milliways_bar | Entries tagged with jim craig

[oom:
the looking glass, so shiny and new
how quickly the glamour fades]

Mary's in a rather dour mood when she enters Milliways for the first time in many months. Despite Mama's American platitudes, things don't look all that much better in the morning. She's mad at Mama for arranging the dinner with Sir Anthony Strallan in the first place, mad at Edith for goading her, and mostly just mad at herself.

She finds a chair where she can sit and open her book, but a keen observer might notice that she rarely turns a page.

allthebaconandeggsyouhave

The front door opens, and four very large boxes on a handtruck come in.

Ron Swanson is moving the handtruck. He divests himself of the boxes and tapes a pre-prepared sign, printed on a ~~computer~~ typewriter, in small letters, to the topmost box.

The sign reads:

TOM HAVERFORD LEFT THIS IN A CLOSET IN THE PARKS AND RECREATION OFFICE PAST THE DEADLINE I GAVE HIM TO REMOVE IT.

HE HAS LOST THE RIGHTS TO THE CONTENTS OF THESE BOXES. THE APPROPRIATE PLACE FOR LIQUOR, OTHER THAN ONE'S OWN PROPERTY, IS A BAR.

THIS IS LIQUOR HE CREATED.

IT IS DAMN FINE LIQUOR. IT IS CALLED SNAKE JUICE. I PERSONALLY ENDORSE THIS LIQUOR.

WHILE ALL YOU REALLY NEED IS MY PERSONAL ENDORSEMENT, THE GUERILLA MARKETING SCRIPT THAT TOM PROVIDED SUGGESTS THAT A PRIME SELLING POINT IS ITS "DOPE AFTERTASTE."

TAKE AS MUCH AS YOU WOULD LIKE. I DON'T CARE.

And with that, Ron pushes his handtruck out of the bar.

[OOC: This is a plot device. You could turn it into a party post if you wanted. Or not! Please see the back room for details.]

snowy_river_man

[Not-Quite-OOM:

Fancy seein' you here, Jim.

Milli-timed to a few weeks after the Shindig, in May.]

all_er_nothin

The sights don't stop with the dance floor.

Once you move past, you'll see a number of carts and booths spread with home brews, fancy treats, wares, and games. There's a maypole out by the lake. Closer to the paddocks, a little corral is in order where pony rides are on offer. A horse-drawn cart and buggy are on standby to take folk around the lake.

Every free corner is filled with some delight. It's sure to be one hell of a party.

Won't you dust off your finery and come join us for a spell?

ikissdhimbck

Folk have been setting up all night, and by noon on this sunny Saturday you won't hardly be able to miss the hoopla once you step out the back door.

A lively tune is playing*, the wide expanse between the lake and the stables filled with party wares. There's a dance floor and a bandstand, both large enough to accommodate a number of people; bleacher-style seating is on either side, where ladies and menfolk can line up and wait for partners. The rest of the seating is in the form of hay bales scattered about.

Long tables are set up with all manner of country cooking, along with plenty of drinks for young and old alike. Tents have been erected, twinkling lights spun around their poles, and when the sun sets fancy lanterns and tea lights will keep the shindig aglow.

*Any band resemblance to ZZ Top is highly coincidental. >.>

ikissdhimbck

Kate comes downstairs in one of her best checkered blouses and a clean pair of trousers. It's an out-of-the-ordinary look for her of late, seeing as how most of her time has been spent scrappin' out of Milliways, or working the stables. Never you fear, you'll still be able to recognize her by the well-worn leather gun belt at her hips, and her pair of tattered boots.

Her first order of business is Miss Bar, where she lugs two heavy bundles. ( One for William Evans, and the other for Miss Mary Bennet )

That taken care of, she sets up shop at a table near the Bar, an iced tea with a shot of bourbon in and a stack of papers accompanying her. She hangs a sign that says:

The Shindig is this Saturday!
Do you have questions? Would you like to help out?
Talk to Miss Kate

[tiny tags: Clay, Emmett Cullen]

[ooc: ~~Open for new tags until Saturday. Party business and non-party business both welcome; she's in a friendly sort of mood. ^__^~~ And closed! Slows will continue to be hit, but please come see her at the dance.]

snowy_river_man

[OOM: Gather them up with a butterfly net. Do what needs to be done.

*Dialogue from The Man from Snowy River contained within.]

mnt_mike

Once again Mike is in suitcoat, dress shirt, and tie.
Once again he's seated at Bar.

And once again she's kicking his ass at Lunch Money.

"That...how do you...are you just printing Humilation cards? Like...lifting them from other decks?"

Smug Bar is smug.

[OOC: Here for interviewy goodness, but not plot locked.]

snowy_river_man

Preparing to ride out is almost more than Jim's body can handle. After a while, he comes to welcome the pain. It hurts too much to concentrate on anything else; certainly too much to think about how very many ways he has failed.

The only thoughts he allows to penetrate the throbbing ache in his skull are of the mountains. Of home.

He packs more than makes sense, not acknowledging the move for what it is: a sign that he might not stay after delivering the strays. Saddle bag carefully eased over a shoulder, bridle in his opposite hand, he leaves the bunkhouse with a sure step, setting his jaw against the lightning flash of agony that accompanies the attempt at normal movement. As he passes the door to Milliways, he makes a split-second decision and steps inside. There's no harm in a drink before he leaves the flats. Or several, given the way time moves --or doesn't-- between places, provided there's a warm bed for him upstairs.

The pride and rigid set of his shoulders melts away as he approaches the bar. Frown settling on his brow, Jim slowly takes a seat, removes his hat and commences staring at the wall, looking quite a bit like a wounded animal bent on licking his wounds.

[OOC: Due to mun’s schedule as of late and the magic of Milliways, Jim is entering shortly after the events of this thread.]

snowy_river_man

[OOM: With the men due to return any day now, Jim unthinkingly grabs hold of another opportunity to prove his worth.

Turns out he should have let this one go.]

snowy_river_man

[OOM: Risking Harrison's wrath, Jim and Jessica break the colt.]

snowy_river_man

[OOM: On Harrison's cattle station, a challenge is boldly issued and rashly met.]

snowy_river_man

It's not that Jim has been avoiding the door to Milliways, necessarily; he thinks about it often, watches it out of the corner of his eye as he chops wood in the kitchen yard. Not once has he seen anyone else enter or exit. He's beginning to think it's hiding in plain sight, visible only to him.

There is one person he considers asking: Jessica Harrison. But Jim quickly decides that after his previous performance, the existential question of a door to the end of the universe is a conversation better left for another day. That doesn't mean he isn't prepared to pursue the matter himself, however. The boss left him behind, and so Jim doesn't feel guilty taking time between chores and butler duty to open the door and step inside.

Milliways. Against reason, it really does exist. Jim pushes his hat back with a forefinger to allow for lower light and a quick look around, then steps up to the bar with a bemused expression on his face.

snowy_river_man

[OOM --

What good can come of being left behind? Not much, Jim thinks. But then there is tea and a surprising conversation with the boss's daughter.]

snowy_river_man

[OOM -- You win some, you lose some.]

snowy_river_man

[OOM --

All in a day's work: Jim makes his first enemy, and then discovers what that flirting business is all about when Jessica Harrison needs help tying a knot.]

snowy_river_man

[Pre-Milliways: Nice work if you can get it.]

Jim is searching for his bunk.

The second building on the left, the foreman had said. Looking over his shoulder toward the main house, Jim opens what must be the right door and asks,

"Which bed's mine?"

He stands there, a strong and tan young man of eighteen, doing his best to juggle saddle, bridle and pack. The brim of his hat has been pushed up, a concession to the late hour. His blue shirt is worn and faded, open at the neck to show a dirty red bandanna. His tan pants could stand to be let out a little at the seams. Not half an hour earlier, Jim had washed his face, but it's obvious he's been working all the day long.

Turns out it wasn't the right door after all. And this? This watering hole is the last thing he expected to find on Harrison's cattle station. The man really does live like a king.

All Jim can do is stare.