milliways_bar | Entries tagged with ryuk

The man in the gray suit steps onto the karaoke stage and picks up the mic. "Homo sapiens novus, I sense your frustration, I know your worth, and I shall begin! Here we go!

♫ Excalibur, Excalibur
From a United K, I'm looking for him, I'm going to California... ♫"

Strong Bad gives this performance a look that only a lungfish could imitate. "What. The. Crap."

"He felt guilty about not doing anything for N-Day, so he let me suggest the penalty."

"You'd think he'd know better than to set himself up like that, hyuk, hyuk..."

[One mun, five pups, tag anyone.]

Current Mood: crazy
Current Music: Troy Baker is no Norio Wakamoto

witchfinder_general

A tall man of indeterminate middle age, dressed all in black and looking vaguely priest-like, walks in through the door and looks around with a polite but barely concealed astonishment.

"Excuse me?" he asks the nearest person he can see, who is apparently not somebody he expected.

In fact, Father Harman had gone to a supply closet to get binder clips. This noisy place is not supposed to be there. If a cafeteria was to be added on their floor of offices and labs, he would have been consulted.

Or should have.

Also, he has work to do.

slayer_fray

Oh no.

You hear that? That sound? That - dare we say it music that's coming from a table in the middle of the bar, where Mel is enjoying a plate of bacon and pancakes?

Does this mean the artifact is back?

No. What is actually means is that Melaka Fray is too obnoxious to use headphones in her personal music player. That's right, she is in fact that person. You should tell her what you think of that person.

Out in the training grounds by the lake is Dinah. But if you wanted to see her demolish a training dummy, you'll be disappointed. Instead, she is working through a series of martial arts forms - predominately naihanchi. The familiarity is soothing, and helps clear her mind, but it also reminds her of Okinawa, and Sensei Otomo, which is a bittersweet memory.

(She really ought to visit him again.)

As she loses herself a little more, she finds herself switching to taolu, based on forms she learned here years ago when suffering from the flu, and later perfected on her world with her own research.

The fact that she still sort of expects fire to come out of her fists when she practices these forms is neither here nor there.

unglitched

It took Vanellope almost two weeks to find her way back into Milliways. She's still not entirely sure how she got here this time. But she's going to make sure she can get back. With that in mind, she's investigating every nook and cranny of the place, hoping to find some exploit or back door she can use to access the place more reliably.

At the moment, she's focusing on the rafters. Because it's fun.

md_donighal

( Fake LJ-cut: T-minus Seven )

Having talked an odd cross-section of his friends into getting Karkat's gifts, established that they work, and warned the others about the interloper*, Michael is remaining signed into T-Minus, as are the others, all of whom are pingable. He himself (dividedMalakh, FF8800) is sitting by the fireplace, watching the fish and occasionally throwing sparks from his fingers at them.

Strong Bad (maloFuerte, #E3170D) and The Cheat (piesAmarillas, #FCD116) are trying to persuade a waitrat to bring them a Europa-pean lobster to go with their drinks.

Obi-Wan (unifyingForce, #ADFF2F) and Hiro (freelanceHacker, #E7C6A5) are out back, working with practice 'sabres.

Jennifer Landers (spatialMartyr, #8F8FBC) has just bodyslid from the swordplay (where Hiro proposed they work with shinai next time, turnabout being fair play) to the fireside.

Ryûk (appleJunkie, #7B3F00) is up in the rafters, watching the humans with the detached amusement that only comes through the vision of a god of death.

* Strong Bad and The Cheat decided not to block Ryûk, at least not until and unless they can get Strong Mad in here. They were pretty much alone in this, though.

[OOC note: One mun, seven pups, taggable face-to-face or on T-minus. Please to be specifying whom you're desirous of.]

Current Mood: miscellaneous
Current Music: Lit, "My Own Worst Enemy"

has_no_future

There is a young man standing at the door looking rather surprised. He'd never seen place like this before. Where he was from the elders of his race had all but shuttered themselves away fearing anything and everything that may befall them. This place was not filled with his people, they were not Brunnen G, he stared for a moment. His heart thumped in his chest, had he somehow left the protective shield around his planet? Was this what the elders feared? Was his home in danger?

Then he remembered the holes in the shields. If he had left them, he hadn't put them into any more danger than they already were in. He steadied himself and looked around his gaze lighting on things of interest, but staying on the exploding universe outside the viewing window.

lasthalfmile

Ben, for his part, is mostly squelching a smirk as he scribbles on his half of the specials board.

Dead Man Walking
The Lazarus
Walking Dead

He glances at Dan once he's finished.

"Well, I think it's funny."

Dan, however, is not so amused.

"You just give a minute to figure somethin' out..."

After a quick consult with the giant book of drink recipes, he chalks up a few specials of his own.

Arrogant Bastard Ale
S.O.B.
Extended Jail Sentence

And then, he's smirking too.

Happy hour is open!

[OOC: Tag one or both, if unspecified, you'll get both! EDIT, 11:55PM EST Holy cow, ya'll! AWESOME HAPPY HOUR IS AWESOME. No new tags, please, and all slows will be picked up tomorrow! Thanks for tagging!]

aeons_crackshot

(OOC: Please see this post in the Backroom.)

Nine year old Annabelle Newfield has never felt this awful before in her entire LIFE, but the faint sound of crying had urged her out of her sickbed in search of the cause. (She's terribly afraid, deep down, that that sound means her mother is dead, but her mind shies away from the possibility.)

A nine year old girl with blue eyes, golden curls and an utterly shocked expression has appeared in the Bar. "Wŏ de mā hé tā de fēngkuáng de waìsheng doū"

We're sorry, but her latest profanity acquisitions have all been in Mandarin, so that's what came most readily to mind.

Current Mood: shocked

crabbycustomer

It's dark, just before dawn, and Karkat is outside, lurking. (He doesn't mean to lurk, but he's got a lurk-friendly color pallette.) He found this outdoors area earlier, and he's had a good time ~~prancing around with his sickle being all adorabloodthirsty~~ venting his constant frustrations, but he'll have to go inside soon. Even if the human sun seems milder than his world's, he's not going to take the risk.

But for now, here he is. The stars are wrong--neither the stars of home nor the ones they lit up to sign their names to the human universe--and the moon is kind of eerie, small and pale and lonely compared to Alternia's huge pink and green satellites, but the homicidal and carnivorous wildlife is comfortingly familiar. He's cleaning demon bunny blood off his sickle by the waterside.

ringo_to_omoshiro

The door opens, and someone or something walks in. Appropriately for the day, he or it looks kind of like a Goth Elvis impersonator who's been freeze-dried and poorly defrosted. It should probably be a kindred spirit who gets to tell him he's not in Japan anymore...

[Thread power of the god of death comes first.]

[Tag power of the god of death: Ryuk, Rem, the Rookie (Ghostbusters)]

Current Mood: confused

creator_raven

There is a tall, skinny man sprawled in a corner booth.

He looks very comfortable.

There are two platters, one entirely full of crumbs, the other half-full of cookies, sitting on his table.

There is also a pitcher of lemonade.

Someone is very hungry, it would seem.

This is one thing that, with Raven, never changes.

Possibly there are not so many of those.

i_grenfelz

Carmela's current outlook on life is revolving on that annoying getting up to go to work in the mornings thing. Did someone miss the memo that it's summer? And that's it's the weekend after Fourth of July? Some people have been exercising their rights as Americans to stay up until godawful hours.

Stupid work.

Anyway. Suffice it to say that Carmela is sprawled on one of the couches, trying not to--

Yawn.

--Well, not trying very hard, evidently. Good thing she doesn't snore.

mnt_mike

Mike is back. The towel across Bar's top is back, which is good because something has to protect her varnish from the skateboard that has also returned. Heck, even the axle grease is back.

What does that mean?

IT'S WEDNESDAY! IT'S HAPPY HOUR! ISN'T EVERYONE...uh...happy? Or something?

The ex-turtle sighs. His deck isn't refurbishing quite the way he'd hoped. In an attempt to keep the frustration at bay, Mike wipes the back of one hand across his forehead, an action that leaves a wide greasy smudge across his face.

"Okay, that's it. I give up. LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, THE BAR IS OPEN. COME ON UP AND SAVE ME FROM MYSELF."

Bar, herself, can't really yawn...but Mike can for her.

"Riiiiii-iiiight. Specials. Okay, um...BUY ONE OF ANYTHING, AND GET ONE MORE HALF OFF. SHOTS ARE BUY ONE GET ONE FREE."

paladinsuitsyou

Booth is not a man who enjoys wasting his time. And chasing an escaped serial killer to a dangling telephone pretty much defines "waste of time," as far as he's concerned. And he's itching to know what was in the vial they found at the pay phone.

"How did he even find a pay phone in this day and age?" he snots as he follows Brennan back to her office. "I mean, aren't they supposed to be a dying thing? Why couldn't he get a cell phone like everyone else?"

He's so frustrated, he doesn't even notice that they're not actually in her office for a good ten seconds.

"Um, Bones? This...isn't where we're supposed to be."

The Jeffersonian's Medico-Legal lab is pretty space age, but not quite on this level.

He's very calm, and not judging. Not yet. No doubt that will come in a moment.

((OOC: Just offering up Booth. Brennan's busy at the moment, but feel free to bug our big, confused FBI agent!))

pig-transcends.livejournal.com

There is a large pink pig curled up by the fire, singing Eskimo Nell softly to himself.

pig-transcends.livejournal.com

The Transcendent Pig has a newspaper from the Crossings. He's not reading it. He knows what it says. Instead, he's folding it into a paper boat.

Better not to ask how Chao can fold paper using cloven hooves.

emptiedstreets

"--I DON'T FUCKIN' CARE," Ronan bawls over his shoulder, shouldering through the door without any particular attention paid to his exact location. "DOYLE, YOU CAN SUCK--"

A moment's surprised silence.

"--on me bloody green lolly," he finishes, much more quietly, and slouches towards the Bar proper, hands jammed deep into his pockets.

there-is-a-me.livejournal.com

You may not be seeing the three Englishmen at the end of the bar.

The chances that you avoid hearing them, however, as two of the three get progressively drunker and the third just gets progressively louder to make up for the vocal inadequacies of the drunk ones are pretty slim.

See, they're English. Not Irish. Which is why the music is ranging from obscene and anti-Irish to obscene and pro-English with occasional diversions into Is that even physically possible without one or the other party being Kitsune?

Join in! Or yell at them! Or get drunk! Or all of the above!

((NSFW lyrics and links within))

pig-transcends.livejournal.com

The transcendent pig-puppet has flopped on the surface of the Bar again. He's admiring the felten population of Milliways, as he sips his cappuccino through a large and curly straw.

pig-transcends.livejournal.com

Being nearly omniscient and potentially omnipresent has many advantages. For one, if you know when the most amusing things are happening, you can always make sure to show up in time. The Transcendent Pig wouldn't miss the grand puppeting of Milliways Bar for all the sake in seven universes' versions of Japan.

scourgeofpiracy.livejournal.com

Norrington missed the outbreak of puppeting yesterday.

It didn't miss him, though. He barely takes one step into the main bar today before he's suddenly viewing it from a lot further down.

"Oh, for the love of - "

He has claws. Yellow ones. And a tail. He hasn't even discovered the rest of it yet.

He wants a drink. Now.

mogget_cat

Aww, isn't it cute? Such an adorable little kitty puppet, lying masterless on the bar.

Yrael's just hoping to sleep through this most recent embarrassment.

Try to stick your hand up his butt and he will hurt you. ~~Rules be damned.~~

Current Mood: pissed off

pig-transcends.livejournal.com

Chao, the Transcendent Pig, is perched on a barstool humming to himself. The melody, which appears to switch erratically between the keys of B flat and E sharp minor, happens to be the national anthem of a small republic on Markov Five. The republic celebrated Independence Day today, for certain values of 'today,' and the anthem is stuck in Chao's transcendently porcine head.

brokenjilly.livejournal.com

Jilly's much less distressed to find herself in the Bar this time. Sure, it's still disconcerting, to say the least, but at least she knows where she is this time. And more or less how things work.

She slides onto a barstool and orders an orange pop. She's got her sketchbook with her this time, as she's just coming from the park on a nice spring day, and she thinks it might be a good idea to draw the Bar. The explosion, at least, will make good practice for chaos - and some of the patrons would do nicely in a few of her odder paintings. Not that she plans to use them, but, well, inspiration does strike at odd times, doesn't it?

So she's sipping her drink and doodling at the Bar. Interruptions will be welcome.

mogget_cat

Yrael wanders in from the back corridor with his violin tonight, humming a rather haunting tune. A faint, smug smile on his face, he settles at the bar and begins resining the violin bow.

Come. He'll play for you.