thelizziebennet: (Happy - amused)
[personal profile] thelizziebennet
 This is awkward. 

Lizzie only planned on a quick snack, not an extended eavesdropping session. And she certainly hadn't planned on finding herself at the weirdo bar she found last week. 

But here she is, clad in her favorite penguin PJs and fuzzy slippers, feeling just as woefully out of place as she had the last time. She's still clutching the horrifying, hysterical t-shirt

She sighs. She had planned on making notes for her first video - she and Charlotte were finally filming it - not chatting and drinking more tea. But the caffeine probably wasn't a bad idea, so she orders a pot and asks politely for a pen and a pad of paper. 

Bar gives her English breakfast and this notebook

Lizzie makes a face, but has to laugh. "Thanks. You're ridiculous." 

She flips to the first page and starts jotting down notes.

OOM: Open all weekend!
thekidfrombrooklyn: (leather jacket - drawing)
[personal profile] thekidfrombrooklyn
Steve Rogers walks through the door, his knapsack slung over his shoulder, and pauses in visible surprise. He's dusty and sunburned on his face, and his leather jacket shows signs of wear on the elbows.

Well, he had stopped to eat. He just expected to be somewhere in Texas, not at the end of the universe.

He sits at the bar and orders food--lots of it--but before he begins to eat, he takes out his sketchbook and turns to a blank page. He doesn't draw, though--he begins to write, the words pouring from his pencil like water from a spring.

Funny thing about being on the road for days. Lots of time to think.



[ooc: This is open all weekend, though right now I should warn you I may actually want to sleep tonight. Stranger things have happened.]
mnt_mike: (Default)
[personal profile] mnt_mike
Mike makes his way down the stairs from the guest suites. He's wearing a very familiar brown fedora hat, a matching bomber jacket, and there is even a whip attached to the side of his utility belt. He's a turtle on a mission. Nothing will stop him. Nobody's gonna breaka his stride. Nobody's gonna hold him down. OH NO! He gots to keep on movin'!

And in this case, he's moving to various points around the Bar, tapping on the wood looking for hollow spots and hidden doors. Heh, retard.
mnt_raph: (Default)
[personal profile] mnt_raph
*Raph enters the bar. He's devoid of apparent emotion, which can only spell disaster for the next person to piss him off. He needs a drink. A strong one. *
[identity profile] henry-jones-jr.livejournal.com
* Having left the bar mere hours ago, Indy stumbles back downstairs looking very dishevelled. His clothes are wrinkled beyond usual and his shirt is un-tucked. He is hatless and his hair is sticking out at crazy angles, somehow unsupported but nevertheless very sticky-outy *

* If one didn't know better, one might say he had slept in his clothes, woken up just minutes ago, rolled out of bed, neglected to shower or change clothes, and just dragged himself right back down to the bar. But one probably does know better. With a bleary squint through bloodshot and puffy eyes, he spies his fedora where he left it on the bar while talking to Liz. He staggers over to his stool and plops the hat back on his head *

* He doesn't order anything. In fact he folds his arms on the counter and rests his forehead down on them with a groan *
[identity profile] henry-jones-jr.livejournal.com
* Indy enters from upstairs wearing his last pair of clean pants. If you look very closely as he saunters across the room, you might notice he is wearing a pair of red socks for some reason. The crowd at the bar parts like the Red Sea as he nears his usual stool. People seem to be eying him with amusement for some reason. He checks his flies and shrugs. He sits and orders a Jack Daniels and coke. Something about the bar decor is not quite the same as usual... but he can't place it. A presence of some kind... a sort of shiny, glittery one at that *

* He looks around the room with a bewildered frown and finally he turns his gaze down the crowded bar... *
[identity profile] henry-jones-jr.livejournal.com
* Indy limps gingerly downstairs. He positions his feet with toes pointing out, being careful with each step to ensure his thighs do not come into contact with each other. His complexion is pale and he wears a pained expression. Every step seems to be take tremendous effort... and each foot fall causes a small wince to shoot across his face. After an age he makes it to the bar. He tries to pull himself onto a stool in various seating positions. None seem comfortable. He eventually opts to just stand. He leans to the bar and speaks in a barely audible husky voice *

Whisky...

* The bar complies with a flourish... presenting a glass and a full bottle of unlabeled Scotch on the counter before him. He pours a healthy measure and drinks it in one. He places the glass down and exhales loudly in relief. *
[identity profile] henry-jones-jr.livejournal.com
* A bespectacled Indiana Jones ambles downstairs in his field shirt and slacks. He looks a little more presentable than usual. He has shaved and it's even apparent that he has run a comb through his hair as he takes his hat off to sit at the bar. There's a happy twinkle in his eyes, possibly brought about by the prospect of an adventure. He orders a vodka tonic and casts a look around the room. Seeing no sign of the brownies, he takes a drink from his glass *

[Warning: gratuitous arm wrestling within]