milliways_bar | Entries tagged with mercutio

singlesoledjest.livejournal.com

Yo. Mercutio is sitting crosslegged by the fireplace, staring into the fire. One hand is tossing and catching a dagger - he doesn't seem to even be looking at it.

He's humming very quietly, a Veronan children's song.

singlesoledjest.livejournal.com

Mercutio is peeling an apple with his sharpest knife, concentrating very hard on getting the peel to come off in one single spiral. His chair is tilted back at a very precarious angle, his feet are propped on the table, and he looks like he could fall at any moment.

Living life on the edge, clearly.

buddyofchrist.livejournal.com

Another day, another meaningless 24 hours of Maggie-free woe and tasty cheese sticks courtesy of Bar. So Biff has decided to spice things up a bit tonight. He's decided to go swimming. In the ice-cold waters of the ice-cold lake. He can do that, you know. He's a Buddhist monk.

Thus, as the back door of the bar is kicked open, the betoweled population of the clientel increases by one.

Ahem. Correction.

The betoweled population of the clientel increases by one dripping, muscular, Nazarene hunk of a man. Who just happens to have memorized the Kama Sutra. Oh my, is it hot in here, or is it just Biff?

Anyway, he walks through the back door, gripping his towel, waving to friends, grinning at ladies, making occasional East-side gestures that give him the appearance of someone who's having a minor epileptic fit, the firelight glistening off the droplets of water dripping down his muscular abs as he makes his way to the bar, leans on the tabletop, and -

Sees the front door. Right there in plain sight. And stops, mouth agape, towel a-droop.

. . . there are swim trunks on under there. Chill out.

livewithrats.livejournal.com

Krycek is sitting in an armchair near the fireplace with what appears to be a very beaten up laminated card of some sort. He's turning it over and over in his hand, sliding it between his fingers and flicking at the edges.

It's his old FBI badge.

On his face is a look of abhorrence, and every so often he makes a fist so that the plastic crunches under the force of his hand.

Eventually, the badge finds its way into the flames.

The previously untouched glass of vodka that lay next to his arm is now empty.

... he's going a little stir crazy.

mogget_cat

A robin redbreast in a cage is on one of the tables in the bar room...

...along with one not'cat who is finishing his dinner.

Somewhere, all heaven is in a rage.

Yrael could care less. He's looking forward to his dessert.

http://users.livejournal.com/_to_the_bone/

[oom: Once upon a time there was a ballet.

Which is to say, millitimed to an age ago.]

singlesoledjest.livejournal.com

There's a Mercutio in the bar, looking mildly murderous. It's just one of those days.

He might not be here for long, so, you know. Get him while he's fresh.

singlesoledjest.livejournal.com

Duck, duck, duck, Mercutio.

Looking very tired and sipping hot chocolate. He hasn't been sleeping well.

singlesoledjest.livejournal.com

Mercutio is either feeling very depressed or very bouncy, because he's currently walking on his hands across the rafters.

You have two options of interaction with him: you could either throw things like a savage, or wait, like a civilised person, until he either falls off or is forced to come down.

yuppie-trash.livejournal.com

[Pre-Milliways: If you can't join them, you . . . them. Warnings for what is there, and what is not there, with Dean Martin playing in the background.]

He steps into the bar, Patrick is wearing seersucker (Joe A. Banks cotton seersucker in grey-and-white stripe, lightweight favorites are essential for the man who likes classic style at its casual best.) trousers and shirt sleeves (Traveler tailored dress shirt in ecru) rolled past the elbows.

Wearing a plaid-patterned apron. Carrying a stack of dirty dinner dishes, and whistling.

blue_eyed_lord

The Black Rider is like a dark stain among the warm colors of the bar room, a black spot at one of the central tables, where he is reading a book of reports from Jesuit priests seeking to convert the natives of the New World. Their talk of purging the old superstitions with new, true superstitions amuses him, the inaccuracy of the reports even more.

Do come join him for a drink.

Current Mood: amused

prince-arithon.livejournal.com

Arithon is in the bar.

Fully clothed thankyouverymuch.

But anyway. Arithon is in the bar. With an opera score (The Magic Flute, if you're curious) and he's reading through it with occasional humming.

singlesoledjest.livejournal.com

Mercutio had a hell of a good trip, and he's sitting in the Bar looking mildly more tanned and relaxed and happy.

This is a good mood to talk to him in. (Unless you are one of the people on his, "To be introduced to my fist," list. But it's a very exclusive list.)

http://users.livejournal.com/_to_the_bone/

A rather guilty expression on his face, Jack slips into the bar and makes straight for a booth in the corner, where he can see out to find people.

Where it's quiet enough that he can still think.

singlesoledjest.livejournal.com

Mercutio is on the floor near the observation window, and has just pushed himself up into a bridge.

He's very unlikely to be able to hold it for long, though. Ow, these fuckers hurt.

grimy-brian.livejournal.com

Brian's been collecting for Greenpeace. He has a tabard, a clipboard, an enormous smile and a theme song. What more do you need?

"Watch out, watch out, hippies in bibs on parade, here they come, hippie-ty hoppity,
They're here, they're there, hippies in bibs everywhere..."

Oh yeah.

You need a fake 'tache.

Current Mood: bouncy

singlesoledjest.livejournal.com

Mercutio, at a table with some breakfast. Mmmm bacon.

yuppie-trash.livejournal.com

From the unwritten Tourist's Guide to Milliways, by P. Bateman. pg 137:

Welcome to Milliways. If you find yourself Bound for an indeterminate length of time, and believe that staying inside is a sure way to go insane; one of the first things that you will learn to appreciate is the great outdoors. Opening out into Scotland, it's the perfect place for a round or two of golf. With such diversity in the landscape why not browse through the landscape to help find ideal courses for you?

Outside, with a (T460-GS Titanium-Graphite Driver, exchanged for the prybar) club, practicing his swing.

singlesoledjest.livejournal.com

Mercutio is sprawled on a couch, humming.

Not particularly tunefully.

He has chocolate, as well.

yuppie-trash.livejournal.com

Prada navy cotton twill blazer, with Lacoste white polo shirt (never miss the signature crocodile logo). Denim by Calvin Klein. Sneakers by Gucci. The bruising by Lawrence.
Post-modernism, A continual skepticism towards the ideas of progress, objectivity, reason, certainty & personal identity, and grand narrative in general (see Counter-Enlightenment)
Empty bowl (of cereal), full cup (of decaffeinated herbal tea).

Paging through the latest Bergdorf's catalog.

singlesoledjest.livejournal.com

Mercutio inna bar.

Sometimes, you just have to go old school, you know? He's lying in front of the fire, half-asleep.

giftedthom.livejournal.com

*Thom sits on the bar, legs hanging over the edge, wearing a tatty pair of jeans and a thoughtful expression. No shoes. No shirt. No secrets.

Maybe.*

yuppie-trash.livejournal.com

The black suit he is wearing today is from Alan Flusser, an updated version of the classic thirties style suits, with a dotted turquoise silk tie and matching suspenders from Valentino Couture. The elegantly draping charcoal trench coat is Cole Haan, bought at Bergdorf's last night. His smile is wide, his teeth are so bright they could cut glass.
Yeah, 'cause he's back
He's the man behind the mask
Patrick is settled at a booth, with his drink in a hand-blown tumbler of red Japanese glass, rhum (from Martinique, retaining a greater amount of the original flavor of the sugarcane) and the barest splash of cola.

Current Music: Alice Cooper: He's Back

giftedthom.livejournal.com

*Thom sits at the bar, arms crossed, swinging his legs idly as if he hasn't yet learned how to be still.*

singlesoledjest.livejournal.com

"No, no, the nose is a small target, it should be worth at least five points." Mercutio has paused in his construction of a scoresheet to look up at Wes.

"Yours isn't," Wes says.

There is a pause. A Pause Of Great Dignity. "We are not talking about me. I will not be a target." The voice has Great Dignity. "And my nose isn't all that big, anyway. It's merely because you are so short, everything is magnified." The Dignity has disappeared.

"You're quibbling because you're a scaredy jawa." Wes grins, broad and bright. "You know you're going to lose. Bignose."

"Lay on, flying man."

The Great Cookie Throwing Competition has begun.