The Bar at the End of the Universe

Garion is downstairs. He'd come down earlier for a morning run, had his breakfast right after and then gotten ambushed by a little boy and his wolf. As such, all three ended up on the couch near the fire and because Garion had gotten up a little too early, as had Geran, both had fallen asleep again. Wolf looks mildly aggravated with this turn of events and seems to be looking at Garion's foot speculatively. Feel free to do the wolf a favor and bump the sleeping royalty back awake.

Cooper's at the bar, having breakfast. If you were expecting a long story on how he got there and what he's doing there and how he's doing, you'll just have to ask. He's a bit busy eating a bit of bacon at the moment.

Matt seems to have found whatever muses help dead rabblerousers as he's got a sizeable amount on his page, his letter to his still-living compatriots. The fact that he's been sucking down this Irish Breakfast for two nights past to get it done is another matter entirely.

Creedy-- is MIA.

Nick of all people is sitting downstairs. What the vampire is doing awake at this time is anyone's guess, but he's got a cup of breakfast in a surprisingly cheery sort of mug sitting on the table in front of him. He's got a book in front of him, as well as a red pen. Dante the puppy is in his lap, getting scritched absently every few minutes in between bouts of scratchy writing on the book. Nick's editing again...

Darien seems to be doing well enough. At least, for the moment. The glasses are gone even if he's dressed as if they weren't (but really, had there even BEEN a change?) and he's got coffee in front of him along with some toast. He's not really awake yet and he's still in pajamas, as a matter of fact, but he'll respond to prodding. You might even get something amusing out of him before he's fully functional.

Sir Apropos has decided that his mun is allowed to give him an entrance post this morning, as he is far too groggy at this hour of the morning to attempt to be even mildy acidic. As such, this post will be basi--OUCH. Ahem, that is... it's pretty simple. There's a lame man with a rather ornate staff sitting at the bar itself having breakfast and reading over some sort of--oh, you're reading that too? Neat. I thought it was good bu--YES, I'm getting on with it. AHEM. He's over there at the bar having breakfast. Poke him at your own risk.

Liir is downstairs, a baby in one arm and a book in the other. The book in question is brightly colored, more so than any book from his own world, and apparently interesting. He seems interested, anyway. Tea, toast, and a stubbed out cigarette in an ash tray complete the little scene near the fireplace. Trindle seems to be asleep, or at least content not to be fussy; botherable, certainly.

Cooper is in. Surprising, yes perhaps, but not exactly. It's another place to get a drink, and one where he knows that he won't be late afterwards no matter how long he spends, and as patrons go here, he's on the normal side of things (if you ignore his status as the lone human survivor of a werewolf attack) so he shouldn't cause anything resembling a buzz. He's got a pint of Guinness on the bar that he's working on and a sudoku puzzle that's seen better days.

Matt Truman of all people is also about, his head bowed over a booth table with a pen and parchment spread out in front of him. He's writing something, something important it seems, but he'll be happy to be disturbed. His mind's a little cloudy on the wording and he could use a distraction.

Garion of Riva is settled, as a wolf, by the fireplace. He's not sleeping but he is resting some. He would like some company, though anyone who flinches at the presence of a wolf--

Let us hope they like rutabaga, that's all.

And me? Sir Apropos of Nothing? Yes, I'd be the one telling you all of this and of course inviting you to bother them. Don't worry, I'll drop the omnipotent narrator hat off on my way out but I'm really just helping out, you see. Being a good neighbor, so to speak. I am soon to be a married man, after all, and a man does eventually have to settle down.

Like right now, I'm settling down for dinner by the Observation Window to indulge my daily craving for schadenfreude. That's not an invitation to speak to me, just so that you know, but you'll probably take it as such just to spite me.

Or not take it as such just to spite spiting me.

No, I don't know if that second to last word is a word. Look it up if you want to be so damned picky about it.