milliways_bar | Entries tagged with floki

George has set himself up at a large, round table in one corner of the bar. He's got a stack of character sheets, a bagful of dice, pizza, Doritos, Mountain Dew, and Red Vines, as per Simon's recollections of his D&D games.

He's also got beer (because someone named Thor Odinson seems like he probably doesn't drink Mountain Dew), crisps of other sorts, and a bowl of various candies. The sign-up sheet on the bar has been edited to indicate where to find Mr. George Lovelace, and in the meantime, he's hunched over his DM screen, scratching out notes.

[ooc: Plot-locked to the first D&D group. Starters will be in the comments!]

gods_that_haunt_me

The door opens onto a wintry, misty seaside, and in steps a very tall man draped with a hooded fur cloak. Instantly his black-rimmed eyes widen in the shadow of the hood. As the door closes behind him, Floki lowers the hood and rubs his hands together, grateful for the warmth that Milliways provides at the most unexpected times.

But as he makes his way toward the bar, he catches sight of some very small movements. Underfoot.

He casts a questioning gaze around the room. It's not the waitrats.

"Elves?"

[OOC: Open to all normal-sized and shrunken pups.]

is_the_motion

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]

foolyoutwice

"Well it's mine now." Bar produces another napkin-note; Loki reads it, eyes narrowed. "--Then I'll pay. There's money in my account. Roughly a bank's-worth. It ought to cover a single unarmed skiff. --All right, thank you. And the paint I asked for? Green. Mm."

Loki leaves the bar with a bucket of paint, shaking his head, and makes for the lake, where his skiff, the one that is definitely his and not Milliways property, is waiting. Thank you, Milliways, and thank you X.

((OOM link to adventures with Loki and X. Catch Loki in the bar or outside!))

run_barry

It's a quiet day in Central City. No dead bodies have dropped to call Barry into his day job, and a quick zip around the city yields only a mugger and one jaywalker who would've been pancaked by a garbage truck if 'The Streak' hadn't been there to rush him to the safety of the sidewalk.

(Seriously, he needs a better superhero name.)

With things so chill at home Barry is glad when he finds Milliways in his apartment. He was looking for something to eat, but the fridge and cupboards in his place are bare.

Obviously it's time for him to join Costco or something, but in the meantime...

"Hey, Bar," he greets the counter, sliding onto a stool wearing blue jeans and a sweatshirt. "Can I get a-- "

A platter appears with deli meats and cheeses all cut down to fit on the accompanying Ritz crackers. It's the type of tray usually made to feed small armies of party guests.

"--snack."

Barry grins and while he starts assembling cracker sandwiches, Bar produces a chocolate milkshake; which earns a wary glance from Barry, but he soon discovers this one isn't a protein ruse.

[ooc: Here all day, and this will be open through the weekend.]

cottoncandypink

Wilford comes into the bar, not even a little bit surprised when a red and white dog follows cautiously behind him. He ignores the dog and walks straight to the bar to get a drink. Along with his whiskey, he also gets a bowl of water. This does not amuse him, but he puts it on the floor anyway.

The dog doesn't seem to care. It seems more caught up in the realisation that maybe it didn't want to follow Wilford here after all, and just cowers beneath the stool he's sitting on.

[ooc: Usual drug use and violence warnings in the link. Also warnings for discussion of animal cruelty in the thread with Floki.]

feminine_menace

[ELFWARNING]

CURRENT rapidRadish [CRR] RIGHT NOW opened memo on board DOGS I MET TODAY

CRR: got a special one today
CRR: meet Stella!

CURRENT rapidRadish [CRR] sent file "stella.jpg"

CRR: she is a red standard poodle
CRR: (so she is gonna be huge)
CRR: and she is mine
CRR: some day I will bring her for a visit

YT's in a chair by the fire, reading Neuromancer because she wants to understand what the fuck Hiro and his bithead friends are talking about.

At one point YT has to get up to use the restroom. She sees some kind of elf doll sitting on the coffee table. She could've sworn it wasn't there before - and it's looking at her in a totally creeptastic way. She flips it the bird as she walks off to the john.

When she returns, she finds a new elf on the chair where she was sitting. The new elf, and the old one on the coffee table, are both eyeing her judgmentally. YT eyes them right back. Not like she's gonna be intimidated by stupid fucking elf dolls.

So, yes, anyone who comes across YT at this point will find her engaged in a staring contest with a pair of Christmas elf dolls. Probably not the weirdest thing that's ever happened at Milliways, but still.

mnt_mike

*(offer not valid for turkeys)

Did you see that?
Just a little bit of movement in the corner of your eye.
Wait...there it is again!
What is that?
Is...is that a hand print made to look like...a turkey?

You bet your sweet bippy it is!
Because Thanksgiving is Mike's favorite holiday.
Or at very least it's tied for first on his list of favorite holidays.

If one were so inclined, one could investigate the hand turkeys further.
Upon investigation one might just realize that they create a path that leads out of the Bar proper and in the direction of the Caribbean Outlet.

There, in the warm sand, several tables have been set up.
They're decorated for the season, with literal cornucopias and paper turkeys.

(Lake Rule apply. Tag in, tag often.

like_quicksilver

When Gyda pokes her head in through the door, there's a wide smile on her face and for a moment she can be seen in homespun clothes, reminesent of her home in Denmark. She disappeared a moment then came back a few seconds later, a wide smile on her face and carrying two canvas bags over her shoulder, along with an envelope and a peanut covered caramel apple wrapped in clear plastic.

The smile falters only a little when her 'costume' changes into something else. She looked down in surprise. "Ms. Bar, I already have a costume."

A napkin appeared on the table infront of her 'Clothes from home don't count, Gyda''

She frowned, supposing that made sense, but even so. "They do if people think so?" Another note 'Not in here, dear'.

That resulted in a huff (even if the costume looked fun), but only for a second as the combination of sugar and excitement took over once more. "Whatever...could you make sure Athelstan gets the caramel apple next time he arrives? And I'd like the leather photo album I'm still making" The apple disappeared and the book reappeared.

Her speech came out fast and hyper. She laughed and dumped the bags onto the table, revealing the contents to be a ton of candy, while she also opened the envelope. There was no way she could eat this much on her own, not even within a few days, but she could sort it out for friends. "Loot!"

Prior to the holiday, she'd deliberately cut herself off from artificial sugar (for reasons she couldn't really give, but she wanted it to be special), and now the combination of sugar and excitement had taken over.

Ask nicely and she'll give you some candy-or not and just take some, there's plenty to go around.

tattling

Franklin Richards is what is known as a "universal shaper".

He also likes baseball, which is why he's created a couple of pitching machines in the gardens and is wearing a helmet, swinging a bat and scowling at the one about to fire.

"C'mon, ya-- YESSSS!"

Ladies and gentlemen, that would be a home run. Probably.

Franklin decides that setting up a baseball diamond is his next priority.

sunbaked_baker

The day turned out bright after the rain earlier, and the garden isn't too muddy (though Rae conscientiously put on her rain boots, anyway).

Her pepper plants are doing well, the white blooms fading slightly and showing the beginnings of tiny green peppers within. The ten-year-old checks each leaf carefully for aphids or beetles or any of the other pests the books on gardening warn to check for, but doesn't find any. Some of the larger leaves have almost a purplish tinge to them, but Rae doesn't know if that might mean something's wrong or whether some types of peppers get purple-y leaves. She'll have to look it up.

Catch her in the garden, or curled up on the couch with the copy of Peter Piper's Perfect Pepper Primer, Pocket Edition she'd picked up from the library.

harryhotspur

Positioned behind the bar, Harry does look a touch uncertain (and thus, irritated) about what exactly he's supposed to be doing. But he has followed the instructions Bar gave him. He's put up a sign (handily translated from the mostly unintelligible mess that the mix of his poor handwriting and medieval script styles creates):

Specials
Ale
Sack
Malmsey
Green one

(This last refers to a strange bottle he found while poking around the shelves.)

And, of course, he is presently following the rest of Bar's commands: he is standing, ready to help anyone who happens to pass by.

[ooc: open through the weekend!]

intoaman

Something lands heavily in the garden. Something large and black and dragon shaped. Spears stick out of its hide and it belches fire in a howl of pain.

Then it becomes something smaller, like a large horse with a mane of black feathers. Long legs buckle as it tries to steady itself.

Then there’s a wolf, large as horse, its smooth flanks wet with blood. It howls, fangs flashing in a snarl of pain and it falls.

Then there’s a man, pale and scarred, curled into the foetal position. Bruised and torn hands pull the spears from his side, dropping them onto the grass.

For a moment, there’s a raven, wings bent and flapping.

And then back to the man – unconscious and bleeding.

Help would be good.

crabbycustomer

If your answer was "scouring the afterlife looking for clues on how to destroy an immortal green bodybuilder with a skull for a head," you would be correct.

(We would also have accepted, "Lying on the floor thinking about his mistakes and trying not to cry," "Crying," or "Who cares?")

But now, Karkat is here. Lying on the couch, scowling impassively at a white sphere about the size and shape of a cueball. Because it's a cueball. Possibly taller than the last time he was around, but still not what anyone would all tall. His hair is longer too, but still resembling your more bedraggled style of thicket; his nubby horns can barely make it out anymore. It's probably time for someone to hold him down and hack it off with their enormous scythe-like hands, or however humans deal with that kind of problem.

He is also logged on as chirurGeneralist [CG].

gods_that_haunt_me

The door opens to the sounds of drums and flutes, singing, and laughter, as firelight dances from torches and a beach bonfire. The smells of sea water, smoking herbs, and roasted meat are in the air.

Floki half-stumbles in, a horn cup in his hand, as the door shuts behind him. He is wearing a white embroidered tunic and an intricately woven belt with runes on it.

And he is deliriously happy.

"Come one and all!" he hollers with a delighted giggle, raising his cup. "Drinks are on me tonight, for I am now a married man!"

[OOC: I should have done this monnnnths ago to keep canon going, so let's just handwave/millitime/blame the door on whatever is necessary ahem ahem cough cough]

[ETA: Related -- this thread millitimed to shortly before this EP.]

sunbaked_baker

Ten-year-old Rae Seddon has never seen so many kids her age all in one place, apart from at school. But Milliways isn't school. It affords a unique opportunity.

Rae asks Bar for lots of sodas and bottles of water and a way to keep them cold, and the Bar answers with an ice chest on wheels, full of ice and various drinks. Perfect! Then, grinning, Rae asks for a sheet of paper, a poster board, and some markers. It only takes a little while to make a "Drinks!" label for the ice chest, as well as a proper poster. On her way out, she tacks the poster to the wall by the bar room's back door, with colorful words and a large arrow pointing outside:

Come Play Tag!
------->

Then Rae heads out with the ice chest of drinks to the sunlight-warmed grass of the open area between the gardens, greenhouse and the lake shore. She leaves the chest of drinks beside the picnic table so kids can take a break whenever they want.

Once kids start showing up, Rae begins the game in the traditional manner:

Grinning cheerfully, she touches the nearest kid on the arm and yells, "Tag! You're it!" in the split-second before she takes off running.

(ooc: Party-post! Tag pups in as you like, chase and be chased!)

Current Mood: excited

manofbusiness

Childermass rides in through the trees outside, as he often does.

And then something washes over him, and it's a skinny barefoot boy atop the very large horse, trying not to panic.

Somebody could use a little bit of help.

my_brothers_shadow

These are not the hills about Kattegat, he knows this. Yet how can this be? Is it the work of the Gods? And where has Ragnar gotten himself to? He's certainly picked the wrong time to actually get left behind.

Cautiously, a tall boy dressed in rough spun tunic and trousers, who is just beginning to grow into his frame, approaches the buildings he sees. Instinct sends him near the stables as he looks for the Aesir. His curiosity pricks him to peak into the windows of the strange feasting hall, but he'll satisfy himself with a look at the horses and other animals first. Perhaps Sleipnir is there, or Tanngrisnir and Tanngnjóstr. Wouldn't that be somethings to tell his brother?

[OOC: Work is keeping me busy trying to fit a lot of text into a small space, but I wanted to get this up before the plot got away from me.]

bigarmy_strangepants

Ragnar comes striding in, bringing good news -- he's taken Jarl Borg prisoner and will deal with him, and has taken his ships to man in the next raid to England! King Horik, now, that is another problem -- the man pronounced his own death sentence with what he said about Athelstan. But first, Ragnar needs him to get to England.

He sees neither Athelstan nor Sinric as he comes in, but somehow wasn't expecting the former; after looking around for the latter for a while, he walks up to the bar, and does indeed get letters from them -- a thicker one bound in twine, and a thin sheet. With those, he orders a large clay cup of mead, and then retires to the fireplace to read them.

It takes a while, as Ragnar isn't very good at this reading thing, and while he works his way through the missives, his face falls and darkens more and more. At the end, he downs the rest of the mead in one go, then lifts the cup and throws it into the fireplace with a moment's fierce anger. The cup shatters against the back of the fire, startling all the fish.

Ragnar orders a large jug of strong wine, and proceeds to get stinking drunk.

bigarmy_strangepants

[[OOM: In Floki's quiet cove near Kattegat, Floki and Ragnar hear fro Diaval about the whereabout of Ragnar's family, prepare, and then set out to find them, guided by ravens.]]

bigarmy_strangepants

The door briefly turns into a tentflap, and in marches Ragnar Lothbrok, axe over his shoulder, looking quite upset and really angry. Only a few steps in does he even realise where he is.

Turning towards the bar, he orders "a big tankard of that pale ale", and when that turns up, he downs half of it in one big gulp.

The Viking obviously had a bad day.

headed4hell

Grace feels like celebrating.

But, you might say, Grace often feels like celebrating. You'd be correct. However it is not often that Grace comes home and spends ten frantic minutes hunting for Gus and convinced he's been dognapped or worse by the irate drug dealer she is currently trying to take down.

(He was under the bed.)

Which is why tonight's happy hour comes with a canine companion in the (rather large) form of Gus stretched out on a dog bed at Bar's end, happily devouring a bone.

"Gus Gus," Grace calls out as she scrawls specials on the board. "You okay?"

Aaaaaruuuufff! comes back.

"Good. Bar's open, people."

Grace lights up a cigarette and settles in, only shaking a little.

Specials:

The blue one
The green one
Whatever's in that bottle with the skull and crossbones
Gus's choice

[OOC: I'm up and down, usual slowtime warnings apply unless you ping and want something quick, tag amongst yourselves, etc. :D ETA: Have to take a break for tonight. Will pick up tags in the morning!]

bigarmy_strangepants

[[OOM: First explorations. Ragnar visits Athelstan in his little house, and they talk, touch, and make plans. Trigger warning for mention of past abuse, squick warning for explicit sexual activity. The backstory of the Vine Square Festival is borrowed from Morningstar Manor, the same defunct RPG we owe the entire concept of 'AU week' to.]]

The door opens, and in roars a matte black Harley with shiny black ravens emblazoned discreetly and artfully all over. Ragnar Lothbrok is riding it, and Athelstan is holding on safely behind him.

The bike comes to a halt a few metres from the door without bumping into or disturbing anything -- not a chair, not a passing waitrat, not even leaving a skid mark on the floor. A true master knows to tread very softly.

"Well, that was fun, sweetie!" Ragnar declares, laughing.

[[OOC: Two muns, two pups -- say in your tag whom you want! AU biker!Viking write-ups are collected here.]]

gods_that_haunt_me

There's a really tall dude out on the back porch with a beer and a cigarette, seemingly made up entirely of long lines and angles as he leans against a pillar at the top of the steps.

His leather jacket is folded up near his booted feet, crossed at the ankle. His vintage helmet and aviator goggles rest on top of it. His head is shaved clean, and his wiry arms are bare, wearing only an olive drab vest and black tank top. His jeans are faded, holey, grease-stained. The tin dog tags clink softly at the center of his chest; the utility belt (never be on the road without a socket wrench or a screwdriver or, y'know, a knife) sags low on his narrow hips.

Parked outside the forge not too far away is his custom-built Harley chopper. All chrome and glossy black, with hand-painted red-and-yellow flame details. That's his baby. He could never let her out of his sight for long, not even at Milliways.

Floki takes a drag off his blunt. Did we say it was a cigarette? Let's correct that now.

Completely botherable, unless you harsh his mellow.

[OOC: Brief write-up here.]

bigarmy_strangepants

The door opens on a dark road, with a number of serious motorbikes parked outside, and a huge number of huge bikers walks in on huge boots, loud and raucous.

Actually, it's only three bikers -- a tall gangly one with eye-liner and a tool belt, a tall broad one with his long blond hair in a undercut with a ponytail, and a large dark-haired one that lags behind and keeps a bit to himself.

And there is one non-biker, a sweet little guy with dark curls looking as bewildered as an alien abductee. The tall blond is pulling him along, laughing, and hugging him willy-nilly for a moment, his long, strong arm thrown affectionately around the small frame.

"Now, drinks!" he declares.

The door falls closed behind them.

[[OOC: The Vikings are all bikers! And while this post is a joint entrance post, each Viking will have his party-style sub-thread that you can tag if you just want to talk to one of them. Otherwise you might get overrun with the lot!]]