milliways_bar | Entries tagged with random of amber

All that I am, all that I ever was,
Is here in your perfect eyes
They're all I can see

OOM: Ramon had meant to go to Portugal to order bullets. He's very glad Bar had other ideas.

[OOC: Random written with permission of his lovely mun. Warnings for brief, non-specific, sex stuff in the second link.]

Current Mood: happy

lost-trump.livejournal.com

Another Shadow had fallen to his dad.

Inspite of the wound that still throbbed and pulled, not fully healed but well bound, Lucas was in the bar strapping the golden sword to his side and fixing the last of his own notes to send out.

One to Merlin saying he was sorry he missed him, time for a vacation, and that he owed him a drink. One to Random explaining all that he could..which wasn't much that he didn't already know. And one for Kate should they all manage to return- mostly apologies and the like. Nothing fancy, everything needed to be simple because Lucas was horrible at saying goodbyes. It was a feeling he had...something was going to happen. Bad.

Turning around from Bar he looked at the rats that were gathered around him. "All righty fellows. I need you to go find some people for me. Atton, Teja, Eric, Logan. If you see anyone else you think needs to know about this or come..tell them we are leaving. Now."

With salutes the rats squeaked and ran off to find the people they needed to. It was time to move.

binaried.livejournal.com

[OOM: It is a pain in the ass waiting around for someone to try to kill you. But it was April 30, and of course it would happen as it always did.]

The door swings open to admit a tall, darkhaired man clad in purple and gray, a sword at his side and a cloak across his shoulders. He is carrying a rucksack of what appear to be traveling supplies. Clearly, from the expression on his face, the bar is not exactly where he intended to end up.

Some of the patrons might even recognize him, though it has been many weeks in Milliways time, and many years in his own. There is a controlled air about the man, the hint of a buried grief and rage when the lights catch his eyes in a certain way.

He takes a long look around, gives an exasperated sigh, orders a coffee from the counter and retreats to a table against the wall, the sack settled at his feet.

Welcome back, Merlin of Chaos.

[ooc: EP open through tomorrow morning, mun will be around off and on]

underwater-owl.livejournal.com

If Random didn't know a thing or two about the way the universe worked, he might seriously start to believe that it was out to get him.

It isn't. Things aren't that personal, no matter how it feels, not even for people like him.

As it is, he's in the bar, for the first time in forever, having a Very Stiff Drink.

guppy_sandhu

Millitimed to yesterday, Guppy leaves a note after this.

( Random of Amber )

underwater-owl.livejournal.com

Random doesn't get into the bar much any more, which is why it's a surprise that there's a note waiting for him when he does manage it.

An interesting note, too.

"Mother fucker," says the king.

This should be fun.

serene-visions.livejournal.com

Queen of Amber inna bar.

It would have been nice to enter through the front door this time, but someone, or something, apparently thought having Vialle wander in through her flower garden would be an amusing experience.

The blind woman is outside, dressed in a red gown better suited for a summer's day, and completely disoriented.

Being helpful might earn some enterprising soul brownie points.

[tiny tag: Vialle of Amber]

latino_menace

Following this meeting...

OOM: Ramon and Random have a talk. It is not especially productive.

underwater-owl.livejournal.com

The mun has a snow day, and if she has to read one more page of fucking Freud is going to kill something.

Random is feeling much the same way about the papers he's currently looking through. Sadly, he has no snow day. When you are King of Amber, you get no weather excuses.

Only booze.

Which kind of makes up for it.

Do bother!

ostro_goth

Teja sits by the fireplace, wrapped in his cloak and having breakfast of tea, bread and cured meat.

Working in the forge is out today -- he doesn't want to pull the stitches the healer had put in so skilfully.

Instead, Teja wears his lorica segmentata armour laced a bit less tightly than he normally would, to account for the bandage, and reads a random treatise about the 'rights of women' that the bar has given him. He is not, as yet, contemplating to cast it upon the fire, but finds it very strange, and would rather talk to somebody.

And yes, he would admit to his defeat -- it would be dishonourable not to!

underwater-owl.livejournal.com

In light of the latest wave of new arrivals (Random has spotted the pattern, have you?) the King of Amber is out on a couch, doing his paperwork and whistling, ready to give directions or explanations, or just generally be normal at anyone who comes by looking new.

He has a lot of fun playing the comforting, friendly type.

saebelrassler.livejournal.com

There's a hand-written note up at the bar:

Friendly Poker Game, Round Table By The Fireplace. All Players Welcome. No Money, Favors or Souls Involved.

He means the last one as a joke. Probably.

Anyway, look out, Milliways, there's a blue man with a deck of cards here. Kurt has somehow also aquired a card-shark's visor, possibly from the same wait-rat that brought the cards and old case of chips. At the moment, he's shuffling, and waiting to see if anyone feels like playing. Spoon is also at the table, though he may be polishing his armor a bit longer before joining in.

You're also free to just stop by and chat. He's a friendly guy.

((Spoon included with permission, but his mun is afk until 11:30 pst, so he's just hanging out until further notice, in case the mood takes her later.))

Current Mood: mischievous

underwater-owl.livejournal.com

Random hasn't been able to find Vialle tonight. Which was odd, she was at supper, and then she was gone, and he wanted to talk to her about...

Oh look, he's in the bar. Well, best make the best of it and get a drink. He could certainly use one.

cheevy.livejournal.com

In yet another instance of Millitime being pasted on in a way that is unlikely but convenient, a certain individual is in the bar. He had sauntered in some time ago; the Narrative Voice leaves it to other parties to decide whether he's still here before his younger self comes in for Life Support, or here again after his younger self departs.

Whatever the case, here he is: a short, sad-eyed Irish-American fellow, his age somewhere in the vicinity of 40 (give or take a few years), his head a mass of black curls, dressed in generic early-2000's clothing under a long trenchcoat. Depending how he moves and from what angle someone else can see him, various pieces of jewelry might be visible -- rings, thin necklace chains occasionally visible under the collar of his jacket and teeshirt, the faint glint of piercings in both ears. He's still himself, but a lot older, more confident, less mousey.

The Bar is a welcome break from touring. He's taking his sweet time here, enjoying good booze and good food and later wandering out to the lake to take in the crisp winter air and the safe calm of the woods and the bright stars.

[ooc: aaaand this is NOT plotlocked! Yay. You can catch Miniver inside the bar or out by the lake, just specify where.]

underwater-owl.livejournal.com

Interesting fact; Of all his many, many siblings, Random is the second shortest.

You would not think this to look at him, because he also has rather regal posture when he wants to, and when he doesn't, he tends to sprawl and take up space. Like he is now, in the armchair next to the fire, with his legs stretched out and possibly the trashiest crime novel he has ever read open and being perused.

underwater-owl.livejournal.com

Random is in the bar, sprawled on a couch, with his feet on a coffee table. So far, everything is going off like a prom dress. Thus, in light of his success, he feels he's earned a little bit of a break.

Which is why he's got a bottle of very nice scotch with him, and a half full glass.

underwater-owl.livejournal.com

The problem with Amber, Random has decided, is that there are too many ceremonies, and too much paperwork.

Which is why he has several things in front of him. Namely, a list of court affairs and balls and ceremonies and so on, that he is slowly scratching names off of. They do not need to commemorate the solstice with a day of what have yous. A nice dinner will do fine. A list of who exactly is in the castle at the moment, and what they're doing. And finally, a blank paper with four large columns put in in bold ink. They read 'magic,' 'diplomatics,' 'internal,' 'complaints' and 'other.' In the columns, he's busily filling in the jobs, and who's doing them at the moment, and putting stars next to names he thinks might make better general supervisors.

Except the magic column, which he has written in, boldly 'GIVE TO FI TO ORGANIZE HOWEVER,' and 'internal' has FLORA*??? at the bottom.

Given that he has inkstains up to his elbows... he's been going at this a long time, and would probably not mind being interrupted.

ardens-guard.livejournal.com

OOM: Julian had other plans for today.

Thus he is not happy to find himself here, of all places. It's been almost three hundred years and its safe to say that he hasn't missed the place one bit. He turns to leave again immediately but the door is gone and he remembers enough to know that sometimes the bar brings you here for a reason. So he doesn't Trump out just yet but doesn't stay inside either. He knows there's a forest out back, as long as things haven't changed drastically.

So there he is, if anyone wants him. He stands about a hundred metres from the treeline, loosing arrows at great speed, with impossible grace. Anyone paying attention will note that they all hit their target. The same target actually...one arrow splits another, over and over, and a pile of broken shafts are collecting at the base of the tree taking the damage.

Sort of sums up his mood, really.

underwater-owl.livejournal.com

Random is in a back booth, making an elaborate castle structure out of some very odd looking cards.

He's also smoking furiously and concentrating hard. Not on the castle, that's just busy work to do with his hands.

dm-bakura.livejournal.com

The Landlord is asleep, the body is, for the moment, just his.

He's sitting on a table, looking out the Observation Window. His face is carefully blank.

underwater-owl.livejournal.com

King Random of Amber, feeling decidedly unkinglike, is sitting on a couch with a cup of coffee and a cigarette, pouring over his father's old books and looking at records of diplomatic relations with Rebma over the past few thousand years. His father kept good records, he'll give him that. This is the first time he's been allowed to look at them; princes are generally told 'hands off.'

He is doing this carefully, so as not to drop ash on them and go up in a pillar of flame. That would rather be a shame.

Though it would solve the problem of having to meet with Moire next month very nicely.

dm-bakura.livejournal.com

Somewhere, on a floor in Milliways, sits a young man, with a deck of cards.
They're not your average cards, either - not standardised playing cards, or even tarot. They have pictures of monsters, instead, with words underneath, in Japanese, with a red-and-black design on the back. He's making a card-house out of them, though he's not even finished the bottom level yet.
He's also probably (quite accidentally!) positioned himself exactly where you need to walk. He's talented like that.

underwater-owl.livejournal.com

Random is sitting at a booth, tracing lines on a map with his fingers and considering the spread out paper very, very carefully.

It's not a map of anywhere on earth. There's no coasts like this on that planet. He's not looking at the coasts right now, he's looking at Arden, the sprawling forest.

underwater-owl.livejournal.com

For the first time ever in two and a half years, Random of Amber is Bound.

This would not, you must understand, actually stop him from leaving here. He rarely, if ever, left by the normal door even when he wasn't. But now it's disappeared, and since he came in thinking he needed a break and it'd be nice to spend time somewhere where it didn't pass at home... well, lets just say he's taking the hint.

At the moment he's sitting casually in a chair by the fire. Spine straight, brow creased in thought, and wearing a faint frown. He's cradling a cup of tea in his lap.

amanofletters.livejournal.com

It occurred to Watson when he opened the door to his study, that the room he had just walked into was not, in fact, his study. On the contrary, instead of the dreary London afternoon shining its way through the window, there was, in its place, a bar. Watson blinked several times to reaffirm that he was not imagining it, and as he did so, he found himself increasingly at loss.

It was an extremely odd looking bar by his standards, but it was clear to him that, at they very least, it was one. Still, it was a singularly peculiar sight, and he admitted, albeit mentally, that he had never seen such a curious spectacle in all his years. And that was saying a good deal when taking into account his past experiences.

His first thought, of course, being a doctor, was hallucination. He must be hallucinating. A nasty fall perhaps. The door to his study had actually been a twenty foot drop to the pavement under his window.

Then of all the places in the world, why would he be dreaming about this place?

He closed his eyes. He told himself to calm down. He was a sensible, pragmatic, sophisticated and well learned man. Surely there was some logical explanation to this that wasn't occurring to him.

Watson sighed wearily, suddenly wishing desperately for his pipe and the cosy fireplace of the lounge room at Baker Street. Hoping that at least he could go back from whence he came, he turned around and headed for the door he had entered through, only to find that it had vanished without a trace into the wall, not leaving so much as a splinter behind.

He sighed again and rest his forehead on what used to be a door.

Goodness. This was just simply not his day.