milliways_bar | Entries tagged with olivia dunham

[After this.]

He fades into a little-used corridor, disables the security alarm, and shoves his way out one of the museum's side doors, his only thought to keep moving.

Instead, he freezes upon realizing that the treacherous door's opened into that bar again, not onto the back-alley street.

I can't - he comes here, I've seen him here, he might --

Instinct takes over, and he slides to one side of the door as it swings shut, ducking his head so that the hood hides his face better, darting glances around the room.

But there's no sign of his previous mission --

-- his last target --

-- Steve --

-- no sign at all. After a long second, he slips further into the bar.

He's going to need food soon, and a couple of hours down. Here's as good as anywhere. After that, he can get back to what comes next.

[OOC: not plotlocked, open until it scrolls. millitime fully in effect as needed! ETA: and slowtime in effect as of 9 AM GMT/ 2 AM Mountain time, Sunday Nov. 30. Thanks all!]

flip_the_lights

[OOM, millitimed back to some nebulously convenient point:

A trip to the desert, and a trip to the ballpark.]

flip_the_lights

They found another one of the Cortexiphan kids this week: Simon Phillips. He wasn't in Olivia's "class"; he took part in the Wooster trials several states over, and was kicked out after his primary skill turned toward mind reading.

Olivia was the first person he'd met in twenty years who could enter his house and not start a cacophony. Two decades of uncontrolled telepathy, with the Cortexiphan in Olivia's body -- how it triggered a barrier to her thoughts, one Simon couldn't cross for whatever reason -- offering him the only relief.

Two decades of living in a cabin in the middle of nowhere, because otherwise, he'd go completely insane from the noise.

Now, she's at a table with a glass of whiskey, studying it with more care than strictly necessary. Her problem, she thinks, has always been finding the so-called "on" switch -- never in turning it off again. Maybe it's time to explore the benefits of both.

nerves_of_ice

He's restless; more than that, he's impatient. The Winter Soldier knows this perfectly well, just as he knows the reason why. He always is, when waiting out the slow drag of time before an assigned mission, and this mission has higher stakes than most.

He also knows just how dangerous impatience can be, whether in trying to acquire a target or, worse, if this particular trait were to be observed in him by Comrade General --

-- he cuts that thought off before it can go any further and turns to considering distractions instead. He's already put himself through a brutal workout in the gymnasium once today; too much more would cause comment that neither he nor his new partner can afford. There must be something he can do to occupy himself, but what?

The instant the thought occurs to him, he acts on it. No more than five minutes later, dressed in civilian clothing (and with a black leather glove covering his left hand), "Alex Lyle" walks into Milliways in search of both coffee and distraction.

[ooc: millitime invoked between this and an oom to come shortly. Open 'til it scrolls.

ETA: slowtime requested as of 11:00 pm MT. thanks!]

the_man

Fury is sitting at the bar, reading the screen he was offered. It caused a raised eyebrow or two at first, but he read it all the same.

"Thank you," he says to the bar, and carefully makes a selection.

Nothing visible happens.

The ball offers him a drink in a lowball glass, and he sits back and opens the book he brought with him.

(On the tab board, the name 'Mr. Fisher' appears.)

[OOC: I'm out for the night, and will hopefully pick up tags tomorrow.]

nerves_of_ice

The mission was simple: blend in with the crowd at a bar in West Berlin that's known to be frequented by certain persons of interest, gather what intelligence he can, and report back to his handlers for further orders.

He knows it's a test; knows, too, just how much depends on his being able to prove that he can do the job.

It's going well so far, he thinks. Given that he'd not only read the file but memorized it, slipping into his cover like a second skin, he's not surprised, but he's eager to show he can do more, when the time is right.

He gets up from his seat at the bar with a laugh and a quip for the new acquaintances he's been drinking with, and saunters off toward the back with just the right amount of casual, unhurried ease. No one's watching him when he opens the door to the alley that he'd checked out earlier--

-- only it doesn't lead to an alley. Not any more.

He stares at the room in shock, and a sharp curse in Russian escapes him -- one that's all too clearly audible before he instantly drops into a crouch as if checking his shoe for some problem.

The rest of his curses are silent, but no less fervent.

Where the hell is he?

[OOC: not plotlocked, open to all! However, please check out this post in the back room for some important information. Thanks!]

[OOC²/ETA: Slowtime in effect as of 11pm MT on 4 April 2013, thanks! This post will remain open until it scrolls or I plead exhaustion here, whichever comes first.]

flip_the_lights

[OOM:

love is blindness
I don't want to see]

[Spoilers for and most dialogue from Fringe 3x09, "Marionette."]

flip_the_lights

The Fringe team's decamped to a hotel in Brooklyn for the night: tomorrow, they'll start the trek north. Peter tried to fill her in on what she missed -- including how her twin broke cover and came to be in Penn Station -- but Olivia couldn't bear to hear it.

Please, she said. Tell me later. I just want to rest.

Actually, what she really wants to do is erase the last bits of the Other Side from herself, but walking to the nearest drugstore feels close to insurmountable right now. Instead, quietly, Olivia slips out the door to Milliways. The bar has everything. Surely it'll have hair dye, too.

Halfway across the room, she spots the bulletin board.

Olivia doesn't realize she's frozen in place until someone bumps into her from behind. Murmuring a hasty, stilted apology, she sinks into a free chair just by her hip, unable to look away. Sgt. James Buchanan Barnes. 1918-1944.

Her throat's locked shut. When a waitrat finally comes by, it takes her a few tries to place her order.

And then Olivia folds her arms close and hunches smaller, visibly working to steady herself, the hair dye forgotten for now.

[ooc: in and out for a while, but all tags will be picked up!]

flip_the_lights

[OOM:

this place feels so unfamiliar
and yet I know it well]

[Millitimed to a little earlier this week. Vague spoilers for Fringe 3x08, "Entrada."]

flip_the_lights

Near the front of Milliways, a red-haired woman is quietly opening and closing the front door, working as slow and methodical as a lab experiment.

Not every trip across universes requires getting drugged up and hopping in an isolation tank. If Olivia really is from the Other Side -- that world with no zeppelins, with a living daughter and niece, with a White House that didn't have to be rebuilt after 2001 -- then she should just be able to open the door and walk through to where she belongs. Key word: should.

It isn't working. All the door shows is the interior of her apartment.

After one last try, she closes the door with a quiet click and rests her palm flat against it, head bowed, breathing steady. She turns to stare fixedly at the Observation Window; then, one careful step at a time, she walks over to the bar proper.

"Hey," she murmurs as she touches the bartop. "Could I get a cup of tea?"

Bar obliges, and Olivia wraps both hands around it as if she's gone cold, raising her eyes to the mirror behind the bar.

flip_the_lights

[OOM:

i'm haunted
by the hallways in this tiny room
the echoes there of me and you]

[Spoilers for and some dialogue from Fringe 3x03, "The Plateau," and 3x05, "Amber 31422."]

flip_the_lights

Well.

This is...unexpected.

This isn't anything like good, either, judging by Olivia's expression: an open mix of wariness and curiosity she makes no effort to hide. She glances over her shoulder to look at her apartment, turns back to the bar, then takes a slow step over the threshold. Brushing red hair aside, she touches a thick black cuff on her left ear.

"Fringe, this is Dunham," she says, low.

No response. Olivia looks up, tapping the cuff a little harder. "Fringe, come in."

Nothing.

"Shit," she mutters, and immediately drops her hand to a small aerosol can at her belt. At least she's already dressed, wearing her usual form-fitting leather clothes that reveal a slash of red fabric at her chest, and not, say, walking around the apartment in her underwear. Even better than a breach right outside her door? Would be facing that breach in nothing but a bra.

[ooc: mun is still pretty wiped from the election last night, so slowtimes may occur without warning. post is open until I say it's not!]

flip_the_lights

[OOM:

you want power
but you're not big enough
so you steal it piece by piece]

[Spoilers for and dialogue from Fringe 3x01, "Olivia"]

flip_the_lights

[OOM:

there are days I am your twin
peekaboo
hiding underneath your skin]

[Spoilers for and most dialogue from Fringe 2x22, "Over There, Part 2"]

flip_the_lights

[OOM:

snow white's stitching up her circuit board
someone's slipping through the hidden door]

[Spoilers for and dialogue from Fringe 2x21, "Over There, Part 1"]

jack_inthegreen

[OOM:

From ghoulies and ghosties and long-leggety beasties and things that go bump in the night, good Lord, deliver us!

]

thekidfrombrooklyn

The truth is, Steve wanted to charge out into the forest as soon as he found Bucky was gone, but with no strategy and still only a vague idea of who (what) they're dealing with, he went to Jack Green first. He seemed to know a little somethin' about somethin'.

Still, he scowled when Jack advised patience. "Remember the story, Steve. People who have dealt with him believe Samhain--Halloween--is when he's at his weakest. I don't believe we should act before then, and I don't believe Sgt. Barnes will be harmed before then."

Waiting sits ill on Steve's shoulders.

(Sometimes I think, if you didn't have me, there wouldn't be a single person in the world who really understood you...)

Steve isn't in full uniform, but his shield is slung over his back and his firearm is strapped to his hip. His face is contemplative as he nurses a beer and watches the Observation Window.

[ooc: Not exactly plot locked, but Steve is preoccupied. Approach carefully.]

jack_inthegreen

[OOM: A Gathering of Heroes]

[ooc: Some threads are still in progress.]

nerves_of_ice

It'd be quieter in his room upstairs, he knows, but Bucky's not sure that's a good thing right now.

(For several reasons, really.)

As a result, he's decided to study the stack of papers that Steve gave him down in the main bar.

He's made a deal with a waitrat to keep the coffee coming, and has set up at a table where he's got his back to the wall and a good view of all approaches. His rifle's slung on the back of his chair, and the file's spread out on the table in front of him as he reads.

It's hard going, not least because there's a lot of stuff in there that he's pretty sure is either from the future or another world entirely.

Still, Bucky's never been one to give up easy, if at all.

flip_the_lights

Last night wasn't good. Neither was the night before that.

The nightmares are completely different now: the thing she saw in the woods stretches to an impossible height, reaching out with too many sets of arms as she hides, shivering, in a corner of her apartment. Olivia scratches and screams, tries every weapon she has, carves circled X's all around herself in an attempt to turn it away. Nothing works -- and when she wakes up, choking and coughing, she's kneeling next to her bed with a butcher knife in hand and X's gouged into the floorboards.

Sleepwalking. That's a new one.

(So much for getting back my deposit, comes the completely inappropriate thought as she stares in horror at the marks.)

She doesn't even bother to hide her drained, shaken state as she approaches the bar. Before Olivia can open her mouth to request the strongest coffee she's got, Bar shuffles two envelopes her way. The first is a note; the second is a thick packet of information. It takes a beat before she can pick up both in trembling hands.

Ten minutes later -- after a gradually more frantic paging through Claudia's printouts -- Olivia scrawls terse notes to Asami and Charlie. Included with both is a copy of the same packet.

( Notes for Asami Sato and Charlie McGee )

Without waiting to see if either of the women appear, she clutches her own packet tight and dashes home.

[ooc: not open for threads, sadly, but reactions/note responses are welcome!]

ladyfirestarter

Outside of Milliways:

"... and when sleep came, the dream came with it. Only this time she saw the face of the silhouette, which stood to block the light."

(the woods are burning)

mix_it_up

At some point after this, Asami walks out of the elevator from the garage, back into the main bar.

Her arms are folded against her chest, and she doesn't look at anything as she walks through the bar, her gaze stubbornly stuck to the floor in front of her, until she reaches the middle of the room, and the choice: the door back home, or the bar.

Asami glances between them, then turns, and walks over to the bar.

The first things she does once she takes a seat is put her elbows up on the bar, and bury her face in her hands. She doesn't quaver or shake – in fact, she stays perfectly still otherwise – but this lasts for about a minute before she looks up again.

Then, she quietly asks the bar for a piece of paper and a pen.

( For Olivia Dunham )

Asami looks over the note once – the characters are sloppy, thanks to her intermittent coughing and that her hand was slightly shaking, and the note itself sounds all over the place (which was very much unlike her), but as she can't seem to get herself to put more than that on paper, she folds it over, and lets he bar take it.

Once it's disappeared, a mug of something Asami doesn't recognize materializes in its stead.

(It's hot chocolate, and it's nice, as she finds out when she finally calms down enough to try it.)

[ooc: ep is open for anyone 'til whenever.]

nerves_of_ice

He comes downstairs after this with the body of his rifle slung over his shoulder, his green canvas ammo bag in one hand, and a hastily-scrounged pillowcase in the other. He casts one sharp look around the room, then takes everything to one of the larger tables off to the side.

The bag goes on the table first, then the pillowcase. He opens that and takes out a clean towel, which he lays out flat on the table.

Only then does he unsling his rifle and set it down on the towel.

Bucky takes a seat on the side with the better view of the room, and begins taking out the rest of the parts from the bag, one piece at a time, examining and testing each before moving to the next.

The drawn and grim look on his face bodes ill indeed.

[ooc: slowtime in effect as of 11:30 pm Mountain. thanks all!]

flip_the_lights

With the change of seasons, there's no reason to be surprised by the chill in the air. Olivia lives in Boston, anyway; cold snaps are the norm once they reach a certain point in the year.

But this chill...this is different. Heavier. It presses down enough to work beneath your skin, and even though she has a mug of coffee and a thick coat, she can't seem to get warm. By the time Olivia makes it to a rock by the lakeshore and sees an odd symbol marked on it -- and the rock next to it, and another just beyond -- she's made up her mind to stay outside and investigate a little more.

Right now, that means sitting on the rock, coffee still in hand, and scraping a thumbnail over the symbol to see if she can figure out its composition. When her breath mists, it mingles indistinguishably with the fog.

flip_the_lights

Olivia can't have been gone from the bar for more than a couple of weeks, she figures -- at least, until she notes the Milliways weather has moved from late spring toearly fall. She's experienced time shifts before, but never this pronounced; mentally, she makes a note to add it to the ongoing data collection.

It's been a long couple of weeks, though, and she hasn't slept well for most of them. With both the newness of the bar and the panic of the Allpocalypse receding, her mind's begun turning back toward Peter: the glimmer surrounding him, the shine in Walter's eyes as he begged her not to tell his son the truth. And then came the resonances she can't explain in this latest case, just enough to unsettle her and knock her focus askew.

She needs a break, and badly.

...Olivia just has no intention of taking it here. Instead, she's claimed a table with a glass of scotch and a sheaf of photographs from the case in question.