milliways_bar | Entries tagged with michael

Grace feels like celebrating.

But, you might say, Grace often feels like celebrating. You'd be correct. However it is not often that Grace comes home and spends ten frantic minutes hunting for Gus and convinced he's been dognapped or worse by the irate drug dealer she is currently trying to take down.

(He was under the bed.)

Which is why tonight's happy hour comes with a canine companion in the (rather large) form of Gus stretched out on a dog bed at Bar's end, happily devouring a bone.

"Gus Gus," Grace calls out as she scrawls specials on the board. "You okay?"

Aaaaaruuuufff! comes back.

"Good. Bar's open, people."

Grace lights up a cigarette and settles in, only shaking a little.

Specials:

The blue one
The green one
Whatever's in that bottle with the skull and crossbones
Gus's choice

[OOC: I'm up and down, usual slowtime warnings apply unless you ping and want something quick, tag amongst yourselves, etc. :D ETA: Have to take a break for tonight. Will pick up tags in the morning!]

never_shall_yield

The door opens to show fields, and a blue sky that goes on forever. Javert stands on the threshold - rough workman's clothes, pitchfork in hand - and contemplates the view in front of him. Then he steps back, and is gone as he closes it behind him.

Maybe twenty minutes later, it opens again. It is dusk on the outside, and Javert has a rag in his hands this time, wiping dirt away. He sighs quietly, and says 'very well' to himself. His trepidation is obvious when he steps inside and closes the door, because he immediately tests to see if he can open it again. Perhaps his relief is just as clear when it seems he is not to be locked in this time.

He asks for a newspaper at the bar. When he learns the date, he asks it to be taken away. There is no expression on his face, and he does not look around to see if there is anyone he knows. He simply picks up his coffee and walks out of the back door, down to the lake to look over the water.

[OOC: Available in the bar, or outside. Open all weekend! <3]

ambriel

Ambriel is outside, examining an uprooted tree. It seems there was a very large disturbance here.

But no metaphysical damage to the structure of Milliways. Nothing to worry about, then. Just something to keep an eye out for.

The angel perches at the top of the upturned roots and looks out over the lake.

mjolnir_retriever

[OOM: Back in Asgard, morning comes.]

To judge by Thor's startled expression, Milliways is not where he intended to enter.

(Wherever he did intend to enter, or wherever he's coming from, apparently required full Asgardian shininess. Thor's in full armor, scale mail on his arms and crimson cape falling in dramatic folds down his back.)

But, after one indecisive glance back at the door, he visibly decides to stick around. He crosses the room and settles onto a barstool. He kind of dwarfs it, but that's true of most furniture.

"Miss Bar," he rumbles, "I would have a tankard of your mulled wine."

It appears, along with a a note.

dis_armed

You wouldn't know it from her face, but it must be admitted that Ilena is surprised to find herself in the middle of Milliways. (Not as surprised, admittedly, as she was when she first found herself in the bar a few months ago. Claymores learn quickly.)

She walks over to the nearest physical object -- a chair, in this case -- and puts her single hand on it, thoughtfully. A small part of her had been wondering, in a clinical sort of way, whether being cut off from her purpose for a decade had finally driven her mad. But the chair seems solid, and she trusts her own senses. They're all she has.

Her hand rests lightly on the chair. She stands there behind it, unmoving, and observes.

sosectu-rior.livejournal.com

[millitimed to June 19th evening, pre-amnesia storyline]
Immediately following Guppy's and Ilyana's conversation in this thread, a note is left for Archie Kennedy.

unwraith.livejournal.com

Michael hadn't slept this last night. After a cold vigil outside, he'd made his way back indoors and up to his room.
It took only half an hour for him to pack up the few things he'd want to keep, and dispose of the rest.
He left notes for Suzi Darley, Whistler, and the other friendly acquaintances he had in the bar. Simple explanations that he was leaving, and didn't know when, or if, he would be back. Wishing them all the best for the future, sincerely so.

He sat at the bar, taking a glass of Atlantean, and waited. He wouldn't leave a note for Rachel...some things could only be said in person. And they would be said before he went. They both deserved at least that much.

If she didn't already know that he loved her, all the eloquent writing in the 'verse wouldn't help.
But he had had to face too many hard truths about himself lately, and none of them added up to anything that let him think of this place as a home. His future wasn't here...and the door was calling.

sime-channel.livejournal.com

Suzi and all of her gear is situated for day three of interviews. She's got her list of who has yet to talk to her out, and is ready and waiting.

Today she's got trin tea already made. It tastes terrible, but it's better than the headaches.

unwraith.livejournal.com

[OOM: revenge isn't a winning game((warning for spoilers for the SGA ep. "Vengeance"))]

Michael reenters the bar, tired, so worn he's ready to drop. Race is just behind him. The dog barks sharply at the unexpected change of surroundings before a warning from Michael makes him quiet down.

It's not been that long, but it feels much, much longer. He heads for the Bar, ignoring stiffness and pain in favor of strong alcohol. Even as he does, he's keeping an eye out for some particular individuals.

futures_of_ash

Rachel was pacing. Light, predatory steps on the balls of her feet, footsteps silent and yet she drifted so quickly along the length of the bar and back.

Back and forth.

She wasn't wearing spandex, no, she wasn't on shift, hadn't the right to be until Archie decide if he wanted her reinstated after her world jaunt. No, she was wrapped neck to toe in leather dyed a rich, heart's blood red. Occasionally she ran claw tipped, gloved hands through her flaming hair, snarling at something, probably herself.

A few more rounds of pacing and Bar decided that it was simply enough, manifesting a napkin with a scrawled, exasperated note Go outside.

Released, the woman patted the polished wood just once and made her way to the lake door.

Yes, it seemed there was a telepath in a bad mood. Luckily, she was very, very good at shielding.

[~~Warnings for eventual slow~~ Sleeps now!]

unwraith.livejournal.com

Michael's busy. There's been people to welcome home, here, and in another galaxy, some experiments to field test. He won't say he hasn't been looking forward to it.
What? That he plays nicely here...doesn't make him one of the White Hats. He's not in the habit of pretending otherwise.

Telepaths tend not to be very good at lying to those that know them.

However.
That's back in the Pegasus Galaxy.

The Wraith who comes through the door tonight? the same, but not entirely...

There's no recognition in his eyes, only startlement, confusion, mixed with
anger. Wariness.
Depending on who sees him, he may not be entirely recognizable, either, as a who rather than a what.
He stops by the door, one hand resting on his gun, before he takes a step forward.

((but off temporarily, will reply to any tags when I get back. This version of Michael is coming in from just *edits--crap!before his appearance in the first "Michael" ep, so yeah, he's not going to know other nonSGA pups. Caution suggested!))

unwraith.livejournal.com

Michael enters from the lake area. His expression's tense, forbidding, as he goes to Bar. He speaks quietly, the words not audible to anyone else. She must understand, one assumes, since a small pile of items--blankets, a ground cover, a basket of human-safe food, and bottles of water and alcohol appear on the counter.
He glances around briefly,seeing if anyone familiar's in, before paying the tab and returning outdoors.

futures_of_ash

The air by the door shivered, rippling for a moment. No door appeared, and yet a darkness grew, star flecked and piercingly cold, and a flame fought towards the Bar. Distance was warped and twisted, as the flame grew closer in achingly slow moments...

Closer, and closer yet, until the woman wrapped within the flame's hold could hook a hand, dripping blood and strained to gauntness, on the wood at the edges of the opening. Rachel had been gone a while...

...and now, now she was almost home.

sime-channel.livejournal.com

Suzi Darley is sitting at a table, waiting for her trip to Quinn's world. She's knitting, because she does that, and on the table next to her is a sign.

It is a big sign. It was written with a glitter pen. It says:

.

The glitter pen is hanging from a string taped to a pad of paper.

There you go.

unwraith.livejournal.com

Michael comes downstairs, Race at his heels. By habit, he glances toward the
door.
It's still visible...
but it's changed.
There's a moment of shock, and fear, before he forces self-control and concentrates. The door blurs, resuming its earlier appearance, that of the portal to wherever Rachel had gone.
However, without deliberate effort, it reverts to the door that'll lead him out to Aerete's station.
He isn't sure what to make of that, except that it means he won't lose one door if he uses the other.
He scowls, then before he lets himself think about it too much, he stalks across the room to the waiting exit.
He's no good to her or anyone if he stays caged for more weeks, and he's starting not to trust himself. No. He'll return as soon as he can, but he needs to go.

guppy_sandhu

"PUT THE FURNITURE DOWN!" Guppy yells despairingly at someone from the other side of the door. "This is a hospital, not a battle ground."

The crowd outside boos.

Then his voice again. "Ow! All right, who threw that? It was you, wasn't it. Well you're not having it back."

There is more booing as Guppy enters, carrying a packet of rather squashed digestive biscuits, an umbrella and an empty beer can. A tin of baked beans sails in after him, hitting him in the back of the head and knocking him over.

The crowd outside cheers.

He kicks the door closed irritably, rubbing the back of his head and looking for the tin so that he can confiscate that too.

unwraith.livejournal.com

Michael's by the lakeshore, after a morning workout, Race at his heels. His face is bruised, the front of his jacket bloodied. His expression hints that he's not particularly cheerful, hands tight enough clenched that bones press against skin.

In point of fact, just now, he's hoping for someone who wants to either spar or simply, fight. Be warned that if you're not in the mood for a spot of decent violence, he's better avoided.
If you are...well, come try your luck, by all means.

futures_of_ash

[Millitimed to last evening, pre-brawl]

Rachel slipped down the stairs, feet never touching the age worn wood as she did so. She was too distracted to walk, flame never leaving her hair and eyes. She breathed as if she'd been running...and yet, it was only the Door affecting her so. The call, the voices of screaming and pain...

They'd grown louder, echoing through Bar and out across her lake. This Door was not going to leave, fade away...no, it would only grow. Even now she could feel it wrapping threads of Need through her heart and soul until they pulled like chains.

There was no hope for it. Bar gave her pen and paper without needing to be asked as the Security member wrapped her legs around the barstool like it was the only thing anchoring her very existence. There were only three notes to write really.

( One to her Family )

~ ~ ~

( One to her friends )

~ ~ ~

( And one for Michael )

She never signed her notes, just burned the small Phoenix symbol into the bottom of each. Then she carefully laid her Security badge atop the small pile and sighed. She couldn't be security when she didn't know how long she'd be gone...hopefully Archie would offer it back to her when...

...if...

...she came back.

That done she squared her shoulders and walked calmly towards the Door, giving into the pull of realities.

unwraith.livejournal.com

Michael has been sharing in Rachel's edginess, the past few days. He's kept to himself, not entirely trusting his temper in crowds, pushing himself hard in the training circle.
When he looks at the door, it doesn't vanish, but it varies. It might be his, or the one he'd glimpsed before, writhing, and silently bleeding, pain woven into the atoms of it. Rachel's, calling to a hero to cross the threshold.

That has held him from attempting to leave, until the matter's resolved.
Tonight, he's indoors, watchful, but calmer for a day on the range.

unwraith.livejournal.com

Michael is downstairs, en route to the lake door. His expression's that of a man who has other things on his mind,than food or drink, as he's carrying the sword he sometimes trains with, along with a few more modern weapons hidden by his jacket.
Conversations welcome, while indoors or training outside. He'll be out most of the morning.

wildandseawhite.livejournal.com

[OOM: The unicorn runs through a different night.]

She knows as soon as she sets her hoof down that she walks under a different moon. The unicorn stands stock still near the edge of the forest, her horn still chiming with the magic that brought her here; and long after the resonant sound dies away, the light of her horn fading with it, she does not move.

She quests with all her senses, body and magic, to discover her surroundings. She knows instinctively that she is nowhere near King Haggard's country, and that her traveling companions are now just as far away. Strange as it is, the air here is a welcome change from that of Haggard's forest; it smells of green growing things, fresh water, varied life in abundance. And throughout it all, the overwhelming scent of a magic unlike any she has ever encountered.

The unicorn moves, eventually, slipping through the forest without sound. Catching sight of the lake's moonlit glimmer, she breaks free of the cover of the trees, wary of the unknown but drawn by the promise of water. She does not need to drink, but it's been too long since she's tasted water untainted by Haggard's blight.

ooc: The unicorn is from Peter S. Beagle's book The Last Unicorn, and is new to Milliways. I'll be here for about an hour, then must go to work -- just couldn't wait to post! Slowtime very welcome as that's what I'll be doing after tonight. Feel free to ping me with any questions!

unwraith.livejournal.com

Sometime after his and Rachel's flight, Michael's at a booth alone, his attention seemingly on the bits and pieces of a com unit that's been disassembled. It's the sort of job he could normally leave to one of the Sword's engineers, except for a couple of specific modifications he wants to make.
It's also a useful if odd distraction, as those go. Talking distractions would definitely not be unwelcome, however.

futures_of_ash

The thing about Doors, well, even in Bar, they tended to be rather stable. The Door itself was either present or it was not. Rachel had a Door, yes, but it shifted. Sometimes it screamed, other times it was nothing more than a dusty hole through brick...

Today? Today it was bleeding, and it dragged at her very bones as she set foot in Bar proper. Bar didn't offer any advice, just a mug of broth, which Rach took to a table, and there she sat, sipping and staring as the Door shifted and changed in a stately dance of needy agony.

Needless to say? The red head wasn't in the best of moods.

unwraith.livejournal.com

Alien type wraith downstairs, looking for Rachel Grey. He has a bag and their pup with him, as he sits in a chair near the front door.
The launch is in less than a day, and he's eager to be off.

unwraith.livejournal.com

[OOM:In another galaxy,final preparations are made]

Michael'd hoped to find the door into Milliways this time. He looks around, as he enters. He has a ( note ) of sorts for Rachel Grey. He shrugs, and deposits it with the Bar. He could just tell her, and would, but the formalities needn't be ignored.
That done, he finds a table for the evening, no work in sight this time.

*(*thread for Rachel at that post, to be slowtimed as necessary. We're not plotlocked here, should anyone care to tag)