milliways_bar | Entries tagged with nynaeve al'meara

All is still in the mountains. And then the horizon erupts in flames, the deep pink and purple flaming into impossible red, as the ground shakes with the deep, deep, deep call of a drum.

A demon from an ancient world stirs.

A creature of shadow and flame, the Balrog sets the ground alight as it crawls fluidly, digging claws like steel into the earth. Fire wafts from its nostrils and eyes; fire crackles across its massive body. The odors of blood and charred flesh flood the air around it.

The Balrog surveys the bar, still a ways off. Wings stretch as it raises itself to its full height, an inferno standing firmly in place. Swinging a hand out, the Balrog conjures a fiery sword. A multi-pronged whip made of molten lava cracks in its other hand.

Its roar of challenge is deafening.

(OOC: Obvious warnings for violence in most threads, not so obvious warnings for eye squick in the Yrael thread.)

stridersgonnastride

[ In the infirmary, Dave has a few visitors:

I've created a monster, 'cause nobody wants to
see Marshall no more they want Shady I'm chopped liver
well if you want Shady, this is what I'll give ya

-American Transcendentalist poet, Emily Dickinson ]

gondolin_noble

Glorfindel is pretty sure that he is going to die of boredom.

Actually, no. If he fails to get better in a timely fashion, he's fairly sure his lord will change his mind and send him to Namo as quickly as possible.

Same goes if he manages to rip his stitches. Even if they itch infernally.

Thus, there's an elf on the couch, tuning a harp, and generally trying to stay out of trouble. Honest.

Do you think Elrond would notice if he had some Dorwinion?

badinlatin

[OOM: Earlier.]

Fucshia turns into deep reds and the frenetic movement of people, when Mal Reynolds, Serenity's captain, opens the door and promptly drops on the floor of the entry dais. He has a Milliways Security badge in one hand, but is having problems standing up, what with one hand pressed hard and flat against his ribs.

[ooc: disappearing for a second because my apartment has no milk; if you tag, I will tag back, but it will be post-Nynaeve.]

not_only_wisdom

Nynaeve glides through the front door, keeping her brow unfurrowed by dint of much effort.

Dealing with Aes Sedai never really gets less irritating. All those inscrutable expressions, it's uncanny.

And given that she cannot Heal her own headache, she makes her way to the bar for a teapot full of boiling water. And a cup.

The note she receives is unexpected, but less of a surprise, in its way, than she could have imagined so many (and so few) years ago.

She folds the note and tucks it away, picking up the teapot and carrying it, and the cup, over to a nearby booth.

Waiting won't always kill a woman.

Or so she devoutly hopes.

blue_ajah

When she arrives in Milliways this evening, the first thing the Aes Sedai does is glide across the room to the bar. She sets a folded and sealed letter on the polished wood of Bar's top, and murmurs a soft request.

( Nynaeve al'Meara ti Mandragoran Aes Sedai )

The letter vanishes, and a small tea service appears. Moiraine takes it to her preferred table and settles there.

guppy_sandhu

Some time after this sign goes up, Guppy settles down at the bar, with the List, trying to work out who is still here.

They haven't checked it for a while, he notes, looking at some of the names.

[ooc: Please see post here if you play a medic, a healer, or a helper and would like to be on the list
If you have never met Guppy or Simon and want to be on the list, feel free to tag here or leave one of them a note.]

never_shall_yield

After a day of struggling around the stables, it is a resigned Frenchman that re-enters the bar this evening. He looks a little better than he has of late; a bit of colour in his face, at least, if still too thin for his clothes, and with his right hand still splinted tightly.

It is this latter causing difficulties, not just in his work - he asks the bar for pen and paper, and retreats to his usual far-off booth, where he discovers how awkward it is to attempt to write a letter without use of his writing hand.

Life, as ever, is just one problem after another. However, he does not feel quite as unequipped to deal with them as he did.

[OOC: Open until next weekend.]

gondolin_noble

Glorfindel strolls into bar, a wreath of golden beech leaves twined into his hair. If he particularly minded, he could always blame the elflings that made it, but... well.

He helped. A lot.

boston_bruiser

[Out of Milliways:

I'll bring you precious contraband and ancient tales from distant lands
of conquerors and concubines and conjurers from darker times

Adventures in robocows, Indiana Jones, and more, starring Dinah Lance and Voodoo. Admission is free. Mind the killer bunnies.]

"-UCK!"

That's about all the warning anybody gets before 185 pounds of SEAL crashes onto a table.

(It, unfortunately, does not survive.)

The observant will notice the trapdoor in the ceiling through which he fell, but it'd take true blindness to not notice the several pintfuls of blood staining the front of his BDU. Even then, you could probably smell it. Abdominal gashes bleed like that.

Voodoo cranes his neck, looking around ground zero as he cradles his MP5 to his chest.

"Hey, uh, Remy?" he calls out. "Doc? Could really use your help here."

[OOC: Joint EP with

raptorcanaria. Specify whether you want both pups or just one in the subject line of your first tag, please. The muns can be reached on AIM at TheMightySpazz and lycanfae.]

[ETA: As of 0351 hours PST, Voodoomun is up and about. Tagging will resume at a normal pace.]

never_shall_yield

A few hours after this...

The door to the infirmary opens. Javert stands on the threshold; upright, serious and resolute. He wears no uniform. He is clad as a simple labourer, in black jacket and trousers, and a blue shirt that does not conceal the rope burn at his throat.

He does not know what he was expecting, but it was not this.

He sees the bar. He sees chairs, and tables, and a door at the other side of the room. Stairs, a fireplace. Beings; there is no way to describe all of them as 'people'. He swallows imperceptibly, and takes a step forward. And then he sees the Window.

The stars are exploding before his eyes.

He thinks, a few minutes later, after the last of his life's constants has been thoroughly ripped away - - of course. Of course.

Knowing it is just punishment does not help.

[OOC: Guys, in all seriousness...I love you. <333 But I must crash now. Spelling mistakes are rising, which means bed. Also, I cannot keep my eyes open. Am around all day tomorrow, and beyond, to continue. THANK YOU FOR BRAVING HIS CRAZY. <333]

mjolnir_retriever

Thor's father told him--

He said--

For years Odin and Frigga have lied to their sons. For years. For Thor's entire life, Loki's entire life. And about something so fundamental as this.

In Thor's mind was Loki's ravaged face, his bewildering vicious madness, and in Thor's heart was a rising tide of thunderous rage of his own -- and this is his father, his king, and a wiser man than Thor may ever be, and the man who lied about this, and Loki is dead.

The conversation was short, and went very poorly.

When Thor slams into Milliways, electricity is crackling up and down his arms, and his fists are clenched tight. He crosses the barroom in a minimum of strides; he's barely out the back door before he's launching himself into the air, and black clouds are boiling into being around him.

In some moods, Thor knows better than to be around people who don't deserve his anger. That's just about everyone, right now.

(He wants --

what he wants is his brother back. What he has is helpless rage, and no good target.)

Apologies to anyone who was enjoying the sunshine a minute ago.

[OOC: Open to tags, but your character will have to get Thor's attention if you want to thread. He's kind of preoccupied with being the center of a violent rainstorm-cum-temper-tantrum right now. Also, FYI, I can slowtime from tonight to tomorrow, but then I'll be internetless all weekend.]

souffle_girlek

A time of reckoning had to come. Entirely too many bags of flour had been dropped/exploded/spread around to every possible corner in the kitchens for Oswin to avoid this day.

The day that when she came to the Bar for an after-baking drink, she was given an order written on a napkin instead.

"... What, me? Is that even..."

A second napkin appears.

"... Bossy." She huffs, but comes around the bar anyway, finding a step-stool so she can write specials legibly. She has to work at it for a while - for one, writing in chalk is a whole new experience. For another, she plans on lots of specials. If she has to do this, she doesn't want to get bored.

Happy Hour!

Egg Cream
XYZ
Tropical Orgasm
Extraterrestrial
Rising Skirt
Mad Scientist
Irish Coffee
Naked Navel
Attitude Adjustment
Tom Collins
Extremely Drunk

first_to_ride

When the door opens, anyone watching it might see a bit of the chaotic scene unfurling in the world beyond – large men and women in horned helmets are racing back and forth, some brandishing torches, others swords and axes, all calling out to each other. The sky is dark, but bright flashes streak across it, and occasionally mixed in with the shouts and screams are high, screeching calls that are decidedly not human.

The small and skinny boy who jumps through the doorway, however, has no helmet or weapon. He's watching the action behind him, not paying any attention to the fact that he's just crossed into an interdinemsional pocket of space-time, and calls back over his shoulder – "Yeah, yeah, I'm getting –"

Before he can finish this sentence, however, something he sees makes him grab the door and slam it shut. A bright plum of flame manages to just sneak through around him, and once the door is safely shut and that fire on the other side of it, Hiccup does the quick am-I-on-fire check, slapping down a small flare up near the top of his woolen vest.

It's only then that he actually gets a look at the bar. His eyes widen.

"Uhhh I really took a wrong turn somewhere –"

But as this place clearly isn't even Great Hall, he has no idea what kind of turn that must have been.

[ooc: Open forever! Though there may be a few pauses tonight due to laundry.]

blue_ajah

It is an impulse that drives her this evening; an impulse and a restlessness, the combination of which leads her to lay aside her current work and enter Milliways, instead.

Soon enough, the Aes Sedai is settled at a table with a pot of tea gently steaming near at hand, and a delicate china cup in front of her.

As she sips, she observes the bar and its patrons with definite interest.

not_only_wisdom

Nynaeve could still hear the cries of the wounded children, the screams of the dying villagers, the howls of the Darkhounds that seemed endless in number --

But so, too, could she feel the Warder bond to Lan, her husband, seated firmly in her mind.

She counted it (and her new self-knowledge) well worth the cost. But now, that so-necessary errand handled, it was time to get back to the White Tower for her night of contemplation.

Preparing the weave for Traveling away from the Black Tower is the work of several moments, a fine feat considering her current state of exhaustion.

But when she steps across the threshold and is confronted with the bar, Nynaeve pauses, lips pressed tight together, and takes a deep breath. This could have happened on a better day, when her hair hadn't been burnt off and she were not so badly exhausted.

The Light burn Milliways, anyway.

"And here I'd thought we were done with the place."

Well, time to make the best of a bad business. Perhaps some tea will see things begin to sort themselves out.

A newly-raised Aes Sedai can hope.

not-only-wisdom.livejournal.com

The last thing Nynaeve was expecting this morning was to walk out of her -- all right, her bedroom -- and wander into Milliways.

She almost thought she'd been quit of the place. But apparently not.

The change of scenery is not as unpleasant as she might have thought it, so many months ago. But yanking hard on her braid once, then again, will do wonders to disguise that.

No sense making anyone think she missed the place or anything.

Hmmph.

And now, having dealt with that, she heads to the bar to get a nice cup of tea.

smallestopener

On the occasion of her eleventh birthday, Ingress dreams a little dream of oh, so many things.

tiny tag: Vanyel Ashkevron

gondolin-noble.livejournal.com

Midsummer is coming soon (relatively), and in Imladris, the celebrations are already beginning, at least amongst some of the elves.

Of course, there are some elves who, due to their heritage, believe that celebrations should be solemn, done with dignity.

While Glorfindel is, very technically, one of that sort...

He has long ago learned that there is much more fun to be had amongst his Sindarian kin, and out there, the bonfires are already burning bright.

Thus, no one should really be surprised when a golden-haired elf waltzes into the bar, wearing a simple tunic and leggings, the only decoration in the gems twined into the braids in his hair and the intricate needlework along the collar and cuffs of his tunic, his feet bare, looking just a bit wild.

Alright, a lot wild.

Whatever.

notabricklayer.livejournal.com

(OOM: Maybe she wasn't even that pretty in real life. Spoilers for S1E1 "The Man Trap")

The door slides open with a convincing if somewhat rattly 'woosh', and McCoy wanders in, scrubbing at his eyes with one hand and irritably thumping at where the light panel switch should be in his room.

When his hand hits wood instead of formed bulkhead, he freezes.

And actually looks around.

"Now, don't tell me after all that I'm actually goin' crazy."

(OOC: Annnnd he's back! Restarted from the beginning of the series, and no, I still haven't seen the movie (this week, promise), so... yes! One somewhat cranky good ol' Southern doctor, at your service.)

taishar_malkier

[OOM: Aftermath.]

There are too many to heal, too many bleeding and dying, tangled among the corpses, for anyone's skills and strength. But Nynaeve has never accepted her own limits easily.

But those limits are there, which is why a combination of headache and her Warder have finally forced her to admit to the need to retire to a tent. Just for a little while, she insists, glowering, and Lan says nothing; just catches her elbow in subtle support as she shoves open the tent flap with unnecessary violence and a small stumble.

--Well.

This is not the inside of the tent.

(When you're more exhausted than you want to admit, when the world has changed within and around you, when you've survived what you always knew you wouldn't and you don't know how to feel about half a dozen things -- there's duty. Always, always, there is duty.)

Lan is stonefaced, on silent guard, and Nynaeve is pale and scowling, and both of them are covered head-to-toe in dust and gore and blood.

And, for the first time in months, inside Milliways.

taishar_malkier

[OOM: The world fights at Tarmon Gai'don.

The Last Battle.]

not-only-wisdom.livejournal.com

[OOM: Needs must when the Dark One drives. Or the Dragon Reborn.]

taishar_malkier

[Just previously, and not exactly OOM: Letters, and changes.]

When Lan and Nynaeve returned to the House of Arch a short while ago, it was with set decision in their faces and letters in their hands, and a door newly unlocked behind them.

Since then, they've made the necessary preparations: packing essentials into saddlebags and packs, speaking to Tom and Door, writing such notes as need to be written. There was little need for speech with each other; they both understand the situation, and each other. They always have.

When they step into the bar, now, it's with traveling cloaks and packs, saddlebags thrown over Lan's shoulder, and a handful of tidily sealed notes. Nynaeve leaves the stack with Bar to distribute, while Lan slips away to the Security office to post another with his badge there.

And then, there's little else to do but take one last look around for friends.

[OOC: Lan and Nynaeve will be returning to play out canon. If you want to catch either or both of them to say goodbye, just tag in! Slowtime is a possibility, as the muns are only here for a few hours this afternoon but wanted to make sure goodbyes could happen.]

gondolin-noble.livejournal.com

The sky is grey, but the sky has been grey and the ground grey and the plants grey and everything not purposefully brought in by the invading elvish and human armies a deeply depressing mire of ash and slag and...

Glorfindel deeply wants to go back to Imladris.

Finding the mysterious tavern inside of his tent, however, is... a lot more than he hoped for, actually. The elf gladly wanders in, relaxed despite warrior braids, armor, sword, and...

He's just a little stiff. Really. Just a touch. Nothing to worry about.