milliways_bar | Entries tagged with raguel

[OOM: Halloween. The barriers between worlds are thin- especially if you happen to have a key to a certain door. Welcome to Alaska, and to Raven's housewarming party.]

howling_laugh

Coyote comes into the bar with a small stack of envelopes in hand. She hums cheerfully to herself, flipping through them before dropping them off with a fond pat to Bar's surface. She's out just as fast, shutting the door firmly behind her.

They are addressed to:
( Raguel, Puck, Havelock, Mary Anne Bell, Mal Reynolds, Lilly Goodfellow-Kane, Alanna of Trebond, Merriman Lyon, Ray Stantz, River Tam, Kali, Castiel, Nita Callahan, Artemis, Kaylee Frye, Epimetheus, Lan Mandragoran, and 'Loki' )

[OOC: Coyote is not in for tags! But feel free to use this thread to pick up invitations, or leave questions for her, stupid or not. Also, if you got an invite, please head on over to this backroom post!]

howling_laugh

[OOM: A little while ago, Coyote challenged Raguel to a race.

Riders, on your mark! Get set...go!]

howling_laugh

The door to the bar drifts open a few inches, and a coyote scuttles in, looking carefully over her shoulder to make sure no one is following her. She shoulders the door shut, then slinks over toward the fireplace. Her paws leave damp footprints on the floor.

howling_laugh

So, there may have been some peyote. Hypothetically. And it was going to go bad if someone didn't use it. What's a supernatural trickster figure with a fluid gender dynamic to do?

Okay, okay, rhetorical question.

Anyway, after her accidental jaunt into dying and spontaneously coming back to life- yes, Coyote does that, but trust her, this time it was weird- she decided maybe she should talk to a few spirits, see what's going on in the ghostly realms, that sort of thing.

And either that peyote was bad, or something even weirder is going on, because, well.

Coyote is in the bar, but ~~she~~ he it-

-BUT the body doesn't seem to have made the trip. So Coyote is not currently very tangible. Or very visible. Maybe if you look just out of the corner of your eye...

[OOC: Might want to ping before you tag, on this one! We'll need to talk about exactly what your character sees/senses/whatever.]

howling_laugh

Finally some good luck this month. The coyote pups were safely installed on a wildlife refuge in Southern Arizona, and she was no longer a single mother. Or, foster home. Or, whatever.

Anyway.

Then, this guy came to her garage, totally desperate. He really needed to get his bike fixed, so he could get to an...important business meeting. Except he didn't have any money. What he did have was a lot of really high quality marijuana and a willingness to barter.

And now, Coyote has more than five hundred dollars of said weed (tied up neatly in a plastic bag) sitting in front of her on her table.

She is looking at it, clearly amused. She may or may not have already partaken. You takes your chances.

howling_laugh

The door to the bar sloooooowly opens. It doesn't look like there's anyone behind it, unless you look down.

There is a coyote poking her nose into Milliways and flicking a look around. Pushing the door all the way open, she trots over to the fireplace. Then, she pulls a cushion off one of the armchairs and sets it on the floor where the warmth reaches.

And then she leaves.

And then she comes back, this time carrying a young coyote pup by the scruff of his neck. The whole process repeats once again, and then she lets the door shut behind her, and heads over to the fire.

Anyone making smart comments will be set on fire.

howling_laugh

Coyote is sitting at a table. She's leaning back on two legs of the chair, with her legs on the table.

She's got a shiny, black, and obviously high tech phone in her hands.

Maybe those crazy kids have something when it comes to communication. And Coyote is never too old to learn a new trick. Especially when she might have a little internet left over in there, amirite?

howling_laugh

When Coyote throws the door to the bar open tonight, she doesn't immediately come striding through. Instead, she shoves the edge of a table against it to keep it open, and briefly vanishes again.

When she reappears, she is pushing a motorcycle into the bar. It isn't the one she's brought in before. This one is all matte gray and brushed steel where hers is shiny black and polished chrome. It would blend in and not draw the eye among other more flamboyant bikes.

Unless of course, you knew a lot about motorcycles.

Coyote wheels it carefully into a corner and hits the kickstand. Then, she gets herself a beer and sits down to wait.

thursdays_angel

The flotsam and jetsam of mortal life never ceases to be a source of fascination.

Castiel is seated at a table, looking over the small collection of items he had found on the floor of Milliways this evening. It’s something of a compulsion—once he finds one item, he will search curiously until he finds more.

A bottle cap. A puzzle piece. A gold foil candy wrapper. A peanut shell. A red glass earring. A wrinkled post-it note with Milk, Juice, Toothpaste, Chocolate scrawled on it. Two pennies. A grey feather. And a stub of a pencil.

It really is amazing what people lose.

[My LJ is running really slow tonight--please bear with me if tags are a few minutes coming.]

aj_crawley

The weather in London's been pretty kind, this spring. The last frost is some weeks behind them now (which is saying something, considering the wretched winter), so yeah, if you want to get technical about things, Crowley could have started Operation Re-Plant Fucking Everything some time ago. However, it's important to note that descriptors like 'kind' or 'mild' don't necessarily equate to 'dry' - and why, Crowley reasons, would he want to hang about in the half-hearted drizzle masquerading as April showers when he has a perfectly good alternative at the end of the universe?

If you catch the demon later in the evening, odds are he's sitting at a table with a glass of something cold and alcoholic for company, cleaning out the last specks of dirt from beneath his fingernails with a toothpick and a satisfied expression.

If you're looking for him earlier, though, your best bet is out in the grounds - or more precisely, the little plot he's rented out in one of the Milliways greenhouses. It might be a bit difficult to spot him, mind - most of the hardier shrubs, Crowley's left to their own devices out on Aziraphael's roof, so it's only a little plot, tucked away in the far corner. Plus, he's currently crouched down below eye-level, chin-deep in a small standing army of trellises - Devon Cream, honeysuckle, and the vibrant thatch of purple currently occupying his attention; Clematis caracasana.

Today, Crowley's checking up on his climbers.

[OOC: Sleeeeep. Slowtime currently in effect, chickadees, but post is open for new tags until it scrolls off the page.]

howling_laugh

The front door opens to reveal a rather dusty looking angel, and an oil and grime-streaked trickster. They are bickering amiably about handlebars, or perhaps storage compartments, or even tailpipes. All three have been discussed already today, probably more than once.

They split up briefly, with Coyote heading to the bar for beer, and Raguel staking out a couch by the fire.

Soon after, they are installed on said couch. Raguel is slouched and leaning on the arm, Coyote is sprawled out, and is trying to negotiate a spot for her feet on his lap. She was working barefoot in the garage though, and they are dirty. (Her tool belt is now coiled on the floor next to the couch.)

[OOC: Feel free to tag us separately or together!]

howling_laugh

Once again, the front door slams open, admitting Coyote. This time, she is dressed to the nines (maybe even the tens). She is carrying a flute of champagne, and maaaaybe a sprig of mistletoe.

"Hello, Milliways!" she crows happily.

The line for New Years kisses starts here.

un_fallen

Raguel is back in his corner, nursing a beer and glaring. Technically, however, glaring would require him to be looking around, and for the most part he's staring into the amber depths of his glass. His eyes flick up occasionally when the door opens, but his expression doesn't waver.

Plotlocked, sorry! Mun is slammed with RL stuff tonight. :(

howling_laugh

The door to Milliways opens to a blast of music. A crackly radio is playing Pitbull's 'I Know You Want Me' at what is probably its top volume. The growl of a motorcycle engine fades into the distance as someone pokes her head into the bar.

It's Coyote, wearing a very worn pair of jeans, black boots, and a grease and paint stained tank top. She looks slightly...different, as well. Not so much as you wouldn't know it's her. Something around the eyes, maybe, or shorter hair. Or is it that her cheekbones are a little more defined?

At any rate, Coyote tosses the goggles she was carrying in one hand onto a bench, and steps into the bar.

noteful

[OOM-but-not: After a short sortie to survey the baseball field . . . it's post-game party time!]

[OOC: Post-game party is open to all and forever. Have fun!]

noteful

[Play Ball!]

[OOC: The link above takes you to the beginning of the Milliways Baseball game. From there, everything is linked in sequence, or you can hop around looking for your friends and relations. Spectators are still welcome. Later this evening, there will be a link to the post-game party, and everyone is invited.]

un_fallen

Raguel breathes an audible sigh of relief as he enters, and goes straight up to Bar for a drink. No sign of - of anyone he might have tried to visit lately, but there often isn't. He finds a stool near the end of the bar, and with his back to the polished surface, falls into his usual pattern of staring around with an unconscious glare on his face.

(And, thanks to Bar, sporting a brand new hat.)

He hardly smells like smoke at all!

aj_crawley

OOM: TUESDAY 1ST SEPTEMBER

Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata.

- T.S. ELIOT, 'THE WASTE LAND'

a-fell.livejournal.com

OOM: TUESDAY 25TH AUGUST

And this card,
Which is blank, is something he carries on his back,
Which I am forbidden to see.

- T.S. ELIOT, 'THE WASTE LAND'

un_fallen

Raguel goes to visit Coyote, and gets an unpleasant surprise.

aj_crawley

Crowley has plenty of things to be crabby about, not least of which is the fact that summer is starting to come to a close, picking up and slouching off towards next year before September can come along and book it for loitering. The forecast for the next week, though, is still just about acceptable, so what's currently occupying the top few slots on his list is the fact that Aziraphael, with all his understated, tweedy reserve, is being utterly and absolutely insufferable about that flower show thing. The forecast for that is pretty good too, which is bad (if you follow). Sunshine and rainbows belong in the sky where Crowley can lounge about beneath them, not emanating smugly from the other side of the breakfast table.

Thus, faced with the fairly simple choice of going mad or going out, Crowley has relocated his Friday night to one of Milliways' better people-watching tables and is picking at a meal of fried paradoxes and wine with an indefinable air of Bah. Humbug.

(There's a newspaper on the table in front of him, opened to the offending article. Thorn Cross Young Offenders Institution, be prepared for an onslaught of low-grade, slowly-demoralising evil. Crowley's thinking a mild outbreak of gastroenteritis coupled with an untimely plumbing disaster, and then seeing how it goes from there. We're looking into the abyss, here, people.)

aj_crawley

OOM —

The river sweats
Oil and tar
The barges drift
With the turning tide
Red sails
Wide

- T.S. ELIOT, 'THE WASTE LAND'

un_fallen

OOM: THURSDAY 6TH AUGUST

In a flash of lightning. Then a damp gust
Bringing rain

- T.S. ELIOT, 'THE WASTE LAND'

the_lioness

After discussing the situation with Mike and getting his approval, Alanna spends the morning clearing out her flat and writing notes. One note in particular gives her a headache, and she stops by Bar for coffee before posting the average looking piece of paper with larger than normal handwriting high on the bar notice board. It reads:

Patrons of Milliways -

Last Thursday, West Rosen's body was found in the woods. We believe he was murdered.

Security is looking for any information that might pertain to the crime, as well as individuals who feel they can offer something to the investigation. If you remember anything strange about that night or have a skill that could help us locate the person or people responsible, please let us know -- visit either the office or the flat across the hall.

In the meantime, keep a thought to your safety. Thank you.

-Sir Alanna of Olau

That done, she leaves the rest of the notes with Bar and hurries back to Pirate's Swoop.

( For Security )

( For Tom Riddle )

[OOC: Greetings! Feel free to start threads or leave notes about West here or here. If you want/need Alanna for anything, like getting your pup involved, she can be there. If your pup is a known investigator (on the list or someone a security member has 'deputized' for this), it's also ok to handwave Alanna giving said pup access to reports and photos, as long as they stay in the office. This is in no way meant to limit West things to these two posts, just give pups more options. I... think that's everything. If you have any questions, let me know. :) ]