milliways_bar | Entries tagged with kell tainer

tyria-sarkin.livejournal.com

Tyria's found a clearing out back that she's decided to use for an improvised shooting range.

She's left a half-dozen holes in the man-shaped target, three where the 'head' is and the rest in the torso.

Botherable, but one might want to make some noise while approaching her. She's rather focused on the task at hand.

corsec-jedi.livejournal.com

Corran's in a corner booth, sipping at his Whyren's.
He hasn't been here in a while. Life is finally seeming to calm at home, so his arrival here isn't a big disruption. He looks around, hoping vaguely to see a familiar face, check in and see what's new.

On the other hand, there's a dead doc in the corner who doesn't look entirely amused. In fact, Ton Phanan is outright bored. He's laying with his back on a chair, head hangoing off one side, feet off the other, trying to see just how fast the blood can run to his head. Passing out might actually make life here exciting for a day or two for the socially-challenged cyborgian doctor thing.

Then there's a stupefied Myn Donos by the fire. Back ramrod straight, face completely expressionless, he still hasn't left since the horrors of a few days ago. He's just staring deep into the fire, wondering...

Well, since we've mentioned fire, there's probably been some notice that slight flares are erupting from yet ANOTHER table in the bar. It's probably a serious lack of surprise that Kell Tainer appears to be responsible for them, a hand-held spot-welder at work on an odd conglomeration of parts. Even he might not know what he's working on.

[OOC: Mun is atoning for periods of great absences! Come hither, and get yer owed/wanted threads! Or sit back, and he'll probably come to you.]

corsec-jedi.livejournal.com

Hey, look!

Pilots!

Corran Horn is reshuffling an old sabacc deck for about the 400th time. He could go on forever, but none of us what THAT, now, do we?

Ton Phanan is in a table by the window. He looks like he's preparing to snark at other bored people to amuse himself. He's thought about that Jedi guy from the Rogues shuffling sabacc cards, but anyone with extra powers (that he knows about) seems like it'd be a bad idea to annoy...

As usual, Kell Tainer looks like he's tinkering with something. Ask at your own risk--it could blow up.

And what collection of pilots would be complete without another Corellian walking in as this post is written? Particularly if it's a REALLY nervous-looking Myn Donos?

[OOC:Ping at BlackPhoenixFyre, or just have at! Warnings for connection problems, though...]

demlshn-boy-sir.livejournal.com

[[OOM: Makita meets Kell, and the School of Boom ensues. Rated DT for Demolitions Training.]]

capt_angie

Angelina is sitting cross legged on a sofa, building a house of cards on a coffee table. She's being very... very... careful because if she makes one wrong move then the entire thing will-

*BANG*

...

...

Do that. A cloud of smoke and cards floats to the ground around a slightly shocked and singed young witch.

bright-burning.livejournal.com

The longer she stays in India, the longer she sleeps in Jack's apartment and decorates the walls and windows, the more Fire feels she's taking from him. And while ordinarily she wouldn't care, this is Jack she's talking about and...well...Jack.

So she's in the bar, sprawled over an armchair and whistling to herself, lighter in hand. Vaguely bored, but then that's nothing new.

She smells of smoke.

Very strongly of smoke.

Almost like she's just been in a fire.

demlshn-boy-sir.livejournal.com

Whump!

"...Ow."

A confused pilot looks back up at the hole in the ceiling he just fell through. "Okay, I know this place can make a door anywhere, anytime, but... why in my X-Wing before a mission?" Kell stands up, dusts himself off, and waks over to the bar. "Eh, vape it. Lomin-ale, please?" A green bottle materializes, and Kell takes a seat and kicks back, looking for anyone he might know--or someone he doesn't who looks interesting.

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Of course, Kell's not the only Wraith in the Bar. Ton's sitting over in a far corner, laughing whie watching something on his datapad.

It looks suspiciously like an old holodrama starring his former wingmate.

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And because the mun must be ultimately predictable, there's a Rogue Jedi Hero Thing sitting in a booth.

Or maybe he's lying down.

Okay, so he's napping.

Jedi get tired, too... although the empty plate of what appears to have been some random bird Bar gave him when he asked for food might have something to do with it. It seems Corran is learning the effects of tryptophan. Anyone care to see if it's had any other effects on him?

dr-sarcasm.livejournal.com

Well, well, well. Over in the corner, near the trilobyte tank, there appears to be plotting going on between two old friends.

Well, laughter, anyway.

And when TWO Wraiths are sitting at a table laughing, it's probably safest to assume it's plotting. Or planning. Maybe scheming, but that looks different.

Or it could be Lt. Kell Tainer and the still-somewhat-newly-dead Ton Phanan just swapping stories. But that seems almost innocent.

[OOC:Tag one or both, mun doesn't mind. Anything to distract him from the horrors of a take-home midterm.]

corsec-jedi.livejournal.com

It's been awhile since he's been down here.

But he's here now, green flightsuit and all. Cuz, y'know. Booze, and a place to sit.

So there's a Corran with a Whyren's at an observation window. Staring. And spinning his (deactivated) lightsaber on the table.

If you want him, he's yours.

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Coincidentally, there's a dashing Alderaanian pilot on the other side of the bar. Napping. Totally aware of how many other Wraiths are in the Bar these days.

Which either makes him very, very confident, or very, very stupid.

demlshn-boy-sir.livejournal.com

[[This? Is a mun remembering that he has pups not named Corran.]]

Kell stumbles into the bar. He's completely exhausted, having just spent hours on end helping assess still-new X-Wings. Again. Cause certain wraiths are rather expensive on the equipment.

He looks around, and sighs, smiling. "I hate those damn things... but I love this place."

He immediately strides over to the Bar and orders up some Halmad Prime, and looks around for a familiar face. Or several.

Come! Annoy!

corsec-jedi.livejournal.com

Pilots inna bar!

Corran stumbled in through the simulator again--seems to be Milliways favorite way of getting him out of mission prep. As he half-crawls, half-walks through the door, he notices the new clock in the bar...

Perplexed, he sits down at the bar, orders his customary Corellian whiskey, and looks around for friendly faces.

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Kell's back, too. Legs propped up in the booth beside him, relaxing with a bottle of Prime with his eyes closed and head tilted back, he appears to be almost asleep.

Someone want to test that theory?

mandercommander.livejournal.com

And Bonzo's inna Bar. He's taking what amounts to a 'coffee break' from various work...which means that conversation is definitely in. Any takers?

corsec-jedi.livejournal.com

Corran strolls into the bar proper, seemingly in a fairly jovial mood. He stops by the bar to get a drink, then heads to a booth and kicks his feet up on the table with a smirk.

A rather enigmatic and troubling smirk.

It suits a couple of his squadmates better...

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Kell's kicking back elsewhere in the bar. He looks freshly cleaned up, like he just got out of the shower, but is wearing a similarly wide grin and has an empty glass on one side of the table and a mug of lomin-ale in front of him.

Subtle hints...

fighter--pilot.livejournal.com

Shalla is pacing by the viewport, eyeing the ball in her hand distastefully. She is getting antsy here. And she needs to find someone that can make her drop the ball. So she can feel special.

Someone stop her pacing. Or she'll wear a hole in the floor.

legendaryoutlaw.livejournal.com

Vash is in the corner booth with a bottle of whiskey and a glass.

And an empty one across from him.

Hint, hint.
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Corran. Lomin ale. Bar.

Droid. Plugged in. Still awake.

Come'n get 'im.
--------------------------------------------
Kell and a Halmad Prime at a table inna bar.

He's got a black suitcase, and he looks a little pale and sickly.

Someone want to help him with this? For example, a Security someone?

blackbanthaboy.livejournal.com

ATTENTION PILOTS.
PLEASE TALK TO

FACE LORAN

THIS IS IMPORTANT.

Face is stretched out on a couch, not very near the sign, with a copy of the Say True over his face. He's sleeping. Sleeeeeeping.

demlshn-boy-sir.livejournal.com

Kell is sitting in a booth in the corner of the bar, looking rather ill.

He's got a number of tools, too, and he's using them to probe at and scan the strange black briefcase on the table in front of him.

Despite the fact that he's turning 3 shades of green.

Anyone curious?

grovecj.livejournal.com

There is a sign up:

JOB OPPORTUNITIES

- Thieves - sneaky sort of people, who are good at separating people from their belongings;

- Smooth-talkers - other sneaky sort of people, who are good at separating people from their wits;

- Tech Wizards - gagdgeteers, electronic jockeys and so on, preferably with some experience in security matters and security systems;

- Muscle - people who can fight and use guns, since no plan survives first contact with the enemy.

- Medical/Healer support, for the reason just mentioned;

The Job: empty the safe of a mafia-run casino, and all secondary jobs leading to and supporting the main action.

Payoff: 5,000 - 50,000 + excellent performance bonuses.

[[ Ahhh! Rabid players! *LOL* Okay, doing my best to keep up, keep tagging in. ]]

legendaryoutlaw.livejournal.com

Vash likes to sleep.

Which would explain where he's been for the last week. And why his hair is such a colossal mess.

So now, one red-coated outlaw inna bar, and headed right for it. Sleep is fueled--eventually--by donuts.

Which he now has a plateful of. And a very pleased look on his face.

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The door opens, and Corran stumbles in. Someone looks like he just rolled out of bed, and...

"Sithspawn." This was supposed to be the refresher. Why couldn't this just happen to Hobbie or Wes?

He sighs and goes over to Bar to get a cup of caf. He's gonna need it.

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A weary--but very handsome--young man is sitting in a booth, looking around for a familiar face. Same grease-stained coveralls, same unit patch on his shoulder. He's really looking for a familiar squadmate or two, but Kell Tainer wouldn't be opposed to new friends, either.

[OOC: Ping the mun @ BlackPhoenixFyre before tagging, just so he knows who you're after. This is his universal apology for having been so inconsistent and TOTALLY absent from Milliways for the last week and a half. So now, all pups inna bar, and no class or anything today. Nail 'im!]

EDIT: ~~Mun will be back in a couple hours--off to work, back around 4:30 PST.~~ Back now!

demlshn-boy-sir.livejournal.com

The door opens, and a tall, handsome young man--clad in a standard eyesore orange New Republic fighter jumpsuit--walks in, looking over his shoulder and laughing at some joke or other. Wiping at his oilstained hands--which match his jumpsuit perfectly-- he shakes his head and looks up--

And stops dead.

"--the kriff? Runt? What'd you do to this place? I haven't even been gone four hours!" He looks around for his horse-faced bunk- and wingmate, but can't seem to find him... and for good reason.

Lt. Tainer... Welcome to Milliways.