milliways_bar | Entries tagged with gimli

fire-of-mahal.livejournal.com

The forge has been given over to Will Turner, to Gimli's considerable satisfaction. That young human knows his business, and should go far if the Dwarf is any judge.

The few bills Gimli still had to pay have been settled, although there were never many. He still has some money left; this, he places on the Bar. "I would appreciate it if you would set this aside for any of my people who might ever find themselves here," he says, and the small pile of coinage disappears. "You have my thanks."

With that, he looks about the Bar for anyone he knows- there were not many- and adds a note to the Bar's keeping as well, advising any who might receive a copy that Gimli, son of Gloin, is returning once and for all to the Halls that Mahal set aside for his people in the realms of the dead. The door comes easily open under his hand, to the sound of hammers and gears and metal ringing on metal; he smiles. Time to go.

The door clicks shut behind him.

turned_captain

Will does not take any of the chocolate that appears at the bar along with his breakfast. Mostly because he doesn't have a sweet tooth, but also because he decidedly doesn't trust food given to him for no obvious reason.

Instead he takes his bowl of oatmeal and the bacon on the side and sits at a table in the middle of the bar, looking around briefly for Elizabeth or anyone else he might know.

Not that he's specifically waiting for anyone, just happy for conversation.

turned_captain

Will had a busy day yesterday, to say the least, and he made a lot of discoveries. Not of them were particularly pleasant, but not having any idea where Elizabeth might be made it all worse.

Eventually he admitted to himself he wasn't going anywhere as yet, and asked the (magic?) bar for a room and something to take up there to eat. However, that lead to one of the milder unpleasant discoveries - his money pouch is not quite equipped to support him for very long.

This weighs on his mind as he comes down to breakfast and as he takes his porridge to a table - near the edge of the room, facing in, so he can watch all the comings and goings of this strange place. All the time, he's wondering how to acquire more money, and whether his little loss of temper yesterday might have ruined his hopes for his father.

More importantly, though, he wants to see his fiancée.

river_meimei

The door opens, and River steps into the bar. She moves in slow, dancer's steps, silent and barefoot. She's wearing the long brown duster that was Roland's once, over a purple sundress that sways around her knees in floating layers.

Her eyes are on the daisy petals strewn an inch deep across the floor. They rise in puffs and swirls with each step, and settle to earth again as her foot falls.

[OOC: Why yes, this is another Objects In Space-style thread. Please, anyone, tag in! But make sure to read this back-room post first.]

river_meimei

River is sprawled on the floor of the bar, propped up on her elbows. Mal taught her to knit, once; she's trying again, with a fuzzy yarn flecked with orange and yellow.

Right now it involves a lot of scowling at the needles.

The yarn, as they say, is problematic.

fire-of-mahal.livejournal.com

Not that there isn't work in plenty to be done, but even a dwarf catches the urge to do something relaxing once in a while. Just at the moment that means supper in public, and a place by the fire in one of the easier chairs to climb.

And, just possibly, working out the plans necessary to make himself a set of furniture that will actually FIT. Not like the Men are going to be using it, after all.

fire-of-mahal.livejournal.com

There's been a lot of business lately for someone willing to work mithril rings or turn iron ore into axe-steel and sword steel. Gimli and his assistant, young Tom Jones, have been busy indeed. Tonight, however, the dwarf has some time away from the fires; thus, he is in the Bar for supper, and for the occasional curse at the blasted Man-sized furniture.

fire-of-mahal.livejournal.com

While Gimli deeply and truly appreciates the ingenuity of modern forms of plumbing, sometimes the more traditional ways of getting clean are called for after a hard day of work. Streams are good. So are lakes.

The only evidence of this fact, this morning, is that when he appears and settles in at the Bar for breakfast (blasted human-sized stools; one day he shall craft his own furniture!), he still has the odd bit of drip from his beard. But really, other than that? Nothin'.

bad-as-he-is.livejournal.com

There's a young man pondering a coin.

It's sitting on his palm, nestled in his hand as if it belonged there, as if it were his to spend. He's not sure if it really is, doesn't feel it is, and while Mister Murphy had been uncommon kind to him by helping him fix his clothes and such and hiring him on...

Well, he's still using his tab and wondering if there's anyone else who might be interested in hiring him. There was something about a man who wouldn't give his name easily, who claimed many names, that itched at the back of his brain. There was something that Reverend Thwackum had said, not that he took much care to what the good Reverand Thwackum said, which had mentioned a man with many names, or men with many names but he couldn't remember what it is. But whatever the good reverand had said, he didn't like it himself and so he pocketed the coin to consider at another time and ordered himself a dinner.

river_meimei

One of the things to remember about River is that she's on a lot of medications. There's no one cocktail of drugs that her system won't eventually begin to break down; every so often the dosage of one or another has to be changed, or one drug switched for another.

And drugs have side effects.

They're minor, mostly -- it's taken two years and more of trial and error, but these days her meds mostly work and the side effects are mostly small, and she's used to them. But Simon increased her dose of psilupallobromide three days ago, and it takes some time to adjust.

This is why River is curled up in an armchair, wrapped in a serape, and looking faintly queasy. And sullen.

Simon and Kaylee are on vacation for a few days in the house Dream gave them, off in another world; Simon comes back twice a day to check on River, and Kaylee doesn't come back at all.

This is why River is looking even more sulky than she would for just the nausea.

Approach with care.

fire-of-mahal.livejournal.com

Gimli has been doing far more fancy-work of late than he ever thought he might, but it is finished now and he wishes to celebrate. Thus, when the Dwarf enters the bar, he does not even wince once at having to scramble up onto a human-sized stool to place his order.

Though he does let Bar choose the brew in question, since surprises often prove profitable in the realm of alcohol.

human-magnet.livejournal.com

Magneto strides through the door. This time, his abrupt millilocation earns only a slight raise of one eyebrow and a muttered, "Some day I'll figure out why it picks these times to pull me away." Then he continues into the bar itself.

He orders a pot of Adams Family Farm Afternoon Tea and some cucumber sandwiches, before retiring to the couch before the fire.

dnd-acrobat.livejournal.com

[Pre-Milliways: A riddle and a way home...]

The door swings open of its own accord, as it is wont to do on a new arrival, and two girls leap into the bar. Or rather, one girl leaps into the bar, half carrying the other, whose fingers are in the process of closing over empty air as they enter, hitting the floor which neither of them expected to find there.

The taller of the two, a lanky black girl wearing, of all things, a fur bikini with gold trimmings, lets go of the other to roll along the unexpected floor and leap to her feet in a ready stance, facing the room.

"What is this place?"

The shorter girl, a pretty redhead wearing a long blue cloak over a short purple dress and thigh length boots, lands a lot less gracefully in a sitting position, staring in confusion and distress at the slamming door.

"...Bobby?"

fire-of-mahal.livejournal.com

Here we have a dwarf, his labours finished for the day, his meal done with, and his beer before him. Alas, there were holes in his socks this morning. He is taking steps to compensate for that. While the primary crafts of the Dwarves are those of stone and metal, they have long been practical folk who cultivate other talents as well at need.

This is a long way of saying that Gimli is currently knitting a sock of eye-swimmingly intricate black, grey, and white wool on four extremely slender needles, the fifth flicking in and out as he works with dizzying speed.

We might note that he's also wearing his axe.

fire-of-mahal.livejournal.com

The back door opens, and Gimli arrives from his forges. Bar, in her infinite prankery, stretches forth her magical influence. The dwarf is transformed into a member of the opposite sex. However, since the female dwarves of Arda are so like to the men-folk that when they go abroad only other Dwarves ever can tell the difference, there's really no overall noticeable effect whatsoever.

Dwarf, at the bar, with beer.

fire-of-mahal.livejournal.com

It is not advised for the sensitive of nose to approach the table off to one side where the Dwarf sits. The smell of smoke and fire tends to get into a beard that size, and dispense itself to all and sundry over the course of time.

Of course, if you already know him and you don't mind that, there's a free spot at his table.

bow-rod-staff.livejournal.com

OOM: Pre-Milliways...

The door flies open with a dramatic bang and a figure can be heard talking loudly to someone - or a few someones - behind him.

'Five minutes, you chaps, no hanging around. Can't let the blasted things get on top of us.'

As he turns to face forwards, he doesn't see the small purple insect with two sets of fangs and three pairs of eyes appear from nowhere and head for the rafters, buzzing happily. He just...notices that he's no longer outside the Great Hall of Unseen University, and stares.

He's a large man, but big rather than fat. The beard is long and full, the nose large and red and he's wearing a pointy hat. Well, it would be pointy if it didn't look as though the end had recently been chopped off. And there's old tea leaves decorating the brim, although not on purpose.

He blinks in an uncomprehending way. And then, yells over his shoulder indiscriminately, even though the door has shut behind him.

'Alright, you fellows. Who put a damn pub outside the Great Hall? Own up, that man.'

No reply. So he resorts to what he usually does when faced with something he doesn't understand.

'BURSAR!'

Someone explain to Ridcully that he's not in ~~Kansas~~ his University any more?

fire-of-mahal.livejournal.com

Gimli is old, for a dwarf- two hundred and seventy years of the Sun, all things told- and thus, occasionally, forgets things. Not that he's senile, mind you. Dwarves are seldom prone to such ills. What happens to them instead is a tendency to focus on things far beyond their importance, and forget other matters entirely.

For instance, it is only now that Gimli recalls he's been working in the forge nigh onto three days and is in need of a meal.

He steps out of the forge, grumbles something under his breath in Khuzdul, and stalks into the Bar. He'll be returning shortly to replenish his fuel stores, but he needs to eat first.

[OOC: Feel free to tag him either inside the Bar or out of it. I'm not fussy.]

fire-of-mahal.livejournal.com

For all that he's fairly clean, Gimli smells of the forge. It's probably the beard. Combing it clean and other such things seldom serves to get the smoke odor out. Fortunately he's taken his dinner off to a side table, where he's not as likely to disturb the passers-by.

Possibly this explains the empty seat at his table.

fire-of-mahal.livejournal.com

Gimli trots into the bar from the forge, heads upstairs briefly, and returns a good deal more refreshed than he'd been before. Even he grows tired of the smell of smoke sometimes.

Not of roast meat and root vegetables for dinner, though.

perhaps you could say hullo.

the_seafarer

Ostensibly, Caspian is taking a break from stable duties to have some tea and read a bit.

Really, the bar just isn't the same unless there's a dead Narnian king around.

[ooc: And I flee for opening night!]

fire-of-mahal.livejournal.com

Dwarves don't spend all their time at the forge, much though Gimli might find that a fair way to increase the sort of craft his people are charged with learning. Sometimes they've got to come up for air and food, and perhaps for study where they can manage it. And so it is; Gimli with something roasted and a tankard of ale, and a fat volume bound in old leather.

It might possibly lose some of its 'appropriate' look if someone were to peer over Gimli's shoulder, because it's a swanky cover for a book that's actually on gunsmithing.

fire-of-mahal.livejournal.com

Here's someone who's not been seen inside the Bar in a while: Gimli, fresh from the forge and smelling of ash and coke.

... no, not that kind. It's involved in steel production.

Seriously.

Look, dammit, quit making the drug jokes and just come tag the dwarf.

badinlatin

[See backroom post for details. ETA! Slowtimed due to OMG Time Zone Hell.]

Mal is inna bar. May have been awhile for some, but here he is.

He may or may not be looking through a book of knitting patterns that Zoe gave him for New Year's.

Beware the Knitting Captain?

fire-of-mahal.livejournal.com

A dwarf cannot forever be at his forge-fire, no matter how good the business is, so today Gimli son of Gloin is in the Bar.

Because it is hard to get a dwarf to stop being practical, he is in the process of knitting himself a sock.

What, you thought dwarves wore nothing but armour?