milliways_bar | Entries tagged with joanne jefferson

Sara's had a lot on her mind lately, and the thought of telling the others about Alison Coffin slipped her mind completely the previous night.

She goes up to Bar and leaves letters for the interested parties.

( Guys )

That done, she heads out the door.

[ooc: This primarily affects the RENT crew and associated pups.]

Current Mood: worried

lvpd_sidle

Seeing Sara engrossed in reading something isn't unusual.

The choice of reading material, however, is. It has nothing to do with physics or forensic techniques.

She's eyeing a page the way one would a diagram of a puppy-mutilation factory.

".....I don't care if the flowers clash with the tablecloths."

Ah. Planning weddings is such fun.

[ooc: Mun heading home.]

bohemian-mark.livejournal.com

The door to the bar opens, slowly, and a telephoto film camera lens peeks through the crack. After a moment, it retracts, and Mark walks through, looking just a bit more relieved than he really ought to in the situation. Striding over to the bar, he pulls out a film pen and scribbles something on some small pieces of storyboard paper. "Bar, can you give this to the people in question? Thanks." He pets Bar as the papers disappear and are replaced by a to-go cup of iced tea. "Thanks. I'll be back later." And with that, he goes back out the door.

( To Collins, Angel, Joanne, Mimi, April, Arthur Dent, Queen Faith, and Sara )

[ooc: If I forgot someone that Mark knows and would warn, let me know. Or just pretend you got one. Thanks!]

bohemian-mark.livejournal.com

[OOM: In which there is a film premiere, a big damn party and a surprise party In short, Today For You knows how to throw a party the right way. Some threads might be still going on. Whoops.]

harvardbohemian.livejournal.com

Who knows why she actually decided to come to the bar of all places, but sitting at a table with a pile of papers is Joanne, shuffling through things in deep legalese. She probably wouldn't mind a distraction.

harvardbohemian.livejournal.com

It's not shocking that she can't find Mark to save herself. It's not even surprising that he phoned from God only knows where to tell the crew that he was cancelling filming. What -is- surprising is that when she opened the door to Adam's makeshift office, Joanne found herself in the bar. Shrugging, she decides that this is about as good as anywhere to do paperwork. Claiming a table, she pulls a few things out of her briefcase and starts to write.

empath-wiggin.livejournal.com

Now here's something you don't see every day. At a table are three men and two women, all playing Sabacc. Biggs Darklighter, Valentine Wiggin-Skywalker, Qui-Gon Jinn, Mark Cohen and Joanne Jefferson are playing with various degrees of skill. If the piles of change in front of them are any indication, Biggs seems to be raking in the cash.

"Mark, why did you get me into this? I don't even -play- cards."

"Joanne, it's not that bad, really. It's just a card game."

"Val, you don't know Joanne. She can't stand losing."

"Perhaps, dear, that is something you should work on. Calm is vital, especially for someone in the legal profession."

"This is why, folks, you play with pilots instead of Jedi. Pilots don't give you philosophy with your ante."

"Don't play with anarchists either."

"... be nice, Mark."

Please interrupt the game.

[ooc: Let me know who you want to play with, otherwise, you'll probably get whoever thinks you look interesting.]

bohemian-mark.livejournal.com

"You've done something that very few people have been able to do, you know." Joanne walks into the bar, followed closely by Mark, who is shrugging idly.

"You did."

"I'm not exactly most people."

"And I am?"

Joanne shrugs.

"That's libel right there. I'm gonna sue."

"Slander, Mark. I'm your lawyer anyway."

"I knew that. Really."

The pair claim a table, and sit down, going over what looks like some rather dry legal documents. Feel free to bug.

[ooc: Lemme know who you want, if anyone in particular.]

artsmartscarlet.livejournal.com

(Out of Milliways: In which Jane finally gets around to painting the loft, and meets another of Mark's friends.)

bohemian-mark.livejournal.com

"You were flirting, Joanne, admit it."

"I was not flirting, Mark. You of all people should know that much."

Joanne and Mark come into the bar, cheerily arguing with each other.

"Honey, I know this act..."

"Don't even -start- that one with me, Mark. I'm not dancing through the bar at the end of the universe while you try and convince me that I was flirting."

"Well, you have to admit that she was hot."

"... I'm taking the fifth."

They take a seat at a table, ordering some sodas from a wait rat, and Mark opens a large bag of wierd shit while they keep arguing.

[ooc: Mark's bag of Strange Shit is basically the contents of his junk drawers. If it could concievably be in a junk drawer in 1999, it is probably there. Have at?]

the_antiangst

(Out of Milliways: In which Angel drags Mark along on a shopping expedition. Only fair, as it's Mark's money.)

"--any idea where we might find a door to the bar around here?"
The front door opens; on the other side is a hotel lobby. And Angel, back to the door, wearing the backpack he left with and carrying his garment bag and a couple shopping bags.
And then he turns around. "...Oh. Never mind, then, apparently we get direct service."
Returning party: Angel, Mark Cohen, and Joanne Jefferson. Mark's got a couple more of Angel's shopping bags, and Joanne's got her own luggage.
Come talk to them! But be advised Mark might run off and start a party at any minute.

(Three characters, two muns. Big damn party will be ~~going up in a separate post~~ happening tomorrow, it appears.)

bohemian-mark.livejournal.com

[OOM: Academy Awards, 1999 In which two years ago beats both Elizabethans and the Second World War. Rated G for gratuitious singing, F for flailing, and S for surprised nominees.]

the_antiangst

(Out of Milliways: Angel meets Mark's manager, who goes from oblivious to skeptical to fanboy in about two minutes. Also, Joanne finds out Angel made it back for the ceremony.)

bohemian-mark.livejournal.com

The bar door opens, and in comes a basket of laundry. Then another. Then, behind another bag, is a blonde filmmaker, calling out to someone. "Hey, Fred, thanks for the help. Yeah, I'll get that script to you next week. Right. Thanks." Looking around the bag, he blinks. "This is certainly not the laundromat." Facepalming, he hauls the baskets and bag off to the laundry room. Later, he commandeers a table, and spreads out the laundry. Come and look. It's a strange conglomeration of jeans, khakis, skirts, t-shirts, frilly things, boxershorts and underwear. You never know what you'll find in the Loft's laundry.

bohemian-mark.livejournal.com

Near the middle of the bar is a decently-large sized table. In the middle of the table is a huge pot of tea, and mugs are strewn hap-hazardly around the table. The people around the table are varied, but all seem to be in various states of agitated discussion about something.

Valentine Wiggin-Skywalker, Mark Cohen, Biggs Darklighter, Joanne Jefferson, and Qui-Gon Jinn are discussing something. Care to join them?

[ooc: If you want a specific someone, please specify in tag, or you might get more than one. Or luck of the draw.]

gone_byebye

[OOM: Ray gets the letter he's been dreading.]

The door swings open and a cowed-looking Ray makes his way in. He's wearing the coveralls he normally uses to work on the car, and he's pretty well grease all over, but more importantly he has an envelope in one hand that's absolutely covered in the stickers the Postal Service uses to indicate This Mail Is Important, Dammit.

It just doesn't look like today's been his day.

He gets himself a glass of the green stuff and goes to a nearby booth before looking around for a particular someone of the legal persuasion.

gone_byebye

The front door flies open. There's a brief glimpse of a New York alleyway, and the sound of quite a few people, but that doesn't last long. This is because Ray fairly leaps through the door and slams it shut behind him.

"Is there an early twenty-first century United States of America lawyer in the house?" he asks. Whether or not he gets an answer in the affirmative, a few moments later he makes for the Bar and orders a big honkin' bowl of oatmeal with apple bits in.

bohemian-mark.livejournal.com

[OOM: Before his release, Mark gets a visitor.]

The door opens, almost lazily, and conversation can be heard beyond it. "I still can't believe that you got them to totally drop the charges, Joanne."

"Oh, come on, Mark. It was simple. I told you about the technicalities..."

"Yes, but Joanne. They were out for my ass. And, a jury's not necessarily going to listen to technicalities...."

Mark's rant is cut off when he realizes where they are. Joanne and Mark step into the bar. Both are in suits, but Mark looks rather the worse for the wear, a fading black eye, and a bit of a stiffness to his stride.

Joanne picks it back up. "Why does this bar have to show up when we least expect it?"

"I don't know, but at least you haven't shown up in a towel."

"Point. Well, you can get your camera back now. Angel has it."

"Good. Much better with Angel than with the police."

[OOC: Joanne and Mark both available for tagging. Unless you specifiy, you're likely to get both. Do come say hi.]

harvardbohemian.livejournal.com

There are days which Joanne just wishes she didn't have to go to court. This is one of those days. Walking into the bar, she blinks, then just shakes her head, walking over to the bar, getting a drink, and then going to a table, spreading papers out over the table. She looks like she might should have gotten Advil as well.

the_antiangst

Angel, couch by fireplace, pizza and hot chocolate (what?), notebook, somewhat discontent expression.
He'll be fine once he gets things written down, really. Meanwhile, he could probably use a distraction.

thelastearthman.livejournal.com

Arthur hasn't been sleeping well lately. Which is why he's curled up in a booth with Kenna at his feet, using his bundled-up dressing gown as a makeshift pillow.

Feel free to say hi, but you may not get a coherent response.

Current Mood: groggy

harvardbohemian.livejournal.com

[Pre-Milliways: Joanne visits the last person she'd ever thought would be in jail.]

"He's got me on this wild goose chase, Adam, about some bar on Avenue C. I gotta go. My signal's breaking up. I'll call you later, alright?" Hanging up, Joanne eyes the door in the alley. It was just a door to someone's storage area. This is so wierd. Idly pulling at the door, she wonders where she put the number to that psychiatrist she was going to send Maureen to....
What to do with my impromptu baby...
And then everything changes. The door actually opens. Stepping in the door, she sees, not boxes and a storage area, but a bar. A real, live, bar, with people. Strange people. And... rats running around? So either Mark's up to some sort of trick, or something even stranger than she thought is happening.
I look before I leap, I love margins and discipline...
Pausing, she clears her throat, addressing the bar at large, perhaps with less confidence than she's used to. "Excuse me, I'm Joanne Jefferson, legal council for Mark Cohen. I'm looking for a drag queen claiming to be Angel."

Welcome to Milliways, Joanne.