first entrance.
Aug. 7th, 2013 10:10 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
co_pilotThe door opens slowly, and a small, dark head peeks through. Brown eyes widen and the girl disappears back behind the door in a dash of movement.
It is a few seconds before the door opens again to admit the same person, who takes a cautious step into a room she does not recognize.
(Her sensei had warned her against exploring by herself — in halting Japanese, but the point had been made — and now she glances around as if expecting to see him emerge at any moment.)
She does want to respect his wishes, but in the end, curiosity earns the better of her and she walks toward the high bartop, barely tall enough to peer over it.
It is a few seconds before the door opens again to admit the same person, who takes a cautious step into a room she does not recognize.
(Her sensei had warned her against exploring by herself — in halting Japanese, but the point had been made — and now she glances around as if expecting to see him emerge at any moment.)
She does want to respect his wishes, but in the end, curiosity earns the better of her and she walks toward the high bartop, barely tall enough to peer over it.
(no subject)
Apr. 15th, 2013 08:21 pmoo_7When the front door opens, James steps through and nearly stumbles over a stick that's been jammed between the legs of a nearby chair; he kicks it aside and then pauses as he realizes he's found his way back to the bar at the end of the universe.
He's dressed a little more casually tonight; dark overcoat over a t-shirt and jeans. He notices the music shift to a new song as he enters but doesn't pay it too much mind.
At first, anyway.
After a few loops of the tune, however, he'll be paying a little more attention. It seems like it's following him as he moves from the main dining area to the bar itself. There's no bartender on duty, so the order is spoken out loud, to the bar itself.
(Considering a piece of furniture a female still isn't happening.)
"Vodka martini," he mutters. "Shaken, not stirred."
[OOC: Open until I say it's not.]
He's dressed a little more casually tonight; dark overcoat over a t-shirt and jeans. He notices the music shift to a new song as he enters but doesn't pay it too much mind.
At first, anyway.
After a few loops of the tune, however, he'll be paying a little more attention. It seems like it's following him as he moves from the main dining area to the bar itself. There's no bartender on duty, so the order is spoken out loud, to the bar itself.
(Considering a piece of furniture a female still isn't happening.)
"Vodka martini," he mutters. "Shaken, not stirred."
[OOC: Open until I say it's not.]
(no subject)
Apr. 1st, 2013 10:18 pmm_is_forM is by the bar, drinking a bourbon, and looking about as happy with her new outfit as one would expect. Crowns are lovely things, but the pins used to attach them tend to poke the scalp, and she won't even start about the corset.
As the monarch herself reputedly said, "We are not amused."
Still, she supposes that she should probably count her blessings, having seen some of the other costumes in the bar. There are worse things to be than a queen. Even so, she's hoping that she'll be able to miss Halloween at this rate.
[ooc: tags might be slow for a bit as I'm trying to post a podcast. Open until her next entrance, though!]
As the monarch herself reputedly said, "We are not amused."
Still, she supposes that she should probably count her blessings, having seen some of the other costumes in the bar. There are worse things to be than a queen. Even so, she's hoping that she'll be able to miss Halloween at this rate.
[ooc: tags might be slow for a bit as I'm trying to post a podcast. Open until her next entrance, though!]
April Fools
Apr. 1st, 2013 07:56 amredintheledger
Not too long ago, Clint Barton suggested that mirror'verse Natasha would wear a Cinderella dress. When the woman calling herself Nadine walks into the bar today, she stops.
It seems someone might have got ideas.
Gone are her jeans and t-shirt, gone is the knife strapped to her shin. Instead, there is a remarkably heavy blue dress, made up of far too many petticoats and layers of chiffon.
'Nadine' has gone, and instead, there is one very, very confused and alert Agent Romanoff.
...
And an Agent Romanoff who, as she works out when she draws a lock of hair in front of her eyes, is now blonde as well.
It might be an idea for someone to explain.
[OOC: It's April Fools here in the Antipodes, and I have no work,
I love you all, but this EP is now closed to new threads unless we've already planned one ♥ ]
First Entrance
Mar. 21st, 2013 08:45 pmoo_7Pre-entrance #1: Prague
Pre-entrance #2: Madagascar
When the door opens, it exposes a well-lit hallway and the silhouette of a man who for all intents and purposes, planned on coming home after a long day of travel and fixing himself a stiff drink before heading to bed.
But when the man steps into a crowded bar instead of what he had expected to be his empty flat, he stops short and scans the room instinctively, before stepping aside and out of the walkway.
(The door clicks shut behind him, locking, though he's unaware of that at the moment.)
He moves into the room, aware of his surroundings, everything being watched with his sharp gaze as he heads for the counter. His mind is running a hundred miles an hour, trying to figure out how a bar ended up in his living room. But there's no time for panic; he knows he needs to analyse the situation at hand and find a resolution to it.
(But, there is a bar full of strangers in his living room, and there are some things even thorough analysis won't explain.)
Perhaps someone wants to help him out?
[OOC: A brand new, fully reset James Bond in the bar; this one will have no recollection of any versions that came before him. Mun is in crackchat tonight for any questions or concerns! Open until I say it's not.]
11:45EST - Slows please! Will pick up tags or new threads tomorrow. <3
Pre-entrance #2: Madagascar
When the door opens, it exposes a well-lit hallway and the silhouette of a man who for all intents and purposes, planned on coming home after a long day of travel and fixing himself a stiff drink before heading to bed.
But when the man steps into a crowded bar instead of what he had expected to be his empty flat, he stops short and scans the room instinctively, before stepping aside and out of the walkway.
(The door clicks shut behind him, locking, though he's unaware of that at the moment.)
He moves into the room, aware of his surroundings, everything being watched with his sharp gaze as he heads for the counter. His mind is running a hundred miles an hour, trying to figure out how a bar ended up in his living room. But there's no time for panic; he knows he needs to analyse the situation at hand and find a resolution to it.
(But, there is a bar full of strangers in his living room, and there are some things even thorough analysis won't explain.)
Perhaps someone wants to help him out?
[OOC: A brand new, fully reset James Bond in the bar; this one will have no recollection of any versions that came before him. Mun is in crackchat tonight for any questions or concerns! Open until I say it's not.]
11:45EST - Slows please! Will pick up tags or new threads tomorrow. <3
(no subject)
Mar. 12th, 2013 05:33 pmwantedmanWalking into the strange saloon at the end of time and space isn't really what the man who enters had been planning on doing - but given that the door rarely asks permission before bringing folks in, he's not entirely surprised.
What does surprise him is the note that appears when he steps to the counter, informing him that he'll be hosting that evening's "Happy Hour". He glances around wordlessly, looking for the barkeep, intending to get an explanation.
Another note, this time slightly more in-depth this time as to the requirements. He frowns, but slowly moves around the end of the counter and plucks a bottle of whiskey off the top shelf. After pouring himself a drink, he grabs a piece of chalk and writes on the blackboard:
Tell me something about this place
that I don't already know
and your first shot is free.
whiskey
Bar patrons may also notice that there's a rather filthy Border Collie sitting on the floor behind the counter. Bar herself provided the bone that the dog is chewing on - it may be three times the size of a 'normal' bone, but she's (the dog, not Bar) certainly not complaining.
What does surprise him is the note that appears when he steps to the counter, informing him that he'll be hosting that evening's "Happy Hour". He glances around wordlessly, looking for the barkeep, intending to get an explanation.
Another note, this time slightly more in-depth this time as to the requirements. He frowns, but slowly moves around the end of the counter and plucks a bottle of whiskey off the top shelf. After pouring himself a drink, he grabs a piece of chalk and writes on the blackboard:
that I don't already know
and your first shot is free.
whiskey
Bar patrons may also notice that there's a rather filthy Border Collie sitting on the floor behind the counter. Bar herself provided the bone that the dog is chewing on - it may be three times the size of a 'normal' bone, but she's (the dog, not Bar) certainly not complaining.
(no subject)
Mar. 3rd, 2013 09:15 amredintheledger
So far, the tally for Milliways has been one surprise visit, one experimentally planned, and now one more surprise. Definitely a surprise.
She is not, generally, a woman who walks out her front door in bare feet, threadbare jeans, and a slogan-y t-shirt (it's mostly the bare feet and the jeans that are bothering her). The woman calling herself Nadine takes a step back, and shuts the door.
A minute later, the door opens again - this time, she has sandals in hand. But the door had been the door to her closet in an attempt to find a slightly less patched pair of pants, which she's choosing to take as a sign.
She slips the sandals on (because ew, barfloor on bare feet), and then walks over to the Bar. If Milliways is determined that she be here, then at least it's a Saturday and she's got nothing in particular that she has to do.
"Uh, one jasmine tea?" To her credit, she doesn't jump when a little teapot and cup appears.
"Thank you."
Beat.
"I could have a pen and paper? Thanks." It's only polite to let the boss know she's around, after all. And if next time Fury comes in, he gets a ( note ) she has every faith that he'll be able to work out who sent it.
(no subject)
Jan. 24th, 2013 09:39 pmm_is_for "And Bond? Never break into my house again."
"Ma'am."
When the door opens revealing the bar instead of her kitchen, M can't help but breathe a little sigh of relief. After the days she's had--finding out her newly-promoted Double-O had been caught on camera shooting a prisoner and blowing up an embassy, being questioned by a committee that had the cheek to ask her just what assignment 007 was on (as if the word "secret" wasn't rather prominently featured in her agency's title) and then coming home to find said agent in her house...
As she steps across the threshold, she has to muse to herself that she's lucky Bertram is in Geneva for the week; not only would it have been even more concerning if Bertie had arrived home to find one of her agents there, but he would probably suggest tea at the moment, when what she really wants is a stiff drink.
Luckily, Bar appears to be on her side, a glass of bourbon appearing as she nears. Despite her discomfiture with the place and the idea of a sentient bar, she's grateful to have it.
In another minute, she's seated in one of the armchairs by the fireplace, her coat thrown over the back of the chair and wondering just how much she's sent things sideways by promoting James Bond. She may need another drink in a moment; the level in this glass has already dropped a bit.
[ooc: heading to bed, but I'm still open for tags! Will just be absent Saturday night as I'll be out of town.]
"Ma'am."
When the door opens revealing the bar instead of her kitchen, M can't help but breathe a little sigh of relief. After the days she's had--finding out her newly-promoted Double-O had been caught on camera shooting a prisoner and blowing up an embassy, being questioned by a committee that had the cheek to ask her just what assignment 007 was on (as if the word "secret" wasn't rather prominently featured in her agency's title) and then coming home to find said agent in her house...
As she steps across the threshold, she has to muse to herself that she's lucky Bertram is in Geneva for the week; not only would it have been even more concerning if Bertie had arrived home to find one of her agents there, but he would probably suggest tea at the moment, when what she really wants is a stiff drink.
Luckily, Bar appears to be on her side, a glass of bourbon appearing as she nears. Despite her discomfiture with the place and the idea of a sentient bar, she's grateful to have it.
In another minute, she's seated in one of the armchairs by the fireplace, her coat thrown over the back of the chair and wondering just how much she's sent things sideways by promoting James Bond. She may need another drink in a moment; the level in this glass has already dropped a bit.
[ooc: heading to bed, but I'm still open for tags! Will just be absent Saturday night as I'll be out of town.]
m_is_for[OOM: By God, she hoped she'd gotten this one right.]
The door opens, and a short, silver-haired woman walks through it. She's obviously distracted by the ringing in her purse; a ringing that cuts off abruptly as she steps in.
Her head snaps up at the light and the sound around her, hard, blue-grey eyes scanning the room with equal measures of suspicion and disbelief.
This is decidedly not her flat, nor is it any place she recognizes. Defintely not a welcome turn of events for someone in her line of work.
"What in the hell is going on?" she asks, and the ring of authority in her voice seems to imply that she expects an answer.
[ooc: Uncle! Uncle! No more new threads, please! :D I promise I'll put M in again soon and I'm glad people are so eager to thread with her. :D]
The door opens, and a short, silver-haired woman walks through it. She's obviously distracted by the ringing in her purse; a ringing that cuts off abruptly as she steps in.
Her head snaps up at the light and the sound around her, hard, blue-grey eyes scanning the room with equal measures of suspicion and disbelief.
This is decidedly not her flat, nor is it any place she recognizes. Defintely not a welcome turn of events for someone in her line of work.
"What in the hell is going on?" she asks, and the ring of authority in her voice seems to imply that she expects an answer.
[ooc: Uncle! Uncle! No more new threads, please! :D I promise I'll put M in again soon and I'm glad people are so eager to thread with her. :D]
(no subject)
Feb. 28th, 2008 07:05 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
imissthecoldwar.livejournal.comThis pub at the end of the universe really is turning up in the most random places. Granted it hasn't shown up in awhile...but here it is again.
M steps through the door and favors the pub with a small, private smile, before she makes her way to a booth with her briefcase and orders a bourbon, neat, from a passing rat. Once the drink arrives, she can be found sipping at the bourbon and reading over what appears to be an expense report.
Botherable.
M steps through the door and favors the pub with a small, private smile, before she makes her way to a booth with her briefcase and orders a bourbon, neat, from a passing rat. Once the drink arrives, she can be found sipping at the bourbon and reading over what appears to be an expense report.
Botherable.
(no subject)
Feb. 4th, 2008 09:57 pmslasherofprices.livejournal.comSee Simon.
See Simon read.
Read, Simon, read.
[ ooc: break, you say? yes, that still applies. ish. even though i plan to participate in mardi gras tomorrow. but it still applies because boy howdy, i promise you, i am going to be slow, really slow, like molasses, like a slug, like...a really slow thing. ]
See Simon read.
Read, Simon, read.
[ ooc: break, you say? yes, that still applies. ish. even though i plan to participate in mardi gras tomorrow. but it still applies because boy howdy, i promise you, i am going to be slow, really slow, like molasses, like a slug, like...a really slow thing. ]
(no subject)
Jan. 27th, 2008 03:30 pmcallitavesper.livejournal.comMr. Bond is stalking around outside. His hands are in the pockets of his long black coat, his face is turned down, his brows are furrowed, and he is frowning. He never did handle boredom well.
(no subject)
Jan. 26th, 2008 06:30 pmimissthecoldwar.livejournal.comM, after having walked away from Le Chiffre and Villiers, had found out that her door had gone missing again.
Bothersome thing.
So she had found a room, thanks to the Bar, and had spent the last few days getting used to this bar at the end of the universe. It was like a vacation...that you couldn't get away from. Not that it was bad, persay.
So she can be found at a booth, sipping from a glass of bourbon, leafing through a newspaper.
And looking for someone.
[plotlocked for Villiers, she'll have an open EP later this week, promise! thanks guys.]
Bothersome thing.
So she had found a room, thanks to the Bar, and had spent the last few days getting used to this bar at the end of the universe. It was like a vacation...that you couldn't get away from. Not that it was bad, persay.
So she can be found at a booth, sipping from a glass of bourbon, leafing through a newspaper.
And looking for someone.
[plotlocked for Villiers, she'll have an open EP later this week, promise! thanks guys.]
(no subject)
Jan. 21st, 2008 10:28 pmweeper-of-blood.livejournal.comOver by the fire, on one of those lovely cushy couches, there's a Le Chiffre reading. This wouldn't be remotely unusual if it weren't for a certain Villiers, asleep on his shoulder, a forgotten book beside his hand. He looks quite comfortable. Le Chiffre slightly less so, but at least he's getting accustomed to having the aide use him as a pillow.
Despite all appearances, they are actually quite botherable.
( ooc: Two pups, two muns, you know the drill. )
Despite all appearances, they are actually quite botherable.
( ooc: Two pups, two muns, you know the drill. )
first entrance post
Jan. 16th, 2008 05:47 pmimissthecoldwar.livejournal.comOOM: How M came to find herself at the end of the universe.
Being the head of MI6 means that you are prepared for almost anything your agents can throw at you, be it shootings, nuclear disasters, blowing up an embassy, or igniting the third world war.
However, when said head of MI6 steps through the door of the lift which should lead to her flat, and instead finds herself in a pub, with dozens of people -- and some rather strange looking ones at that -- there is a moment where she is not prepared at all.
That moment quickly passes once the door shuts behind her.
The woman adjusts her coat and glances around. Then slowly steps out of the way -- wouldn't do it get hit by the door, after all -- and tries to make sense of this madness.
...so far, she's decided that there were drugs involved.
[Not-tag: M]
OOC: Also! This is not the same M that had one EP ages ago. New M!
Being the head of MI6 means that you are prepared for almost anything your agents can throw at you, be it shootings, nuclear disasters, blowing up an embassy, or igniting the third world war.
However, when said head of MI6 steps through the door of the lift which should lead to her flat, and instead finds herself in a pub, with dozens of people -- and some rather strange looking ones at that -- there is a moment where she is not prepared at all.
That moment quickly passes once the door shuts behind her.
The woman adjusts her coat and glances around. Then slowly steps out of the way -- wouldn't do it get hit by the door, after all -- and tries to make sense of this madness.
...so far, she's decided that there were drugs involved.
[Not-tag: M]
OOC: Also! This is not the same M that had one EP ages ago. New M!
First Entry Post!
Mar. 1st, 2007 09:34 pmdragon-lady-m.livejournal.comSomewhere in one of London's more comfortable old neighbourhoods, it is 4 AM of a night in early spring. Inside one of the venerable old houses, (Of the sort where the mantles of coal fireplaces from the turn of the 20th century now hold very 21st century digital photo albums of granchildren.) someone has left a bathroom light on.
The someone in question is snoring gently, sleeping the sleep of the aging and the male, peaceful and secure in the now quiescent state of his bladder.
In the bed beside him, someone else is neither snoring, sleeping, 'nor quiescent. It's been a long few days at The Office. And the woman who now thinks of herself as 'M' would like nothing more than to turn over and forget for a few hours about the current mess in Kazakhstan that no-one else knows about. But the light from the bathroom will have none of it. It shines on, cheerfully malevolent. A withering glare that has, in past, reduced field agents to jelly as no effect. And so, with a grumble and a vague kick directed at the peaceful lump beside her, she rises, dons a housecoat and slippers, and goes to turn the light off herself.
Two steps through the bathroom doorway, hand reaching for a lightswitch no longer there, it's clear that someone's been doing some serious remodelling in the middle of the night.
A woman of older years and immense dignity is now in Milliways Bar. She is not amused.
( Ignore the quilted navy housecoat and the lambskin slippers -- she is. )
[OOC: The power's just started flickering here, since we're getting mass amounts of freezing rain. May vanish if it does more than just flicker. Although I need sleep soon, so this could be a moot point. ]
The someone in question is snoring gently, sleeping the sleep of the aging and the male, peaceful and secure in the now quiescent state of his bladder.
In the bed beside him, someone else is neither snoring, sleeping, 'nor quiescent. It's been a long few days at The Office. And the woman who now thinks of herself as 'M' would like nothing more than to turn over and forget for a few hours about the current mess in Kazakhstan that no-one else knows about. But the light from the bathroom will have none of it. It shines on, cheerfully malevolent. A withering glare that has, in past, reduced field agents to jelly as no effect. And so, with a grumble and a vague kick directed at the peaceful lump beside her, she rises, dons a housecoat and slippers, and goes to turn the light off herself.
Two steps through the bathroom doorway, hand reaching for a lightswitch no longer there, it's clear that someone's been doing some serious remodelling in the middle of the night.
A woman of older years and immense dignity is now in Milliways Bar. She is not amused.
( Ignore the quilted navy housecoat and the lambskin slippers -- she is. )
[OOC: The power's just started flickering here, since we're getting mass amounts of freezing rain. May vanish if it does more than just flicker. Although I need sleep soon, so this could be a moot point. ]
