milliways_bar | Entries tagged with raven

[oom: Who's scruffy looking?]

Outside, Hera's resting near the lake, still toweling water off her lekku. The Ghost's refresher hadn't really been enough to get the nerf smell off her, but the lake might have finally managed it. Or at least, managed to make her smell more like seawater, which is preferable to nerf slime.

Inside, Kanan's sitting at a table with a cup of caf, but is far more interested in his datapad. Pouring over their schedule and accounts would usually be Hera's job, but… he did agree to take over for a week. Which had seemed to work out for him at the time, but at the moment he can't help but feel he'd rather be the one swimming in the lake to get rid of that nerf smell.

thewidewideworld

OOM: Sinric encounters a group of northern Vǫlva who take him in. And in the cave under the earth, at the base of the tree, Sinric begins to dream.

{ooc: mentions of ritual sex, no explicit descriptions.}

Across all of Milliways there is a shudder, as reality unwinds and reforms. Those possessed of magic will feel it most acutely.

In the forest, there is a new tree. An ash, huge and ancient. As if it has been there since before the beginning of time.

And bound to its branches is a naked man. Shivering and blue with cold, blood dripping over his bare skin as his bonds cut in.

Blue black lines are painted on his skin, echoing the tree, echoing the earth.

There are names on his lips, whispered over and over in a babble.

Ragnar. Athelstan. Ragnar. Athelstan. Ragnar. Athelstan. Ragnar. Athelstan. Ragnar. Athelstan. Ragnar. Athelstan. Ragnar. Athelstan. Ragnar. Athelstan. Ragnar. Athelstan. Ragnar. Athelstan. Ragnar. Athelstan. Ragnar. Athelstan. Ragnar. Athelstan. Ragnar. Athelstan. Ragnar. Athelstan.

His eyes are unfocused, as if they see through, as if they see more. More than this.

In the forest, there is a tree. In the tree, there is a man. In the man, there is the whole multiverse - past and future and present. Every thread of was, will be and could be.

And by the look of him, it might be killing him.

(ooc: Sinric is currently on a hardcore seer’s spirit journey. His body might have made it to Milliways but his mind is still traveling. As a result he will see things, know things about the future or past of the people he interacts with. Feel free to PM me if there’s something you do or don’t want him to bring up.)

fate_or_chance

[OOM: 'King Cailan Wants You (Join Your Country's Army! Maker Save The King)' or 'Object Lessons In Communicating Brotherly Concern'.]

Hawke has been travelling for at least a few days, so he's gone from 'furious' to just 'sulky', which is why he doesn't so much storm in as he does just slump in, slouch his way to the Bar, and dramatically utter 'Meh', at it.

Bar apparently takes this as an opportunity to provide him with a small plate of honey cakes and a delightfully colourful fruity cocktail, which Hawke proceeds to sip with as much melancholy as one can muster when drinking something with a brightly coloured umbrella and a slice of lemon.

Siblings are stupid, and Hawke would have been quite happy if Malcolm and Leandra Hawke had just slept in separate bedrooms for their entire marriage.

venerable_ibis

Djehuty is trying out the whole manifestation-as-human thing again, in the interests of not alarming anyone. An astonishing number of the visitors here are not gods--nor even dead people! Who knew?

So he's just a totally normal guy in totally normal clothes--well, rather like the things the French students wear, since Joly is the person he met first--wandering around the gardens and the lakeside in a totally normal way.

Maybe pausing to stare meditatively at something now and then. The sun. A tree. Something invisible to the human eye. Sometimes he takes notes on a tablet.

wee_mad_arthur

Once again, this isn't the Bucket. There are two ways Wee Mad Arthur can tell this. One, the utter lack of Ankh-Morpork Watchmen other than himself, and two, when he scrambles up one of the stools and onto the Bar, it presents him with an utter lack of Mr. Cheese the publican- and also with a napkin.

"Yez jokin'."

It is not.

"Ah, bloody hell, if yez insist, but there'd best be a good solid mug or two at the end of the night."

"WEE MAD" ARTHUR
BARTENDING FOR BIGJOBS
BEER: CHEAP
WHIZSKY: NOT AS CHEAP
NO QUAFFING

He's never done it before, but how hard can bartending be? One six-inch-high Watchman perched on top of the Specials sign, glaring at the patrons and smoking a tiny, nasty cigar, at your service.

buh_bye

Death was let out of the cells recently. He's not bothered by the stay, it wasn't too long. One thing he felt he should do was go back to his world and take care of a few things. His ring being the biggest of them. However, before he left, he would like to eat something. Something hearty, something homemade (or rat made as it were), something everyday American.

So there is a Death sitting at a table eating pot roast, potatos, and salad.

nitro_is_ace

So, the years have not helped Ace's baking ability. The girl responsible for sentient evil cookie dough has been all but banned from Annie Wells' kitchen, unless being watched like a hawk, and only when making something simple. Like a glass of water.

But then Ace saw a cooking show. And they made Christmas Pudding.

And it's set on fire.

There's no gainsaying Annie's ban, but there's no one to stop her from baking here in Milliways.

That's why there's a pyro in the kitchen, happily rifling through all of the bottles of alcohol she brought with her.

Fear, Milliways.

blue_ajah

When she arrives in Milliways this evening, the first thing the Aes Sedai does is glide across the room to the bar. She sets a folded and sealed letter on the polished wood of Bar's top, and murmurs a soft request.

( Nynaeve al'Meara ti Mandragoran Aes Sedai )

The letter vanishes, and a small tea service appears. Moiraine takes it to her preferred table and settles there.

whatisastiles

So things are going well. Scott tried to kill Stiles, Derek threatened to kill Scott, Lydia Martin totally blew him off—what? that's a serious problem—they dug up half a dead wolf which turned out to be half a dead woman, and Scott might kill the whole lacrosse team tonight.

On the upside, Dad arrested Derek? So hopefully that'll keep some of the murdering from happening.

Stiles just needs a break, and maybe a nap, cause he definitely couldn't sleep last night after all the Adderall plus the freaking dead body in Derek's yard, that shit'll give a guy nightmares. But first, a pizza, cause all that crime solving makes him hungry, and here he can order triple meat and Dad won't steal it and die of heart disease.

He's got a table to himself and is inelegantly devouring a large pizza. Table manners are for other people.

[ooc: Open 'til it scrolls, but for now I require sleep. Back tomorrow!]

creator_raven

[OOM: Full circle round]

maxwellsdemon02

Duo comes into Milliways with a briefcase, backpack, and an over-stuffed duffel bag. He drags all of it up to the bar, shucks his long black coat, and then spots the note.

"Really?" he says. "I'm on paid leave that only just managed not to be suspension, and you're already trying to recruit me?" He reads the reply. "Well, if you say so."

He dumps his stuff behind the bar and washes his hands before chalking up a few specials.

SPECIALS
Mulled Cider
Hot Chocolate (alcoholic or non)
Pomegranate and Cranberry Punch

He doesn't notice the small letters that curl into shape under his own square handwriting:
⊕ Drinks half-off for Team Light ⊕

[OOC: This post is serving as a reunion and party post for all of those who fought against the Dark and Blodwen Rowlands way back when. Though feel free to just drop in for a drink!]

gone_byebye

The door opens on a chilly grey day in an alleyway in New York and closes behind a Ray wearing his winter dark bluegrey Ghostbusters duds. "Wow," he says, looking around the Bar. "What'd I miss?"

He doesn't stop for an answer, though. He heads for the Bar to drop off a note ("give a copy of this to anybody who asks about me, please?"), and then to the bulletin board to pin up the same thing for people who go there first.

( The note reads: )

Once the note is up he heads for the Bar, because this is going to be his last time here, and he'd like to make some use of that fact while he's saying goodbye to people.

[OOC: As I mentioned in the Back Room a few week ago, I'm retiring Ray. This is his goodbye post; it's open as long as people are finding it, basically.]

stole_a_time_lord

This holiday is excellent.

Earlier, the TARDIS read the explanatory screen from end to beginning, and again, starting somewhere in the middle.

She likes middles. So much of things is made up of middles.

She's in the middle of something right now.

Specifically, she's in the middle of the floor of a 1960s British Police Box, which she built almost entirely out of blue Legos, and some black ones and white ones, and the occasional purple one, here and there.

It's smaller on the inside than she was expecting, but at least the doors open out the way, properly, when you pull them, as you should, rather than push them, as he does.

She has also, after careful review of her options, acquired webby finny fishy hands. And those, in turn, have required the acquisition of pudding.

So. One TARDIS. Sitting in a replica of a 1960s Police Box. With fish fingers. And custard.

[OOC: Slowtime please, as of 10:20 EDT. My brain has gone all . . . custardy. :) Please, no new tag ins. Thanks!]

howling_laugh

[OOM: Coyote (and Raven) Fight Monster Skunk Who Farts Everyone to Death

Warning for violence, some gore, and generally being disgusting. Sorry we're not sorry.]

Coyote and Raven step through into Milliways. The door behind them leads to open countryside, rolling hills and trees.

However, scenery probably isn't the most noticeable part of their entrance. Coyote is carrying a shotgun and a canvas pack with a gas mask sticking out. Raven is streaked with blood and other unmentionables.

They both reek.

"Sixteen drinks," Coyote tells him as the door shuts. "I require a lot of tequila."

herr_bookman

Hunched over a table full of papers is a boy, holding a newspaper in his split-knuckled hands and furrowing his brow at the headline:

GREAT BATTLE BEGINS
German Armies Struggle to Enter France

Autor skims the front cover, the back, and a single page in the middle. Then he folds it up and reaches for the next one.

He probably wouldn't mind a distraction.

howling_laugh

The person who walks into the bar looks like Coyote's standard female form. But she isn't dressed in quite the usual way.

She's wearing an elegantly tailored, pinstriped suit with a pencil skirt, for one thing. Well polished heels and a string of pearls complete the outfit. Her hair is in a neat chignon.

At least the shirt under the blazer is bright, flaming red. Coyote dumps a file folder on the bar. If someone was nosy, they might see that it was filled with pornographic doodles and copies filched from a recycling bin. Purely camouflage.

"Hit me," she tells the bar, who complies. Coyote tosses back the resulting shot of tequila and sighs rapturously.

blue_ajah

Her restlessness has been growing.

("In a sense, it feels as though almost all my life ahead of this day has become uncertain."

"Moiraine, you dwell in this place... a woman out of your own world and out of your time."

"My devotion to the mysteries of this world transcends any single law enforcement agency... it's my responsibility to go where I can do some good."

"I hope you find your answers, whatever they may be.")

Moiraine has her suspicions, if at present barely more than that, as to what the source of her growing unease may be, but as yet she cannot confirm them.

(And if she is to undertake what comes after if she is correct in this, then she must, she must be absolutely certain, without doubt or question.)

Thus it happens that the Aes Sedai may be found on this particular afternoon within the walls of Milliways, a gently-steaming pot of tea near at hand, and her attention focused on studying one of the books that Tom Riddle had so graciously retrieved for her some time ago.

There are not many here these days who would recognize the Karaethon Cycle for what it is, and perhaps fewer still who might grasp the significance of her interest in it now. Still, she makes no attempt to conceal what it is that she is reading.

Unusual, that.

[ooc: open until it scrolls.]

howling_laugh

Coyote bursts into Milliways with abandon. Her dress is sparkly. There is mistletoe tucked behind one ear. She's got a glass of champagne.

BRING IT ON, HONEYBUNCH. WHO WANTS KISSES?!

[OOC: And now I am going TO BED. I love you all!]

callipygos

Oh I don't want a lot for Christmas
This is all I'm asking for
I just want to see my baby
Standing right outside my door

Oh I just want you for my own
More than you could ever know
Make my wish come true
Baby all I want for Christmas is you

Slowtimes ongoing!

the_lioness

We ride at the hour past dawn tomorrow.

Duke Roger's closing words continue to echo through Alanna's mind long after she should have been asleep. Tossing and turning begins to lose any appeal around midnight, so she checks her binding, pulls on her clothes and scoops up a sleepy Faithful. After buckling Lightning to her hips, Alanna pads out of her room, past Jonathan's, and only lets herself breathe once she's alone in the hallway.

The decisions made in the meeting of Duke Roger's commanders are making her extremely uneasy and a little ill. She knows Jonathan is angry at his new command, far from Fort Drell, but Alanna is upset for other reasons that have everything to do with a deep suspicion of the man who decided to place him there.

"Maybe a few hours at Milliways will allow me to rest," she murmurs to the heavy cat wrapped around her neck. "I doubt we'll be able to go there again for a long while, after all."

Faithful fails to respond.

She moves quietly through the halls and is careful to look around before slipping through the door to the bar. It's loud and bright after the quiet corridors of the sleeping palace, but she's glad of the noise, the life. If she can't get to the Dove, this is the next best thing.

Rubbing one of her eyes, Alanna settles into a chair by the fire and hopes a wait rat will happen by soon. She's awake, yet curiously far too tired and preoccupied to see about getting some tea herself.

[OOC: I wanted to go ahead and get this up. I will be around for a bit, but I'll need to beg slowtimes almost immediately this AM. It is open forever, however, and I will be around to tag as much as my super annoying body lets me! :) ]

sunbaked_baker

There are cinnamon rolls baking in the ovens, filling the kitchens with the warm scents of yeast dough and cinnamon-sugar.

The baker responsible, however, is outside. She's not hard to find - There's a perfectly round hole in the thick clouds covering the November sky, letting in a bright ray of light from the otherwise hidden sun. The light beams down towards the figure perched on top of one of the picnic tables on the lawn near the garden.

Sunshine may be wrapped up against the cold, but her face is turned up towards the sun, eyes lightly shut as she soaks it in. She may be expending some concentration to keep the hole in the overcast sky from moving or closing up with clouds, but it's well worth the effort.

Botherable.

Current Mood: content

howling_laugh

Coyote bursts into the bar, followed by what may be one of the more incredible stenches Milliways at large has experienced outside of the Allpocalypse.

It's thick. It's greasy. It's foul.

Coyote slams the door behind her in an instinctual gesture of self-defense. Oh gross, it's everywhere. In her clothes, in her hair. The sound she makes can best be described as 'HURK'.

She makes her way through Milliways, peeling away to grab a towel that the bar offers. She holds it between two fingers and speeds toward the back door.

stole_a_time_lord

[OOM: Just ~~soon~~ ~~later~~ ~~then~~ ~~after~~ now: . . . where she's never, ever been . . . ]

The door opens and a woman in a flouncy blue party dress comes running into the bar.

Stops quite abruptly.

Looks around.

"This isn't where I am meant to be.

"This wasn't where I was meant to be.

"This won't be where I will be meant to be.

"Oh, tenses are difficult, aren't they?"

[OOC: Please see very important information here. Thank you!]

[OOC: ETA: My dance card is full at this point. No more tag ins, please. Thanks!]

mjolnir_retriever

The door still isn't there for Thor. Not long ago, he would have raged and blustered and done something decisive and dramatic and stupid -- but no. Not now.

To be honest, he finds it hard to really care.

The rooms here are comfortable, and no stranger than Jane Foster's trailer or roof; the furniture is close to Asgardian, in fact, if simpler and not quite right. And Thor's people live for thousands of years -- he doesn't have a lot of patience, but he isn't human, and he doesn't get bored like a human.

But when he approaches Bar tonight, he's presented with a napkin full of orange writing.

...Well. Thor had heard of this. "I will gladly do my duty as host, Miss Bar," he says, a little dubiously, "but I know little of an innkeeper's customs."

More napkins.

With a lot of writing. It seems explanations are in order.

"Very well," Thor agrees, and vaults lightly over the bar.

A short time later, in large (but tidy) angular handwriting, the specials board reads:

Specials

Mead

Boilermaker

Coffee

Half price on these specials and on any drink unknown to me.

Every patron Thor's met has been either from Midgard or from a realm unknown to him. This seems a suitable selection.

He settles back, broad hands resting on the bartop.

[OOC: Closed to new threads with Thor, sorry! But please feel totally free to threadhop all you like with each other.]

the_shaper

It does not take much effort at all; a twinkle of one star of many in the eye of Lord Morpheus, Dream of the Endless, and beyond the uncharted reaches of the Milliways forest comes a shift in space, like a wave coming into shore. There is no sight, no sound, no effect anyone would notice -- but there are soft places in the Forest.

In his throne room in the Dreaming, a small smile curves the lips of Dream of the Endless.

Not too long after that, with Bar sound asleep, Dream manifests within the bar. One pale hand picks up the chalk, and pauses briefly before writing.

Specials

Tart lemonade served after a Little League game in July in Phenix City, Alabama as based on the later remembrance of the catcher
Flekovský Tmavý Ležák 13° as based on the anticipatory dreams of a man in Prague planning to celebrate his thirtieth birthday at U Fleků
Atlantean
Complimentary basket of fried, teriyaki, or buffalo paradoxes with order, upon patron request

If one is reopening a door, one should at the very least make the proper gestures toward hospitality. Morpheus folds his arms, flames licking up his lapels, and waits.