milliways_bar | Entries tagged with martha jones

Today, Jemma had a bit of a... horrible day in the lab. Fulfilling, but... She's very proud of herself, she kept it together while the heat was on, but now she's just going to be in a booth, with a bottle of brown ale and a bowl of warm, creamy soup. Just ignore the way the spoon rattles against the bowl now and again.

souffle_girlek

Oswin is staring morosely at what was going to, in her baking dreams, be a nice loaf of french bread.

It's... kinda smallish. And dense. And black.

...

She's now comparing her notes on her tablet computer to the cookbook, trying to figure out what she did wrong.

stole_a_time_lord

There's a woman in the bar this evening, reading.

More specifically, there's a woman in a ruffled blue dress, sitting in the middle of the floor with eleven open books ranged round her in a circle, and she is reading them all at once, finishing a page in one, setting it down, turning a little to the next (to her left), picking it up, reading a page, and then repeating the process. Around and around, one page at a time, paying very little attention to whether or not she's in anyone's way, because she's all caught up in her books.

The books are The Lost (and Found!) Moon of Poosh: Revised Edition; Il Mio Primo Dizionario; The Tragicall Historie of Hamlet, Prince of Denmarke (which she is reading back to front -- she wants to see how it begins); The Diary of a Young Girl; A History of the Fez; You, Too, Can Conquer Tivoli! A Beginner's Guide to Planetary Invasion; The Secret of the Old Clock (the Hebrew translation); Bimbos of the Death Sun; I Was a Teenaged Zombie War Bride from Outer Space; Bartlett's Familiar Quotations; and A Brief History of Time (which occasionally makes her laugh).

yournextmayor

OOM: And now all I can hear is that music, and suddenly everything just fucking...

...comes indoors.

No skylines. No thundersnow. No friends. Just a sopping wet mayor-elect who's appeared out of nowhere in the middle of the bar, and the faint strains of "Separate Ways" fading out around him.

He blinks.

This isn't another Chicago. This isn't anywhere.

And this isn't restoring balance to his or any other universe. This is a time vortex doing a double-birds dance in circles around him.

Fuck.

[ooc: Hi all! So, if you know nothing else about

MayorEmanuel, let it be that he's foul-mouthed. Creatively. It's nothing personal.]

10:16 PM CT Hey hey, off puttering around for a bit for ~~eating and things~~ sleeping. Will be back to tags later ~~this evening~~ tomorrow, oops -- loving the threads so far!

took_a_year_out

"Ugh, Bar, have I got to?"

Martha Jones, being a medical student currently in the middle of the Christmas holidays, has a frankly terrible hangover.

(She might be, ah, not so much in uni right now, but the tradition is the thing.)

Unfortunately, Bar is obstinate. "Well," she mumbles, very carefully rubbing her forehead, "I s'pose I could investigate the actual scientific effectiveness of 'hair of the dog'..."

So! It takes longer than usual, but eventually there's a Specials list up behind the bar.

Specials
Holiday Hangover
Hangover Cure
Happy New Year

Triple prices for anyone who makes my headache worse!

"Happy Hour's open!" she calls, after fixing a Bloody Mary for herself, and winces.

Ouch.

drjohnhwatson

John Watson is shouting, "And don't forget the beans!" over his shoulder as he walks through the door.

(Of course Sherlock will forget the beans. That's what Sherlock does. He remembers the chemical formulation of a baker's dozen different poisons but he will forget to buy beans.)

It takes a step for John to realize he's not on Baker Street. Not even in London.

That he is someplace...well, frankly unbelievable.

Won't somebody come and explain it to him?

[Tiny tag: John Watson]

took_a_year_out

Martha Jones, at the bar, with a textbook (she's trying to revise, so she doesn't forget).

It's probably not the solution to a Cluedo game.

But you should still come and say hi.

cobbalstones.livejournal.com

Phillipa has nightmares sometimes. Often, really - ever since she can remember, since her mother started yelling and playing with knives. She was too young to understand what was happening then, but it's still imprinted on her subconscious somewhere, and so is the way her daddy disappeared soon after her mother did. Mostly she dreams about waking up and finding no one there.

There is a teeny five-year-old in the bar, with that miserable child look on her face. She's wearing purple pajamas and her hair is pillow-messy, and there are the faint streaks of tears on her cheeks. She'd gone to the bathroom to get a cup of water, only she found the bar instead, which has provided her with a glass of warm milk and a blanket without being asked, so now she's eying the bar uncertainly and trying to figure out where to go.

Tiny sad tag: Phillipa Cobb

hopeitsworthit

It's not that Dean really took a whole day to talk himself up to walking out the door to what has been, up until now, his room.

It took that long to convince himself to start walking down the stairs.

(Well, that and trying to sleep. And then dealing with what happened after he tried to sleep.)

But all that's in the past now. As of this moment, Dean Winchester is a free man, moving at an easy pace down the stairs and across the room toward Bar. Ignoring the fact that the number of people in the room feels like being hit with a 2x4. In the face.

Bar's nice enough to pony up on a tall glass of water, though. That's gonna do wonders for his suddenly dry throat.

So.

This isn't an entirely unpromising start, right?

took_a_year_out

[OOM: Martha Jones has a hell of a day, and a hell of an evening. Luckily, there’s a scruffy time-traveller who can give her a bit of time off.]

“Ta-da!”

The Doctor steps into the bar and holds the door open for Martha to step through. “Welcome to Milliways, the bar at the end of the universe!”

Martha facepalms. “You have got to be joking.”

“Nope, it’s right at the end of the universe, just check out that window over there.” He waves an arm airily.

“No, no, I don’t mean that. I thought you were promising me some big amazing trip, but I’ve been here loads!”

This time, it’s the Doctor’s turn to stare at her. “...Seriously?”

“Seriously. Been here, done that, drunk the Pan-Galactic Gargle Blaster. I even read the manual.” It had been fascinating, albeit slightly disconcerting, reading. She’d made notes.

He drags a hand through his hair, thoroughly bemused. “Well, since we’re here... fancy a pint?”

She grins. “So long as you’re buying!”

He grumbles at her half-heartedly. “Just because you saved my life...”

~

There are, therefore, one Doctor and one doctor-to-be sat at the bar with a beer apiece.

They’re definitely botherable.

[Tiny tag: Teller]

necessary_child

There is a Sam! He's outside on the jetty, dabbling his feet in the water and watching the sunset.

Come bother him.

Inside is a Martha, curled up on a sofa with a big glass mug of Irish coffee (mmmm, whiskey), a slice of chocolate cake, and a copy of A Study In Scarlet.

She hasn't noticed that she's acquired a cream moustache from the coffee.

Have you met Miss Jones? If you have, or even if you haven't, you may like to come and tell her about it.

[Tiny tags: Gene Hunt, Teller]

[OOC: Sorry guys, but I'm feeling gross and heading to bed. Slowtime?]

isaysimplewords

Maybe Bar was listening in on Cal's conversation with Ianto yesterday, despite her unconscious state, or maybe the napkin note is a coincidence.

Cal's not gonna take bets on that one. He doesn't believe in coincidence when it comes to Milliways.

He doesn't have any particular theme ideas, and it has been awhile, so he decides to go with his old standby for specials.

Drink Specials

anything non-alcoholic
vodka

Putting the word "anything" on the specials board presents him with more than enough of a challenge, anyway.

tinytag: hopewood pertellis

[OOC: ~~Open till at least ten PM EST. Threadhopping, as always, is encouraged.~~ And closed. Thank you!]

the_gene_genie

Pre-Milliways...

The door opens and a man barrels in like he owns the place. It's obvious then, when he looks up and stops dead, that this is his first time here.

His blue eyes flick to the bar and seem to register that there's no one behind it, because that's when the surprise on his face starts turning to alarm.

How's he supposed to get a pint if there's no barman? And also, what the bloody hell is going on?

Gene Hunt is not the shy and retiring type, as anyone within earshot of his bellow will soon be able to surmise.

'Nelson! What the BLOODY 'ELL 'AVE YOU DONE TO MY BOOZER?!'

[Can't call it a tiny!tag without offending the Manc Lion: Gene Hunt]

[OOC: Please read this before tagging if your pup is easily offended, or if you know the premise of his canon.

Annnnd, I must beg slowtime. *flings love at you all* Will pick everything up tomorrow, thanks for tagging! :D]

necessary_child

Sam Linnfer has draped himself along a tree branch overhanging the lake to ~~brood like Jack Harkness deprived of a rooftop~~ enjoy the spring sunshine.

He is not emo at all, and you are a lying liar if you suggest otherwise. Hush.

~

Molly Hayes has also found a high spot, but indoors – the weather outside is still too cold for this California baby. She’s sitting in one of the lower-hanging rafters, legs swinging as she blows rainbow-coloured bubbles. (It’s amazing what Bar can provide, if you ask nicely.)

Her Security badge is neatly pinned to the front of her pink bunnyhat.

~

Minerva McGonagall has a seat in a booth just out of the main hubbub of the bar, and is marking essays. Lots of essays.

She has a large gin and gillywater, because there are only so many times you can read what is essentially the same essay without going insane. That Hermione Granger and her revision classes is a menace.

~

Dean Thomas, one of whose essays McGonagall is currently marking, has wisely chosen to be as far away from his Transfiguration teacher as possible: he’s sitting in the Observation Window, sketching the stars.

~

The entrance door morphs abruptly, as a massive man in the remains of heavy armour lifts what is meant to be the entrance flap to his tent and finds the bar instead. When he sees where he is, Raoul of Goldenlake grins with relief, tugging his helmet off to expose dark eyes set in a ruddy face under a cap of sweat-damp black curls. He’s noticeably limping as he makes his way across the bar to the sofas, and sits down so heavily that the sofa he chooses complains alarmingly.

Muttered, “Oh, just a twenty-foot giant, they said...”

Yeah. It’s been a long day.

~

Edna Mode, meanwhile, has taken over several large tables, had the Loompas clean them, and laid out large swathes of different materials, over which she is now buzzing like a small, black, very chic bee wielding tailor’s chalk, scissors and pins. (She also has a large mojito, but that’s far out of spilling distance of the material.)

Beware: any interruptions are likely to be used as models.

~

She’s being watched surreptitiously by a slightly older gentleman with a pintglass of beer and a book of poetry that has been very carefully hidden inside a History of Genghis Khan and Other Bloodthirsty Villains.

...Oh. Did we mention that Captain Shakespeare also happens to be wearing a very elegant – and frilly - ballgown?

~

At a table in the corner is a very tired medical student with a very large pot of tea and even larger stack of books, tapping away at a laptop. Martha Jones has taken refuge from Facebook to write her latest coursework essay, and by the looks of things she’s going to be here for a while.

Interruptions had better bring chocolate.

~

Someone who hasn’t been in the bar for a very long time has returned! A stripey young gentleman and his dog are flitting through the bar tonight, beaming agreeably (yes, the dog too). Where’s Wally is more than happy to be back. After all, so many people to get lost in, so many books to drop and be found later, so little time.

~

And, finally, one person who has never been here before, though whether or not she has even noticed its appearance is debatable. A (pre-canon) Suzie Costello has taken refuge in an isolated booth with a strange silver gauntlet, and is writing feverishly in between tinkering with it.

~

All characters – even Suzie – have been supplied by an insistent Bar with a large cupcake crowned with four lit candles, even though none of them quite know why. Except maybe Sam, and he’s not telling.

[OOC: See, I wasn’t kidding about hating my brain. Where’s Wally is not taggable, as he’s plot-only – however, he will be appearing somewhere in the Bar tonight, for your spotting pleasure. See the Back Room for details, please and thank you!

Secondly, Suzie is not currently crazy, although she’s getting there, and is therefore really very unlikely to shoot your pup. However she may not be pleasant and she’s certainly fragile. As she’s pre-canon, the management would like to request that no pups who know about Torchwood’s future shenanigans tag her.

Finally, the management reserves the right to wave a white flag for ~~truce~~ slowtime at any time. Until then, consider this as an apology for my not bloody well playing lately!]

took_a_year_out

Mmmm, weekends.

Martha Jones has ... not long woken up. She's dressed, but her hair is sticking up more than she'd like and she's still yawning, mainly because one of the bright sparks she lives with had left the milk out of the fridge yet again and you can't make tea with solid milk.

She's vaguely tempted to stick some of it under a microscope and count the life- or at least stomach-threatening diseases, though, just for curiosity's sake. Maybe later.

Anyway. Given how long she's been awake, it isn't really surprising that it takes her a few seconds to clock where she is, though once she does, she brightens, hurrying over to Bar in hopes of tea.

What she gets, however, is a note.

"I ... what? Well, okay, it can't be that much harder than the Union on a Friday night... you're on. But could I at least get tea first, though? Please?"

Silence.

"Pretty please?"

A large Tinkerbell mug, full of tea (milk, two sugars) at just the right temperature, appears somewhat reluctantly on the bar's shiny surface. It's accompanied by the cocktail book.

"Thanks!" She spends a little while flicking through the book, considering what looks easiest - and most fun - before picking up a piece of blue chalk and turning to write neatly on the board.

Specials
Morning Glory
'Damnit I'm a doctor, not a bartender' Martini
The Doctor

Finished, she puts the chalk down, takes a long drink of tea and turns to brace her hands on the bar.

"Happy Hour's open!"

took_a_year_out

A young woman in a labcoat walks in, her nose buried in a medical textbook as she bites her thumb thoughtfully.

When the change in noise from where she's come from registers, however, she looks up. Eyes go wide.

"...Oh my God. Who the hell put a bar in the students' lounge?"

Welcome to Milliways, Miss Martha Jones.

[OOC: Martha is currently just pre-canon! She's completely free to tag by everyone and anyone, but all I ask is that nobody mention the Doctor to her, please.]

notadoctoryet.livejournal.com

((oom medical student Martha Jones meets a very interesting 'man' known only as the Doctor))

Martha opened the door of the Tardis and looked out at the bar in confusion, this was it? Her one trip? He was taking her to bar, he could travel through time and space and this was where he'd chosen, well that was a bit of a let down.

"Um Doctor?" she said turning back but seeing no sign of the Tardis, "Doctor?!" she said again, this time a little more panicked.

"Great, he's dropped me off in a bar and left me, so much for this being a thank you," she muttered to herself.

Current Mood: annoyed
Current Location: milliways