milliways_bar | Entries tagged with james adams

It's a very satisfied James who enters the bar this afternoon, hair still damp from a recent shower.

He hops up on a stool and puts a hand on Bar with a grin. "Coke, please, with some ice. And if you wanted to add some vodka, that'd be great."

One glass with ice; one meaningfully sealed can of Coca Cola.

James frowns. "Aw, go on. It's my birthday."

Bar adds a slice of cake on a napkin.

>(

navyafterone

James is leaning back on a chair by the wall, drinking a can of Coke and watching any pretty girls that might be wandering by. He's wearing a "Deluxe Chicken" crew member t-shirt; the accompanying hat sits on his head at a jaunty angle more reminiscent of a hip-hop artist than a fast food worker, though.

He leans back just a little too far, flails, and manages to right himself and the chair -- but not before spilling his drink.

"Er."

He glances around, then subtly grabs the mop leaning up against the wall beside him, wipes up the Coke, and returns it to the bucket.

You saw nothing.

[ooc: class time! back by 4-ish gmt, hopefully. ]

causeiknowstuff.livejournal.com

[oom: sometime in the vaguely recent past]

It's typically expected that most new faces waltzing into Milliways will wear expressions of surprise, fear, or confusion. More often it's some random mix of the three. New arrivals are easily identified by said expressions and well-meaning patrons are often on hand to offer explanations and necessary aid.

Sadly for any poised greeting squad, Layla Miller's face bears no such emotion. Her eyes do traverse the layout of the bar, but the intent is one of confirmation instead of the typical cataloging of new surroundings. A small quirk of a smile hovers somewhere around her lips as she takes in each feature. After all, some details were bound to be pretty fuzzy all packed in her brain and it's encouraging to see everything in its correct place.

(Look, when you know stuff, imminent entrance into a pan-dimensional bar is going to be pretty high on the list.)

[tiny tag: layla miller]

candied-rabbit.livejournal.com

((OOM: Back in his own world, Momiji hosts some Milliyoungsters at the Sohma family hot springs, complete with pingpong and food and big, steamy, splashy baths!))

gone_byebye

Ray went home last night, got two hours of sleep, and got called out for an incident that neither he nor the two truckers involved nor anyone who had been driving on the upper level of the George Washington Bridge at that hour will ever be able to forget no matter how hard they try. He's tried to sleep since, but that was one SICK SICK SICK Class Seven. Trucks aren't supposed to DO that!

... anyway, after a few more attempts at sleep that didn't really work, he went about the rest of his daily business. The experimental apparatus are running in the lab, Venkman's off meeting with some people from Washington, and Winston, Egon and Ecto are investigating reports that the peregrine falcons nesting on the Throgs Neck Bridge have somehow developed the ability to breathe fire. Egon caught him sneezing one too many times and ordered him to stay home for fear of a relapse. He's at the Bar now because, well, he can be. It's more interesting than resting up, anyway.

One Ghostbuster in an armchair by the fire, reading the Daily News (SUPER DAVE: KOVIC SWEEPS SEVENTEEN STATES is the visible headline) and trying to relax.

a1enzo

It was difficult sneaking the guitar into the utility tunnels without attracting comment, especially since the most convenient entrance is via the restroom off the student lounge, but Enzo managed it. He's on a sofa now, trying out some of the sheet music Tommy gave him for Christmas. Happily, he's gotten a lot of practice recently, and his voice is decent enough, so no one's ears are actually likely to bleed.

^♫From early days of infancy,
Through trembling years of youth,
Long murky middle age
And final hours long in the tooth...^♫

Current Music: "Beastie" by Jethro Tull

weiss-up.livejournal.com

Some people really know how to make an entrance. Some people do it unintentionally.

'Unintentionally' here meaning 'soaked through and through, dolled up in a Victorian corset, fishnets, and gloves, and with make up streaking her face'.

Really? If Janet Weiss had been meaning to go anywhere, she wouldn't have gone like this. She looks quite disconcerted, but not nearly as badly as some others. She'd been meaning to get out of the lab, but given whose lab it was, she's not surprised that it has opened onto a bar. She's just surprised that her door is gone.

At present, she's not sure who to approach. No one really looks like they might actually be associates of Frank-N-Furter, strangely enough. They all look like rather civilized people, which is only more reason for her to feel mortified in her current attire. She's dripping water onto the floor, and she's probably got on the most risque clothing in the bar.

And what is that big swirly window over there?

[ ooc; Sleep. Must be had. Thanks for all the tagging, and by golly, every loose end will be slowtimed to completion. ]

no_justice

Death turned up at the Bar expecting to get a drink, only to discover the bar was asleep and the bartender curiously absent. This wasn't a good thing. Then, it occurred to him that maybe he could learn about humanity by talking to people. And who do people talk to if not their bartenders?

So Death has decided to show a bit of initiative, and is now behind the bar.

The specials board has no chalk on it, but in embossed silver, it now reads:

Specials
Mexical
Blavod
White Russian

They're just drinks he likes.

doctor-driscoll.livejournal.com

[Sick Humans]

Ben Driscoll is not covered in blood today. He's wearing a decent suit and a decent tie and an expression that if looks could kill would be considered a WMD.

Striding foreward he hits a chair and, engraged, kicks it to the side before dropping into a seat fuming.

A wait rat scurries close before moving stealthily away, "...Good thing fella." Ben growls, "Otherwise you and I might have more fucking words to exchange."

Leaning back he watches his door, but his eyes are on the patrons. Watching, laughing, talking...and looking for any signs of that emotionless he saw today.

Please excuse him if he's staring at you.

smart-house.livejournal.com

A steel door, sometimes in the bar and sometimes not, appears again next to her written affidavit of safety from a Milliways-renowned parapsychologist. 'SARAH', as that affidavit names her, lets that steel door swing open wide, and it only takes a few seconds for a computerized woman's voice to be broadcast over the bar-wide sound system.

"Hello, Milliways. Today I am hosting a football party -- Philidelphia Eagles playing against the New York Giants. There are no commercials; I've picked up a pre-network satellite feed of the game. It doesn't start for another hour, but if you would like to claim a seat early, please stop by. If coming later, please bring any snacks you might like and a chair or cushion. There is plenty of space for everyone. Thank you."

Now it's wait and see, but SARAH is optimistic. Who doesn't like sports*?

*Now now, SARAH is completely aware that there are some people who do not like sports. She is just hoping they are grossly outnumbered here.

ETA: There is an AIM Chat! Chat name: milliball

What you may have missed in the game.

listen-to-the.livejournal.com

The door opens on a blaze of light, and a man walks out of it. The expression on his face, of wonder and consternation, is wiped away as he steps through the door. For a moment, he seems still and distant, as if he has forgotten everything, even his own name.

And then the door closes behind him, cutting of the music (distant and somehow sublime) with a crack like a rifle, and his vague expression breaks into confusion and--once more--consternation.

He's a tall, well-built black man, handsome but haggard. He wears a bruised bowler hat and a long leather coat. He moves with grace and authority; out of long habit, he shoots the cuffs of his tan suit as he strides farther into the room. It was a sharp suit, once, before he lived in it for weeks on end.

And before someone put that ragged line of bullet holes through the breast of the jacket and the yellow silk shirt beneath it.

He's played a lot of clubs, but never one quite like this. One more gig for Coalhouse Walker, Jr.

evil_koala_626

Experiment inna bar.

Stitch's life has been considerably more exciting than usual as of late what with the slathering prehistoric beasts and the rampant chaos. He sadly didn't get in as much sightseeing as he would of liked but you can’t have everything. Speaking of which, there is a distinct lack of Basilosaurus skull in his immediate vicinity. This did not occur without objection. Having lost one hat already, Stitch had crouched possessively over his prize and growled menacingly at all Museum staff that attempted to get near it. Occasionally, the growling had been punctuated by a cry of "Naga!" and "Mine!" In the end city officials bribed him away from his newly won hat with a suitable replacement: A foam Statue of Liberty tiara. And an "I <3 NY" T-shirt. And an entire carton of semi-melted ice cream (which was rapidly consumed, cardboard and all).

He is currently sitting at a table, wearing his souvenirs and gazing in rapture at the best reward of all. After jabbering in a mixture of broken English and his own language, Stitch had explained to Bar that he was a hero now and to the hero goes the spoils. Which is why, clutched between two clawed hands, there sits a steaming mug of coffee¹.

¹It's decaf. He doesn't know this.

gone_byebye

[OOM: After quite a lot of people do quite a lot of running around and fighting and screaming, everything eventually comes to its logical conclusions...]

... and the door opens on September in New York City, and Ray walks through. "That," he says to no one in particular, "was an experience."

The Bar gives him a glass of the green stuff without him even asking.

jokerswildwest.livejournal.com

[The door swings open from the scene of sorts and we'll presume the crew wandered their way in as well.]

Alex West is very grateful to see that Bar. This would be for several reasons, any of the following quite applicable:

- The stabbing pain in his chest from being ran into by that younger-looking vicious beast (thank the most-likely broken ribs and the lovely purple splotches that will be such nice bruises tomorrow).
- The fact that he's now completely out of bullets for all three of his guns (not that he would need them here, but, after today, being prepared for anything might be a new motto).
- The definite scent of bloody pig thing that seems to follow him in (this is what happens when you're also coated in chunks of pig-matter and blue grey dust that is so not going to come out).
- The prospect of a very cold beer, painkillers, and a place to put down his backpack, which is now full of bones, teeth, tucks, and other bits and pieces from the vanquished evil prehistoric creatures (evil is a matter of opinion, as they were under control of that crazy lady, and this last reason does make Alex smile, a little).

He is holed up in a booth (after going upstairs, depositing his backpack in his room and taking a hot shower, and returning in fresh, non-bloody clothes) with a very cold Budweiser in front of him and a massive headache. (This is killer status here, folks. We'll blame the ribs.) He's open to being bothered...just don't yell.

gone_byebye

[OOM: Today, in Ray's world, is really not a good day to be an NYPD detective. Not if you want to keep your blood pressure levels from skyrocketing.

Ray, mind you, knows nothing of this. He's in ur museum, lookin at ur fossils, when the power goes out. Eh, big deal, he'll walk home, right? Right.

At least, assuming things don't get any crazier...]

But we all know better than to assume, which is why Ray looks more than a little wild-eyed when he comes into the Bar. "Hey, question," he calls out, just a little too casually. "Is there anybody here with particular interest or expertise in dealing with prehistoric predators of, oh, creatures somewhat larger, meaner, and tougher than a twentieth-century white rhino? Say, in a heavily populated, not-especially-mobile, modern urban setting? I'm, um, just wondering."

fabled-fox.livejournal.com

Until now, this Fox has never had an entrance post.

He's been here for several months and spoke with people and generally made himself at home but has never EP'd before.

Tonight, we change all that.

Tonight, Aesop!Fox gets his very first EP evar!

Yay!

Come visit!

And if you happen to be partaking of a rat-and-vole soufle tonight, he might be partaking it away from you before he runs off. ^^

Current Mood: excited

young_womble

To do or learn something to get free.

Wellington has been thinking a lot. And he wants to go home.

And last night he wondered if he had to learn to trust.

So today he is trying to come out, as it were. Into the open, that is. But it's difficult; he's spent over a month seeking out any and every bit of cover here and hiding in, behind or under it as applicable. It's not easy, but he plucks up the courage and creeps out from behind a sofa.

He glances over to look at the door. No door. Not far enough.

He cautiously clambers onto the sofa and looks around.

And then he hides behind a cushion with just his fluffy feet sticking out.

greatestinvader.livejournal.com

OH SO MUCH PLOTTING is going on in a corner booth near the observation window.

Zim has a large blueprint sprawled out over the table and is scribbling hastily on it, occasionally laughing maniacally and calling himself a genius.

jokerswildwest.livejournal.com

The first thing one might notice about Alex when he walks into the bar this afternoon, is the fact that his hair is sticking up in an odd direction and he's sporting a bit nicer of a tan than when he left last. And while unfortunately, Alex was not on vacation, he is in a good mood again.

~~When that rare Greek bust you sold last week at auction got as many pounds as it did, you are in a very good mood regardless of the outside situation.~~

And so he enters the bar, finds a seat at a table and requests from a waitrat the following : glass of a very good red wine, a sandwich, and a certain book on ancient Siberian myth and legend.

Once he's finished eating, he orders another glass and then proceeds to turn to the section regarding the so called 'Dead Zone', to take notes on the meteor crater and the stories surrounding it.

He's completely botherable while he works.

un_real_boy

The door opens.

The boy on the other side -- dressed in simple cotton kurta pyjamas -- stares for a moment and then shuts it very quickly.

The door opens.

The boy on the other side -- now in a blazer and carefully pressed trousers -- blinks, peers around the edge, and studies the bar for a minute before closing the door slowly and quietly.

The door opens.

The boy on the other side jerks to a momentary halt, throws a wary glance over his shoulder, and slips into the bar. He closes the door behind him, quietly, then reconsiders and cracks it open again to peek out. Apparently satisfied with what he sees, he shuts it and turns back to the bar with a curious, intent look on his face.

In precise, slightly accented English -- "Where is this, please?"

greatestinvader.livejournal.com

GIR! Get the voot runner ready! I have PLAAANS. And oh such plans do I haaaave!" Came the muffled, squelching voice through the door before in walked an alien.
This alien, by the name of Zim, was green and small, was slurping on a fountain drink soda, smiling and oblivious about five steps in to the door, before large, red eyes open to see that this wasn't his lab.

"Hruh? Computer! What did you do to my lab!?" He yelled. "Computer, ANSWER ME! OBEY YOUR MASTER!"

Confused Zim needs orientation. Good luck with that.

jokerswildwest.livejournal.com

Enter one Alex West into the bar.

He appears to be in a good mood. He's dressed in casual wear today, no suit -- linen button down shirt, unbuttoned, with a t-shirt beneath and jeans. His boots are free of mud, and he's not covered in snow. He doesn't fall through the door, merely walks through.

Good moods are infectious, right? Alex sure hopes so.

So find him sitting at the bar with a glass of red wine and a smile on his face. Completely botherable.

jokerswildwest.livejournal.com

The door to Milliways opens and in steps a man who's been seen around here before. He's a little bit surprised to see the bar and makes a note not to have any breath mints, because he hasn't been back since he got turned back into a male and doesn't wish to repeat the experience.

In his hands is a small black sketchbook. He goes to take a seat at the bar and asks for a cup of tea, and can be found sitting there, sipping said tea and twirling a pen in his fingers, pondering.

stuck-mynock.livejournal.com

Atton's finally managed to get Bar to give him some clothes which fit. The first seven tries, he was given dresses (which he refused to wear. Even if s/he is suddenly a woman, Atton would like to keep as much of his masculine pride as intact as possible) but eventually, she deigned to give him a tee shirt, jeans and a leather jacket. Which is what she's wearing now, as she bartends.

She's recovered from the shock, more or less. Now she just wants to change back, as quickly as possible.

Specials.
Magic Woman.
Go Girl!
Sailor Venus.

She didn't pick the specials. Blame the waitrats.

jokerswildwest.livejournal.com

Alex West is in the bar. He's just gotten out of a terribly boring business meeting with a 'client', and now is in the magic bar again. He's still not sure how this works. He's stubbing his cigarette out as he walks up, and sees the box of mints.

Never hurt, right? And it's better than having ash-tray breath all day.

He orders a beer and then goes to the restroom to freshen up. Then, there's the sound of shouting.

"WHAT THE HELL?!!"

Holy...there's stammering and maybe a little bit of flailing, before he sneaks back out and sits at the Bar. And immediately asks for vodka. A bottle.

Helllllllllllllllllp.

ooc: plz to be tagging in happy hour post. <3. timed to prior to happy hour.