Gilbert has playing cards with him, tonight.

They're not his, exactly. It's amazing what some of the upperclassmen at his school don't notice getting picked up, when they're busy studying. But they are quite pretty, with the symbols and suits on each slip drawn into some sort of fanciful design, and they seem to have a firm hold on the boy's attention.

He's staring down at the table and dealing out what looks roughly like a game of Baccarat - Baccarat with a very weak grasp of the rules, perhaps, because there are a few too many cards here or too few there, now and again. Or it might just be a semi-random flop of cards.

Needless to say, his head is firmly planted in the clouds, at the moment. He might not appreciate distraction, but it would probably be healthy?

Not long after the conversation with Ianto yesterday, Cal realized that he had a Door. His heart leapt for just a second, before he realized what must be on the other side.

And what can't be on the other side.

He isn't going through today - even if he wanted to, where would he go? He hasn't found a place to live yet. Instead, he's at a table, fiddling with a camera he got from Bar a little while ago.

It's a digital camera, an idea Cal is vaguely familiar with, but the pictures it takes are far clearer than any digital photos he's ever seen. He is from 1997, after all.

(Not anymore, though.)

Cal is playing with the controls and taking experimental pictures, trying to get a feel for it. (He's not paying any attention to his Door at all.) Anyone who approaches is fair game. Hope you're feeling photogenic.

Moist will say this for being stuck in the bar: It's giving him a few ideas for when he does get home.
Like the whole bartending thing. No, he's not jumping in today, but... it's surprisingly easy, in a way, when he doesn't have to worry about getting stuck to the stuff in the freezer or dropping glasses and bottles without even trying. If he can handle the biggest supply line in the known universe, he can handle the Union's stock, more than likely.
Today, he's focusing on the cards thing. Who knows when the next poker night is going to be, but he intends to be ready for it - he's not counting on sweeping the night or anything, but he knows everyone will underestimate him.
And, well, solitaire might not be the exact same thing, but it's getting him more used to handling the cards. He's still kind of enjoying the fact that he can.

[tiny not!damp tag: Moist]

It's officially not any of her business, but Susannah finds the news that Elizabeth Tevlin's son has reappeared--dropped on the doorstep of her sister by an unknown party--simultaneously worrying and comforting.

But it's not any of her business anymore. Officially.

Her business today is two (count 'em) thick copies on the New York Times; they are not identical, although they do have the same date. Staying up to date on two worlds is a lot of work.

So, for the sake of argument, is doing two Sunday NYT Crossword puzzles. Especially when you do it in pen.

Ryan walks in to the bar, he's supposed to be trying to find Delko, he just thought he was walking in to a Quickie stop to get something to drink and here he is.

Looking back he notices the door's gone this is not something he has time for today. Sighing he sits defeatedly on a bar stool ordering a large Ice water.

Guppy has been in the infirmary all night keeping an eye on his patient.

He's taking a short break from that to come into the main bar and write a note.

( For Security )

He then sits at the bar, head in his hands, thinking and worrying. Bar offers him a cup of tea, which he doesn't notice.

Alyx Vance and the rest of the contingent from her world are going home sometime very soon.

Before they do, though, Alyx has one last commission to work on.

She's got Ellen Park's stealth suit in pieces on the table. It's proved slightly easier to work on than she'd anticipated, but since it seems that no one in that world has ever heard of a transistor, that's not saying much.

Rapunzel is slightly bored, and has been sitting at a table sketching various people she spots around the bar. On a whim, she takes a fresh sheet of paper and writes at the top:

Write down a secret and then throw it away!

She thinks for a few moments and then adds her own secret:

I've been bound for over two years. I don't think I ever want my door to show up again.

Once she finishes, she folds into a simple paper airplane and launches it into the bar to land where it will, and goes back to sketching.

[OOM: Alright now, little sister, she's alright with me...]

After spending some time away from the bar and all but one of its inhabitants, Moon and Charlie are back, with a new familiarity that lends itself quite well to the current situation.

So, there is a Charlie lying haphazardly on the couch. He may not be entirely happy, yet, not knowing what he did about the things still to come--and those that had happened already--but it's better. He knows he can lean on someone, for a while. Maybe after all this is done.

[tiny tag: Charles Monroe]
[OOC: OOMs are Millitimed to last week, implied return before Jason's birthday thread.]

This bar now contains one (1) Miniver, plus one (1) boozariffic drink of the heated persuasion, plus one (1) copy of Carl Sagan's The Varieties of Scientific Experience: A Personal View of the Search for God.

Miniver likes the pretty pictures in it. Ooooh, sparklies!

It is entirely probable that this is not his first drink of the night.

Come poke him. (Literally, if you like!)

Lan is ensconced in a chair in a corner of the room, puffing slowly on a pipe. His posture is the sort of lazy slouch that looks to the untrained or superficial glance as if he might be half-asleep over his pipe, and to another sort of observer looks as if he's holding himself poised for a moment's action in any direction. The second perspective is a good deal more accurate.

A few tables away, Nynaeve is bent scowling over a stack of books. Her eyes flick to Lan every so often, and his land on her frequently as he scans the room.

[OOC: Lan is open for tags from anyone! Nynaeve is not, alas, and will probably only enter a thread if there's strong IC reason for her to react to something.]

He has shunned a table in favor of an encompassing booth, it remains well-lit because he is reading from a book that he received in the mail today from (his ex-fiancé Evelyn whom has gone on to marry one skeevy Eurotrash husband after another up until the dot-com bust where she had supposedly invested a significant amount of money into Pets.com) someone he knows.

The letter that came with the package was crumpled up, and is shoved into his (Tumi Circuit brand. Smooth and textured leather combine to create a sleek, Euro-styled case) briefcase. It isn't terribly important, he will read it later.

What is important, is the book. A paperback with an innocuous cover (against a red-orange background an abstract figure of what one would presumably call a male is wearing a pinstriped suit with a yellow tie. The title reads as: American Psycho.) Patrick wears a similar suit, although his tie is gold. Call it yellow at risk to your well-being.

And the author? Well. The author is going to hear from Mr. Bateman's attorney in the morning.

When Ami enters Milliways tonight, she's dressed in her school uniform and weighted down with medical textbooks-- business as usual, more or less. However, she also has her reading glasses on, and she's carrying a pink rose with what may seem unwarranted delicacy. Quickly, she takes a table and sets down her books, whereupon she orders herself a nice cup of tea.

Once she's settled, the casual observer may note that there is one oddity to her behavior: Namely, she keeps removing her glasses and looking around, then putting them back on and looking around, then taking them off again ... and looking around. Wash, rinse, repeat.

This is very interesting.

Ami opens one of her books and continues to glance around, keeping an eye out for charming green-eyed men in suits.


[OOC: As a note for taggers, Ami's glasses have been enchanted to allow her to see past spells and illusions. Ping at Merky Dee if there are questions!]

When she goes to the bar for tea this evening, Moiraine receives two unexpected items, as well.

The first, a small and carefully wrapped cutting from an apple tree, brings a look of slight confusion to her face until she reads the accompanying note-- at which point the Aes Sedai smiles.

The smile vanishes as soon as she reads the second note, however.

She folds both notes away and carries her tea and the gift back to her table, where she alternates between considering the little plant and drafting a response to Kaylee's letter.

She's in the bar. She has to get used to it. Mouse will be leaving. She will be watching the puppy.

She needs to manage to make it up the stairs. She needs to. To walk. Across the bar. She needs to walk to the stairs.

She could be in the process of a game of Freeze Tag with how quickly she's moving.

Cassandra heads downstairs, with a slight smile on her face. She places a gentle hand on Bar and murmers some soft words. After a few minutes of what appears to be a conversation, a steaming cup of..something, a plate of..something else, and a metal utensil that..does not look like anything from Earth, appears.

She picks these things up and sits next to the window.

She looks outside, with a mixture of pleasure, longing, and concern.

Going on eight months pregnant, Svava certainly would commandeer a comfortable chair by the fireplace. She has a basketfull of spinning to keep her hands occupied, though when she orders a hot chocolate, the waitrat also brings her a note.

She was rather expecting something like this, sooner or later. The spinning is forgotten (as well as the hot chocolate for the moment), as she taps the folded note against the arm of the chair, thinking.

Your server is: Valerie

Waitress making the rounds; feel free to flag her down.

He's heard the music a few times when he's been here, but he's never really bothered to track down the source. Tonight Quinn isn't really bothering with much in the way of dinner- he doesn't particularly need it, or feel that he needs it, at least. He's more interested in something else.

And there it is. The piano. He hasn't seen one of them since... oh, hell, before Liverpool. Maybe in Birmingham. There were still cities then.

He doesn't touch the piano, not quite. Almost, though. His work-rough fingertips stop a few millimeters from the piano's surface, keeping that distance as he walks slowly around the instrument, trying to remember if he even remembers how to begin.

Venkman's around. Things been heating up at home, and baby's anyday now.
He was sitting at his usual table, looking over some notes.
There were also some fatherhood books on the table by him as well.