milliways_bar | Entries tagged with monkey

no-older-brothr.livejournal.com

Today there was a wave of Xiongnu like nothing Hua had ever seen before. His horse nearly got cut out from under him three times. Several generals died. And, perhaps worst of all, the supply tent was put to the torch, meaning that provisions were scarcer than ever. If their numbers hadn't been so badly thinned by the enemy attacks, their food situation would be far worse.

Hua's not really sure what to think about that.

At least the Realm of Barbarians has let him in, and doesn't appear to have been affected by the battle.

[tinytag: Hua Mulan]

forced-pilgrim.livejournal.com

For reasons known best to himself, Monkey is impersonating Tripitaka today. He is set up on a mat in the dead center of the room with his bowl in front of him, meditating on a prayer mat.

He is very still, and very serene.

Until the juggling begins. (Where did he get those melons from?)

Watch your back.

no-older-brothr.livejournal.com

There's a massive clatter of metal and leather hitting the floor.

This would be because the person who just walked through- just in front of a thick-necked dun horse with a short, dark mane- was not expecting this place on the other side of the stable door. As a matter of fact, this was supposed to be the courtyard where she could saddle up the poor benighted beast. Since it's a .... a.... something full of barbarians and, and, and those are rats! Lots of rats!- anyway, since it's a place she doesn't even recognize, full of animals and people who should not be here!, she's more or less been caught off guard and so has dropped most of the harness and tack she was carrying.

"Āiyā!!"

[OOC: For the record, she's currently dressed in women's clothes; this may be the last time that happens, though.]

[tinytag: Hua Mulan]

forced-pilgrim.livejournal.com

A horse walks into a bar; the bartender says, "Why the long face?"

A grasshopper walks into a bar; the bartender says, "We've got a drink named after you."

Grasshopper says, "Really? You have a drink called Norman?

A bear walks into a bar and says "Give me......... a bloody Mary."

Bartender says, "Sure, but why the big pause?"

The bear says, "I dunno, I was just born that way."

A frog walks into a bar and says, "Give me a scotch on the rocks."

The bartender says, "Holy shit, a talking frog."

A three-legged dog walks into a bar and says, "I'm looking for the son of a bitch who shot my pa."

A four-foot tall monkey in a saffron robe walks into a bar.

Then what happened?

veryscaryrobot.livejournal.com

"Just a Bud Lite."

"Rolling Rock. And a cheese steak."

"Can I have a strawberry daiquiri? With an umbrella? Can it be pink?"

"One ounce of columbite-tantalite, please."

Cameron examines her order. (It's not the daiquiri.)

veryscaryrobot.livejournal.com

The bar is bristling with boxes, scraps of wrapping paper, and more deliberate decorations. Cameron does a remarkable job of projecting confusion without actually moving her face in any way.

She's an advanced model.

veryscaryrobot.livejournal.com

Clomp.

Clomp.

Clomp.

Cameron rests one hand on the Bar's polished surface, and tilts her head at a 15 degree angle. "May I please have the items I requested yesterday," she says, without bothering to end the sentence with an upward inflection. The items in question appear: both small, metal, and nondescript.

undignified

Wes's quarters turned into a bar, which isn't something he usually complains about. But he just got off duty, and after almost eight hours cooped up inside an X-wing without even anything to shoot, he's tired.

Too tired to bother traipsing up the stairs to his room here.

Which is why there's a pilot, orange flightsuit and all, asleep on the couch by the fire.

forced-pilgrim.livejournal.com

If you wanted to understand why a four-foot-tall monkey in a saffron robe is pushing a hot dog cart (complete with umbrella) through the bar, you would have to know about the Buddhist hot dog joke.

(Monkey can be very literal.)

Even if you don't know the Buddhist hot dog joke, you can get a hot dog. They're vegetarian. And the mustard is excellent.

3rdtimelucky.livejournal.com

Goldy's Saturday brunch consists of a hearty Denver omelet, some toast, and a steaming mug of coffee.

She's settled longways in a booth once more, languidly indulging in the fare and engaging in passive observation of the bar room and ceiling area. Her lovely locks are taking a serious beating from being constantly tied up in public, but the baseball cap and glasses pseudo-disguise seems to be working so far, so she's sticking with that winning formula again today.

[tiny-tag: assassin]

morelikeasponge.livejournal.com

[OOC: Elle shares her life story. No hairdos were harmed in the writing of this OOM.]

Peter Petrelli is +1 set of gray pajamas, and -1 set of bangs.

He looks around, with an air of profound disorientation. And then he backs into a table.

tibetanmethod

Half an hour ago, Dale Cooper put down his cup of coffee and remembered who he was -- after months of not remembering, of living in a haze, of wondering who he could be, now that he's been liberated from who he was. (The opportunity to reinvent one's self when one is pushing forty -- probably -- is something to be seriously considered.)

But now there's no more liberation; there's who he was, what he has to go back to, what he's done and what was done to him. It wasn't there before. Now it is, all of a piece.

And right now Dale Cooper is staving off a panic attack with cherry pie and a damn fine cup of coffee.

(And a crisply pressed shirt buttoned all the way to the collar.)

forced-pilgrim.livejournal.com

Monkey sits at the bar tonight, bouncing peanuts off the mirror and catching them in his mouth.

Simple pleasures.

forced-pilgrim.livejournal.com

Monkey stands by the lake, the mountains painted on the sky behind him, his staff planted in the earth and expanded to a towering height. A pennant-shaped golden flag snaps in the brisk chilly wind.

Today is a great day for adventure! Today is a bad day to wander too close to Monkey.

People in the first few rows will get karmically re-aligned. Do not taunt the Buddha Victorious-in-Strife. No substitutions, replacements or refunds.

funnyasallhell.livejournal.com

So if there are sissified young gentlemen by the name of Winchester who can wander into his camp (and in a very real way, Deadwood is Swearengen's camp), it's best if Al Swearengen size up the competition.

Nobody's behind the bar, either.

And nobody seems to be making any fucking objections as to his immediate presence. After a cursory examination of the wall of bottles behind him, and one or two mutterings along the lines of what is this shit? --

The board gets filled out -- best to obey the general custom in another man's joint -- after a wrinkling of his nose.

Specials
whiskey

Al Swearengen leans forward, puts his palms on the bar, and stares out at Milliways. Blackly.

Apparently bartending is on. If you dare.

[OOC: Please read this post in the back room before tagging -- but then tag! Totally! :D]

[ETA: And like magic, all threads uncompleted are slowtimed -- I'll pick up tags ASAP! *goes to fall over*]

gone_byebye

Ray is unaware of what happened last night on the lake, or that Yuna has gone back to her world. He would've made time to talk to her if he'd known. He's seen her after a Sending, after all. For now, as far as he knows, everything's pretty much the way it usually is, which by his definition of things is 'normal*'. So he's got no problem at all with starting off the day by rolling out of bed and getting dressed in his civilian clothes before trundling outside for saber practice. He does it at home for an hour a day, after all. No reason not to keep it up as long as he's staying here.

For once he's not using the drone. Not that there's anything wrong with it, but after a while you get a little tired of the same attack patterns, and the random setting (which Ray has dubbed 'Ms. Pac-Man' in honor of the first video game he knows of that incorporated a randomizer into its antagonists' behavior) is getting a little old. Besides, when you're working against the drone you're only working on your defensive form, unless you're the kind of person who can blithely chop his equipment in half without batting an eye over the ensuing repairs. For lack of other Jedi in his world he's been taking lessons from other, Terran sources, and that's what he's practicing now: the set forms and patterns his instructor in the use of the Chinese curved broadsword has been giving him.

He's really not bad. He's no Scaramouche, and no Qui-Gon Jinn, but for a guy with Ray's level of Force capability** he's got a genuinely respectable form.

*There are a tiny handful of people in the world who would accept Ray's definition of 'normal' without question. Most of them are statisticians who equate 'the mode' with average instead of 'the mean'. The rest of them have to take three or four prescription medications a day to fit in with everyone else's definition of 'normal'.

**zilch

morelikeasponge.livejournal.com

Peter's spent most of the evening invisible. He's also spent most of the evening without anything to eat or drink, as a result, except for what he could steal off of people's plates -- and he hasn't seen anybody he's avoiding.

So there's a weird ripple in the air in one booth toward the back of the room, and then there's Peter, flagging down a remarkably blasé waitrat.

[OOC: Feel free to tag while he's invisible, if your character would know he's there.]

pirate_jack

When he comes sauntering into the bar through the lake door, Jack has a new sword hanging at his side and a very self-satisfied air about him.

He strolls over to Bar and runs one browned hand across the surface of the wood. "Evening, luv."

A bottle of rum appears, and Jack picks it up, saluting her with it-- then stops mid-motion, looking speculative.

"You know, lass, we've got to figure out a way for you to have a drink. 'S not right you should always be serving without ever tasting a spot of rum, savvy?"

Without further hesitation, Jack promptly turns the bottle up and pours a measure directly onto the wood... which slowly darkens as Bar absorbs the drink.

Jack grins. "Let's have another bottle, luv! One for me, and one for you!"

[ooc: just for the record, Bar's actions in this post and the ensuing thread(s) have been preapproved by bar mods. (ETA: See this back room post for further details!) thanks!]

callsignhusker

It's not the first time Adama's found himself in Milliways since he and Hektor spoke; it's the first time he's approached the bar.

It's a surprise, therefore, when a wooden figure appears, with a note attached (the four corners of the paper have been clipped).

Adama's smile is broad (for him, anyhow) as he traces the curve of the bow with a light touch. He's not religious. He knows who it is.

A moment later finds him composing a note.

( Hektor )

When that's done, with a request for translation (if it's possible -- if it's not, Adama knows Hektor's smart enough to find somebody to read it to him), he takes a gill of golden to a table with a decent view of the entire room.

forced-pilgrim.livejournal.com

Have you ever wondered how the bar would look if you were less than an inch tall?

No? Well, Monkey thinks you are strange. That is probably comforting, if you know Monkey.

If you don't know Monkey, he's the (currently) teeny fellow in the saffron robe, with the tail, scurrying around the floor juggling crumbs.

Don't step on him. Or do, if you're prepared for surprises.

dontcryemodoc.livejournal.com

Sara enters the bar, descending the stairs, stretching as she walks. She takes a seat and orders a hot mug of coffee, curling her fingers around it for warmth.

hippodamio

The Trojan royal stables are all in an uproar as Hektor slips away from them; he pauses in the door, then shrugs a moment and comes the rest of the way in. If the goddess has called him, he is not going to argue. And anyway, he has offerings now: small tokens and gifts from the men of Ashgabat, but worth nearly a prince's ransom in Troy. He bows to the Bar, fist on brow, and stands tip-toe to place the silken purse and ivory carvings on the surface. "Thank you," he says as the offering vanishes, and then again as the loaded cup and plate appear. "It has been a hungry morning."

That said, he turns about him to find some suitable place to sit, and consider that which he has seen. But he would not mind company.

morelikeasponge.livejournal.com

It's not fair that Peter's sore even in his dreams. He shuffles, wincing, toward the nearest booth, and flops gracelessly into it.

Sitting down. It's good stuff.

[OOC: I may be slow! In tagging, not on-the-uptake. Though I may be that too.]

called_lioness

[OOM: Time passes, people dream.]

There is one blonde woman in the bar with an apple, a book, and a purple dragon on her lap. (This would be Lavender. Lilac is, quite likely, up to no good, and Lucy is sure she'll find out how at some point.)

She's not, really, reading the book. She's more focused on stroking the dragon's tail and watching the room absently.

forced-pilgrim.livejournal.com

Monkey is quiet today, which (for anyone old enough to remember him) is much more startling than a noisy flurry of transformations.

He's sitting cross-legged on a chair, which he's balanced carefully on the center of a table, and is diligently trying to work the knots and tangles out of a silvery net.

And he's a four-foot tall monkey in a saffron robe. Quiet or not, he tends to attract attention.