a small part of him is reflective, even a little sad, the rest of him thinks it's a rather good opportunity to celebrate something that was so nearly glorious. So, he gets busy for the rest of the afternoon. Red flags are hung along the back of the bar. He chalks tiny tricolours around the edges of the specials board, and requests bowls of red, white and blue rosettes to place along the bar-top. Bunting hangs off the outer edge, and music is carefully chosen from the popular revolutionary choices of his day, playing softly from iPod speakers.

Then he cracks out the vodka, and sets to mixing up shot glasses of spiked jelly (he's read about this! Too good an opportunity to pass up!) in the colours of the flag. He doesn't make the cake himself - be thankful, Milliways - but asks Bar. And so, the centrepiece is a giant sponge iced in the shape of a barricade, a blond figure on top waving a flag in one hand, a sword in the other.

(There is also a carefully made hat lying on its side among the barricade furniture. Alas, good headpiece! Sorely missed.)

CITIZENS

Any friend of the Republic drinks their choice at half price.
Cake and jelly drinks are free.

Vive la Révolution!!!

He does wonder whether celebrating one's death-day in such a manner could be seen as inappropriate, but it's his anniversary - their anniversary - and remembering the fight is not something he'll feel guilty for. He does dress in the clothes of his time out of respect, but his cheerful grin is undimmed as he takes his place behind the bar, and awaits customers.

(And tries the vodka jelly. SO GOOD.)

[OOC: Here to celebrate the June Rebellion, and the death of Les Amis! Please do chat and thread hop. Open until no one wants to play any more. <333

ETA: *laughing* Y'all are crazy, and brilliant! I'm tapping out for the night, but will be back in the am to pick everything up. <3]

tu_vas_triompher

((A while back Feuilly asked Joly about treatment for his elderly dog's cataracts. Joly comes to check out the situation and see if he thinks he can help. Just a very small scenelet, because dogs.))

tu_vas_triompher

Hmmm, it looks like Feuilly is taking a little break from his pile of miscellaneous work to do...other miscellaneous work, apparently! At least, he's earnestly and seriously copying something down from a laptop screen onto a sheet of paper, and making little marks.

And now and then pausing to plead with Bar: "I, I understand that time here is very difficult to predict but--but do you think you could at least send me a message before these matches? --Oh, and, and there's another one on June 21st--at least, it's June 21st by this calendar, but--"

His coffee is getting cold.

((Ooof, let's see if I've got my RP mojo back again...))

just_cant_lose

OOM: Holiday funtimes

Jim has clearly got away from it all. He is dressed in shorts and T-shirt, with messy hair, and his tan has covered the last remnants of the black eye he was last here with. He has also taken over two tables in the corner of the bar, strewn them with parts, and tools, and wires. There is a pen behind one ear and a chewed pencil twirling in the fingers of his left hand.

'No no no. The wires won't...you have to allow space for - you do understand what I'm saying, yes?'

Heckle and Jeckle look at each other, and one of them beeps at Jim.

'No, you're right. Fine. Show me how you'd do it.'

The two drones circle back to the sheets of paper they seem to be arguing over. Jim smiles when they're not looking, and watches them work. Interesting.

[OOC: Open all weekend! Playing with the drones with permission from Jay's mun. Thanks, Munnin! <3]

tire_moi_mes_bottes

There are children everywhere, and have been for at least a couple of days. Lègle does not consider this to be his natural environment. But Joly has been a champion of head-counts and damage control, and other people have been stepping up to provide cake and entertainment and sensible things like that, so--so it's time for him to take his turn and do his duty.

Joly occasionally (frequently) makes noises about nutrition, which seems to include fruits and vegetables. So Lesgle is behind the bar chopping up strawberries and melons, mixing up fresh lemonade, and stirring a quietly simmering bowl of punch. It's not even a little bit alcoholic!

If you look to be under the age of sixteen or so, he's likely to wave you over and ask if you'd like anything. If you look to be over the age of sixteen or so, he'd be very grateful for some adult conversation.

(What else is nutritious? Hmm. When he has a spare moment, he starts pulling out fixings for ham and cheese sandwiches. That's nutritious, right?)

((Open thread, party style, tag in, hop around!))

((...heh, no, really, please do hop around and talk to each other because i can't keep up with so many threads! :D ))

pro_patria_mortuus

This is not Jean-Sébastien's home. Nor is it his home's garden, or the street, or anywhere in Le Puy-en-Velay that he's ever seen. He was just going to his tutor for Latin, and now -- whatever this is.

But it's full of children. And the door locked behind him.

(He could very nearly be afraid. But -- would a Spartan be afraid in unfamiliar territory? Would a representative-on-mission? No. They would keep their heads and scout the terrain, and find allies, and not be afraid of anyone ever. So he'll be like a Spartan or a representative-on-mission.)

So there's a very blond boy around Milliways, in a suit that marks him as both rich (if somewhat provincial) bourgeois, and of the very early 19th century. He's ten, and looks younger; he hasn't hit the growth spurts yet that he will later, and his face is rosy-cheeked and round and cherubic.

He can be found either sitting at a table, feet dangling quietly as he watches the room, or walking around the outdoors lawn. Either way, there's wide-eyed curiosity that is definitely not unsettled even a little okay good. (Okay, sometimes it's genuinely not. There's a lot that's distracting here!)

[OOC: Mun is only here for a couple of hours and then will be gone the rest of the day, so all threads will go to slowtime soon. But I wanted to get the EP up, and I'll tag as I can!]

clayforthedevil

The door from the yard crashes open under the assault of a boy shouting with cheerful indignation, "Peace don't you dare--" before the sight of Milliways sinks in and, in a rare occurence, strikes him silent.

Jean-Pierre L'Opinion Bahorel looks warily around the bar for a few moments; it is very obviously not a farmer's home in the south of France. Anyone looking at him might guess that's the place he belongs, an already-tall boy carrying a large bundle of kindling over his back, clearly healthy and well looked-after despite all the scrapes and bruises of a wild childhood, his smock and trousers and bright sash and wooden shoes clearly well-made-- even a little decorated-- for all they're muddy and made for work.

He gives Milliways a look of serious assessment, before popping out and back in the door a few times in quick succession.

His last trip out takes a while; when he returns he's still damp from rather obviously cleaning himself off in the lake. His clothes are cleaner, too, except for his shoes-- cleaner, and inside-out. He puts a hand on Bar as he looks around the room this time, and is answered with a greeting pamphlet and a bowl of potatoes and bacon that he looks at seriously before pulling several sticks out of his bundle and sliding them across the counter. "I'm paying for it, though, with things from home. I don't owe you. That's how it works." So there, mysterious, forces.

And then he goes to sit near the window, attention divided between the door, his meal, and what is, to judge by his expression, an extremely complicated piece of paper.

just_cant_lose

Well, this is new. And that's OK! New is good. Unexpected is not, particularly, and that's why this particular young man's surprise at finding himself wandering strange corridors has quickly melted to suspicion, and then anger.

He schools himself out of it by the time he finds the stairs. He waits at the bottom of them, perfectly still apart from large, dark eyes that flit over the whole place, taking it all in with no expression on his face. Only the Window gets a second look, and when he's finished his surveillance he walks over to it and stands there, staring in mute wonder, one hand pressed to the glass.

He can investigate the room later. This is more interesting for now.

[OOC: Open all weekend! <3]