milliways_bar | Entries tagged with jack sparrow

"Ugh, my head."

There's a napkin. Varric sighs, and reaches for a stepstool.

Specials

Anything from Antiva or Nevarra 25% off

I could use a reminder that it's warm and sunny somewhere

The headache's bad enough that Varric doesn't even bother with his usual digs at Orzammar ale.

buh_bye

Death is driving today when he finds himself in the garage at Milliways. The car itself is beutiful, an old grey 1959 Cadillac Series 62 with license plates that reads BUH*BYE. He finds a place to park the car, his pale steed, and proceeds to make his way to the Bar proper, for dinner.

Feel free to catch him anywhere between the car and Bar.

realmrsreynolds

It's November, in the bar and on Shadow, and Sallie has her mind towards planning something resembling a Thanksgiving dinner.

Considering how her understanding of the traditions come from the Winchester brothers and a bunch of ninjas, her plans are a little different than you might expect.

But regardless, Sallie's at the bar with an Earth-that-Was Joy of Cooking, and dogear-ing pages.

[ooc: Signing off at 9:30 pm for the night. Tags will be picked up after lunch tomorrow.]

collects_strays

Graham can't recall every step of how he got here. He'd heard the click as his cell door unlatched, and he remembers that for the first time, he'd felt no desire to leave. That he had wanted to remain on his cot, to ignore it and any other escape. But then he was on his feet, pushing the door open. There was the shift in light, abrupt and bright in his eyes, but that somehow, he'd kept the sounds and voices of the Bar muffled and distant. Present, but controlled, at arm's length.

It was something he'd rarely done before.

Now, he's in a chair at an empty table. Leaning forward and apparently watching the floor, elbows settled on his knees and his hands folded between them. He's still in his blue, numbered uniform.

He doesn't move, not at passing shadows, or scurrying waitrats. Even his hands are still, the only shift coming with his breath, constant and steady as the hands of a clock.

the_shaper

After sundown, it appears:

Bowls of dates and bowls of figs and bowls of apricots. Tabbouleh and fattoush and hummus. Lamb and beef kebabs. Dolmas, falafel, kibbeh, mujaddara. Lavash and laffa. The laden table smells of spice -- pepper, cardamom, cumin, clove, others harder to name, all mouthwatering. The other end of the table has sweets: kanafeh, halva, qatayef. Dream of the Endless hosts iftar: the evening meal.

It is after sundown; the fast day has ended. And Dream of the Endless made a deal, once upon a time, with Haroun al Raschid, King of Kings, Prince of the Faithful, Caliph of Baghdad, that he would take the Caliph's city into dreams, that it might live in its splendor as long as the world shall last.

Thin fingers pluck a date from the bowl. It is the food of dreams -- sweetly satisfying, yet ephemeral.

And delicious.

[OOC: Tonight only -- no slowtimes! Think of it like a mini-dinner party, open to all. See the back room for details.]

[ETA, 1:30am Eastern: And post is closed, and I'm off to bed. Thanks for playing!]

redintheledger

Not too long ago, Clint Barton suggested that mirror'verse Natasha would wear a Cinderella dress.

When the woman calling herself Nadine walks into the bar today, she stops.

It seems someone might have got ideas.

Gone are her jeans and t-shirt, gone is the knife strapped to her shin. Instead, there is a remarkably heavy blue dress, made up of far too many petticoats and layers of chiffon.

'Nadine' has gone, and instead, there is one very, very confused and alert Agent Romanoff.

...

And an Agent Romanoff who, as she works out when she draws a lock of hair in front of her eyes, is now blonde as well.

It might be an idea for someone to explain.

[OOC: It's April Fools here in the Antipodes, and I have no work, ~~so this is open until whenever I say it's not. :D?~~
I love you all, but this EP is now closed to new threads unless we've already planned one ♥ ]

mostcharmingsmile

Gilderoy sits at a table with a copy of

The Tales of Beedle the Bard

. When his mind was wiped with that backfiring spell, it took more than just his personal memories. He can't read most of the words, although he can find letters and little words on the pages.

Mostly he enjoys watching the lively moving pictures.

"Oh Babbitty Rabbitty, you're too much," he giggles, and takes a sip of his butter beer.

10552trees

A small, brightly colored whirlwind bursts in the door, following an uneven trajectory toward the far side of the bar, and, unusually for a whirlwind, shouting: "You can't catch me!"

Then it stops, suddenly enough to be a traffic hazard.

"This is a storage room," says Ikki, wrinkling her face. "Why is it bigger all of a sudden? Who moved the windows? What's that?"

"Who are you?"

scurlock

There is a cowboy at the bar tonight - and sitting on the bar in front of him is a very colorful arrangement of little balls on sticks. He's confused at first - some seem to be covered in sprinkles, others in sweet frosting stripes, and others are shaped like animals or strange people.

Cake pops, Josiah. You eat them.

After he decides to try one...it might be best if he has company, because he's likely to eat his way through the entire display if left alone. These things are amazing.

[open until it scrolls. :D happy milliversary to me!]

try_corsets

[Not-quite-OOM:

Elizabeth is not an elephant.

Or even an elephant with an extra long gestational period.

Which is to say: thanks to some timey-wimey one universe over business and extra millitastic handwaving, Elizabeth and Will Turner have finally become parents.

Welcome to the world, Will Jr.!

and later:

Captain Will Turner meets his son.]

hopeitsworthit

[OOM: When a stoned former-angel tells you he's got a surprise, a guy's gotta be prepared for anything.]

The front door flies open, followed by the quick, explosive entrance of a guy with a gun. He trains it on the first moving body he sees --

And then his brain catches up with his eyes. Something painful passes across his face and then gets shoved aside by an expression of sheer cussed pissiness.

It makes for an excellent disguise.

"Goddammit, Cas," he says, stepping out of the way for the guy on crutches behind him. "When I said I hated your cryptic bullshit, this kinda thing is exactly what I meant."

Of all the bars he'd never wanted to walk into again --

Aside from the Roadhouse, this one's the second-highest on the list.

[ooc: Two pups, two muns, you're likely to get both unless you make a specific request. Edit: And closed to new tags, please! Thank you all for playing!]

ihavemyflaws

Acknowledging the potential of your own death every time you hop in a cockpit doesn't prepare you to go quietly once death's staring you in the face.

(Too bad the old man's mad at her.)

Maybe it's overconfidence or maybe she's just as stupid as her mom always implied, but for a full minute after the Raider slams into her Viper on its way down Kara's sure that she can get herself out of this, that she can just pull up and stop herself from spiraling into the moon beneath them, that there's something she can do that will stop every alarm on the ship from blaring at her.

(She deserved the anger.)

The control panel rattles, altimeter going nuts. She's spinning too much and dropping too fast. There's nothing to do.

(She knows she hit at least six of the Raiders, maybe seven. Frak of a way to go. If you have to.)

Nothing except eject for the first time in her life since graduating from the academy. It takes all her effort to reach down and pull the emergency lever.

(She hopes the parachute works.)

The Viper's hatch opens up and releases her with a jolt. Her helmet knocks against the ship's side as she's given up to the initial free fall.

[OOC: This post locked, if you please! Thanks!]

lastgunslinger

The structure in the middle of the bar is a dark, sooty gray, and its height is a marvel -- as though nothing could ever be that high. As though anything that high must support the very structure of the bar itself.

Of the universe.

Of the multiverse.

Surrounded by roses the red of hearts' blood, the tower seems to be constructed of dark slate, and there are only four beams left that support its base. And when the dark tower falls…

When the Dark Tower falls, the universes -- all the universes -- are over.

[OOC: Plotlocked, s'il te plaît.]

cutting_edgex23

X slips through the door, pausing to slip her Security badge out of her --

Skirt.

That was something of a surprise. But at least, unlike the time with the corset, this outfit gives her enough mobility to be deemed acceptable without much alteration.

And the yellow and black theme is a lot like her New X-men uniform.

So it is that X, looking very much like a swashbuckling pirate, settles at a corner booth for what is likely to be a long Security shift.

sunbaked_baker

In the Milliways kitchen, the door and windows have been thrown open to let in the cool breeze and sunlight of early spring. The breeze helps combat the heat of the ovens, while helping cool the Caramel Cataclysms, pieces of Chocoholia, and giant cinnamon rolls already on the cooling racks near the door.

Sunshine is dusted up to her elbows in flour, kneading cranberry-walnut bread dough with a vengeance. The kitchen counter is high enough to make kneading difficult with the large mixing bowl, so Rae has the bowl on a nearby stool. It will soon join the other two bowls (rosemary-garlic bread and almond-dill bread) already set to rise near the radiating heat of the ovens.

Current Mood: productive

blowupthefloats

It's a rather somber-looking Munch that walks into Milliways tonight; pensive, like something's weighing on his mind.

He pauses as he steps behind the Bar, lays his hand on the wood and asks something quietly. Two moments, maybe three later a napkin with the answer appears on the bartop. Munch smiles. "Thanks. Take five now."

Tonight's Specials
Japanese Fizz
Horsley's Honor
Green Hope

Happy Hour is here again, even if the bartender on duty doesn't appear to be very cheerful.

He's just glad that there aren't any televisions in Milliways.

changeinasnap

Today, his milkshake came with a little fortune cookie garnish hooked over its rim. As soon as he saw it, his eyes lit up, and he plucked it free of the mountain of whipped cream to crack it open.

Soon you will be sitting on top of the world, said the slip of paper inside.

If anybody asks, he's now up in the rafters, seated on a suspiciously globe-like chair that got wedged between two of the beams, because he wants to be here, dammit. That's his story and he's sticking to it.

...That's why he can't get down, either. Clearly.

(He can't decide whether to give the person responsible a hearty well played or a two-ton anvil dropped on their head. At least he still has his milkshake.)

[tinytag: Misfortune Cookies]

[ooc: in and out and thus pretty slow for most of the evening, but post is open until it scrolls! ~~GO PACKERS~~]

rorypond

Here's a face the bar hasn't seen for a while.

One tall and lanky, slightly clumsy and definitely awkward male nurse by the name of Rory Williams enters this afternoon with a cup of hospital-coffee and a set of folders, not quite unlike the first time he'd entered.

His last odd encounter had been at the Warehouse, and since then life's been a bit more ... normal.

Which has been lovely, actually.

Mostly.

(Though he had wondered what happened to Milliways.)

Of course, one look at his pathetic coffee, and he knows he'd rather have a fresh cup at the Bar.

A moment later, he's got just that, and a fortune cookie.

It reads: You are one of the people who "goes places in life."

tiny!tag: rory williams, misfortune cookies

ooc: argh - I'm so sorry guys! I hate to do this but I'm really not feeling well, and will have to call any existing tags into slowtime. :( But consider this post open forever, so new tags are welcome!

not-only-wisdom.livejournal.com

The last thing Nynaeve was expecting this morning was to walk out of her -- all right, her bedroom -- and wander into Milliways.

She almost thought she'd been quit of the place. But apparently not.

The change of scenery is not as unpleasant as she might have thought it, so many months ago. But yanking hard on her braid once, then again, will do wonders to disguise that.

No sense making anyone think she missed the place or anything.

Hmmph.

And now, having dealt with that, she heads to the bar to get a nice cup of tea.

hello_freak

This time he's ready for it. This time he's prepared for that odd little shift in light or gravity or what have you that makes this place manifest in the stead of his study. Or his kitchen. Or the ruddy anatomy laboratory. This time, it will not get the better of him.

Which is, of course, why his head is down over his mobile when he loses signal. He stops in the middle of the floor for a moment, watching the acquiring signal icon flash, his thumbs hovering over the keypad.

A rat tugs on his pant leg, and chitters a brief message.

"Bollocks."

Right. A book it is, and a cup of tea. Enforced relaxation, Mycroft would call it. Therapeutic.

He sneers at the very thought.

[ooc: subject to sporadic slows, open till he EPs again ]

trigger_man

When Jack comes down to the bar tonight, a little something extra appears with his customary cup of coffee: a large cupcake.

It's not the cupcake itself that makes Jack's nose wrinkle with distaste; it's the mountain of lurid pink icing on top, along with those little silver candy balls and a "1", also made out of sugar, also pink, that sticks out of the top. Add in the doily that it's sitting on, and it is quite possibly the least manly cupcake in existence.

It takes him a minute to figure out just what he's done to deserve this punishment, then realizes it isn't anything he's done recently. This must be the first anniversary of the night he walked in the bar.

At the moment, he has to wish that Bar wasn't so intent on his celebrating it. Not that this place hadn't been a lifeline to him, that he wasn't grateful for its appearance.

He just wishes it didn't involve that particular cupcake.

hopeitsworthit

It's restlessness that drives Dean downstairs, restlessness and a crawling feeling under his skin that's too strong for irritation but not bright enough for anger.

Not really.

He snags a beer from Bar, then situates himself in a booth near the back, settling in for the long haul.

Or at least until that crawling sensation gets too much to stand. Whichever comes first.

pirate_jack

The front door opens, and a pirate pokes his head through.

Captain Jack Sparrow takes a quick look around the room, and then brightens. He promptly saunters in, just as though he hasn't a care in the world and certainly hasn't done any such thing as that.

"Hello luv," he says to Bar as he reaches her, patting her top gently with one brown, beringed hand. "How's the both of you, eh?"

Her wood brightens to maple, then deepens first to cherry, then to mahogany, before returning to its normal hue, and Jack nods in perfect understanding. "Glad to hear it. In that case I'll just--"

A folded piece of paper materializes under his hand. Jack blinks.

"-- be getting a letter," he finishes, startled. A beat. "It is a letter for me, isn't it, luv?"

As Bar's hue darkens again, Jack hastily adds, "Of course it is, you wouldn't have delivered it otherwise, don't know what I was thinking, right then--"

He unfolds the paper and looks at the signature.

"Beatrice?" Jack glances up at the empty air. "Do I know a Beatrice?"

He ponders the question for a moment before glancing back at the page again.

"... well, well. 'Time for a mutiny,' is it?"

itwasjustified

Two cowboy hats -- one black, one white -- occupy the space behind the bar.

Two cowboys -- one straight from 1866, the other from 2010 -- are wondering exactly what they got themselves hoodwinked into after a napkin blitz of a conversation with Bar.

They're also debating the (currently blank) Specials board.

Raylan (that's the white hat, for those of you keeping score at home), looks sixteen kinds of dubious in Ben Wade's direction.

"Woodford?"

"Woodford," Ben says.

"But it's so sweet."

"It's heaven in a shot glass, son."

"Too sweet," Raylan says, and scans the bottles until he finds the familiar red wax-topped one he's looking for. "You want classic, you go with Maker's."

It's Ben's turn to look suspicious.

"Maker's?"

"Maker's."

"Hmm."

Distractions and tie-breakers are more than welcome.

[ tiny tags: finnvarra, moist von lipwig, raylan givens ]

[ ooc: two pups, one mun! tag one or both, y'all -- and even if you only tag one, you're probably going to get a cameo from the other at some point in a tag. ~~open till i beg off sometime after midnight est~~.

eta: ZOMFG YOU GUYS. *laughing forever* I LOVE YOU ALL. this is going into slowtime as of midnight-thirty est, but still open for tags if anyone wants to hit up the post; i'll hit back all threads asap tomorrow! ]

young_tmriddle

Tom sits at a table for a change, finally catching up on the weekend edition of The Daily Prophet. The cover features the Quidditch World Cup; Tom skimmed the coverage quickly for the contents within.

He never was a fan of the sport. He's not really a fan of the The Daily Prophet, either, preferring the New York Wizarding Times, but one's lifelong habits are hard to break.

He's wearing his usual dark suitrobes, and a scotch is at hand. It's been a long day, he's tired, and the news is- well. It's rarely ever good, is it? Even in these days of relative quiet. He's pleased, as he often is, to have the Underside to call home.

OOC: Any threads will be after the one with Hermione. Dun dun duuuun

Oh, and also? Not plot-locked at all! Reactions welcome!