milliways_bar | Entries tagged with peter petrelli

morelikeasponge.livejournal.com

Peter looks unsettled when he wanders downstairs, and so does his hair; it's flattened in odd patches, like he's just woken up.

He pauses to leave a note addressed to ( Security, or whoever's handling the murder case, I guess )

Then he orders a grilled cheese sandwich and proceeds to initiate a staring contest with it.

The grilled cheese is winning.

youask-why.livejournal.com

It's been months since the guards outside followed Helo when he entered her cell. Sharon could stand by the door to be there when he came in without being forced back to some safe distance, as though she would suddenly leap forward and rip them apart like some wild animal.

It meant she would almost always be standing by the door now. And she was that afternoon, when she saw him coming in through the clear plastic wall. But when it opened, Helo wasn't on the other side.

Neither, for that matter, was the rest of the battlestar. What is on the other side is so startling that she takes a step forward, through the door. Sharon steps into the Bar in her soft shoes, gray sweatpants and dark blue sweatshirt, dark hair hanging loosely over her shoulders.

Considering all of this, it should be quite impressive that she doesn't jump when the door closes behind her.

In fact, she only murmurs, "The frak?"

hadyougoing

Ava, tucked into a discreet booth, is working on her resume.

Along with a job history detailing her summers spent at Jamba Juice and the year at Greater Peoria Family Practice, a blank page that is eventually going to be a cover letter, and a large moldy-looking book that doesn't contain anything of note about vengeance demons (though it does have an interesting section on possession), Ava has realized that for this job, it might behoove her to mention who she's killed and how.

Therefore, she is making a list. It already has half a dozen names on it, and features helpful notes like eviscerated, hanged, dismembered, and throat ripped out.

She works hard for the money, baby.

[OOC: Open forevs. Tag up me hearties yo ho!]

morelikeasponge.livejournal.com

Peter wanders downstairs, scrubbing at his eyes, and stops to leave a note at the bar.

( For Kaylee )

Then he gets asks the bar for another sheet of paper and a pencil, which he proceeds to stare at for a few minutes. Feel free to interrupt.

morelikeasponge.livejournal.com

Plunk.

Plunk.

Splorch.

Plunk-unk.

Peter Petrelli is standing by the edge of the lake, half-heartedly attempting to skip stones.

lasthalfmile

Dan has just come downstairs, to find that it has been quite some time since he was last down here. Months, in fact. To say that he is not thrilled with this news is putting it mildly, but he really can't complain too much, since he's dead and all. Time is bound to get strange in a place where strange times are commonplace.

One slightly-broody, dead rancher with a drink (well-watered Atlantean) and a pig (Bogart is wearing his harness this evening, and the black potbellied pig is enjoying a snack of cut up apples from a dish on the floor near the table) are downstairs this evening.

He's a bit behind on current events, and wouldn't mind the company or conversation if anyone wishes to join him (and Bogart) for a bit.

morelikeasponge.livejournal.com

Peter wanders in from out back, looking both grouchy and confused. (And lightly sprinkled with cat fur.)

cutting_edgex23

After the plastic baggies have been obtained, and the camera, and several rolls of film (or rather memory cards) have been consumed in photographing the murder scene --

Alanna and X reconvene at a table to discuss strategy.

More particularly, armed with very strong coffee and a glass of milk, they are strategizing how to release information about the circumstances in as careful and calm a way as possible.

Starting with a recap note and report for the other members of Security.

They may be here for some time.

mistressmaryquitecontrary

The Milliways Security force has gone to impressive lengths to preserve the scene of the crime without starting a panic. Their efforts are commendable!

And really, there was nothing they could do about the window of time between the discovery of the body and Security's response, when a thirteen-year-old girl, storming out of her greenhouse in a huff, might stumble across an unpleasant scene . . .

And then spend the next good while being unpleasantly and embarrassingly sick in the bushes, and another period of time cleaning herself off, before marching straight-backed into the bar and announcing in a voice that is not quiet: "I have found a body in pieces out back. I did not kill it, but somebody did!"

[OOC: OK, guys . . . the free-for-all is open. :D Bear in mind that the scene of the crime itself is still warded, and anyone who tries to approach will get a shock! But feel free to react to the news here, to thread conversations reacting to the news, etc. - the post is open indefinitely.]

puckishly.livejournal.com

Puck trudges in through the lake door, jeans rather damp and hair sticking up at odd angles.

He ought to have been harsher with Raspberry when she was a squidlet; now she practically demands evening lullabies and mantle massages.

Well. He has coddled that cephalopod for the very last time.

(... Until next week.)

Moving with startling grace for someone so apparently exhausted, Puck sprawls at the Bar and is quickly granted a mug of coffee that is more like a bowl, liberally topped off with alcohol from some planet or other.

"My thanks, darling," he drawls against the countertop.

He'll be up and at 'em in a second, really.

[OOC: Open until freaking whenever. It's summer, I got time.]

gonna_live

Somebody did not have the foresight to build herself a nest out of the Tinker toys lying on the table before she decided she wanted to be a sparrow for three days.

Now she is sad. And hungry. With feathers fluffed up on the bartop. (There's a draft.)

gonna_live

Kaylee does not celebrate Mardi Gras.

In Soviet Russia, however, Mardi Gras is apparently celebrating her. She is wearing a yak hat* and a few strands of purple and gold beads.

After four-plus years in the bar, sometimes you just have to roll with these things. Or laissez les bons temps rouler. Whatever. She's got alcohol. All is well.

*yaks are totally part of Mardi Gras. don't be a hater.

gotawhip.livejournal.com

Pam is displeased. She informed her maker that there was a magical bar at the end of the universe in their bar's parking lot. And when she went to show him the bar, she was on one side of the door and he was not.

She is displeased. Who knows what Eric will get up to without her there to supervise him. She tugs at one of her long blond braids and almost forms an expression of annoyance.

[tiny tag: Pam]

swinging-cod.livejournal.com

The fact of the matter is, you stick two more people in a small space when you'd got used to there being two less, it's gonna feel a little cramped. Whether or not you're fond of the people in question. (And Jayne's reserving comment on one of 'em at least.)

Sometimes a man needs breathing space. No matter how creepy-freak-tastic that breathing space tends to be.

Which is why Jayne's sprawled out at a booth (mostly), feet taking up about twice the aisle space that politeness would allot them. They're big feet. People can see 'em. They trip, it's their own lookout.

morelikeasponge.livejournal.com

Peter looks surprised when the door swings open to reveal Milliways, which is probably because he is. He looks surprised again when the bar greets him with a box that turns out to contain a large and fuzzy gray sweater.

Very fuzzy. He pokes it, and looks surprised again.

gonna_live

There's a lot of holiday shopping that Kaylee has done. Most of it is for crew.

Some things are not.

Three boxes and two envelopes get left with the bar, and Kaylee doesn't linger.

( Susannah Toren )

( Sam Winchester )

( Dean Winchester )

( Peter Petrelli )

( Sylar )

seewhatyoumean.livejournal.com

Cass bounces into the bar. She's not in costume, but rather a black knit sweater and black pants. She bounces over toward the bar in search of a delicious milkshake.

She isn't watching so she doesn't see white stripes fade into the pattern of her sweater. Or the white paint that appears on her face.

She doesn't know what a mime is anyway, so it's not like she would get it.

morelikeasponge.livejournal.com

Peter's fist is entirely devoid of bitemarks. (So is the rest of Peter.)

His table is entirely devoid of onion rings. He is trying to remedy this by conversing earnestly with a waitrat. The rat is just staring at him.

watchmakers_son

[(Not Quite) Out of Milliways: Millitimed way the hell back to October 5th, Sylar and Peter have a chance encounter in the bar. You can't possibly believe it ends well.

Interestingly, maybe, but not well.

Later, another visitor arrives.]

morelikeasponge.livejournal.com

Peter is missing:

(a) most of his hair, and;

(b) all of his memory, and;

(b) his shirt.

On the dubiously plus side, he's up one bar. He looks around it, and promptly crashes into a chair.

Current Mood: ungood

ellectrical

[OOM: Elle still manages to be an easy mark.]

Elle heads to the Bar as soon as she walks in, smiling in a way most people do when they're stuck in a pleasant daydream. It's not quite the good mood she was in not-so-long ago, but it's certainly up there.

She's carrying a thin, wide white box under one arm, and sets it on the Bar once she reaches it, pushing it slightly to the side so she can order what looks like some kind of iced coffee drink.

There's a green straw. This is the important part.

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.