milliways_bar | Entries tagged with sam the shoulder angel

forced-pilgrim.livejournal.com

Monkey stands by the lake, the mountains painted on the sky behind him, his staff planted in the earth and expanded to a towering height. A pennant-shaped golden flag snaps in the brisk chilly wind.

Today is a great day for adventure! Today is a bad day to wander too close to Monkey.

People in the first few rows will get karmically re-aligned. Do not taunt the Buddha Victorious-in-Strife. No substitutions, replacements or refunds.

regtuesdaysuit.livejournal.com

The man who doesn't notice he's bumbled through the front door is wearing the expression of someone caught in the headlights of a vengeful eighteen-wheeler. Josh Lyman went on Capitol Beat yesterday -- wait, was it yesterday? He hasn't actually slept since the show. But, you know, it wasn't supposed to be a thing. Going on a political Sunday morning talk show and defending the president's agenda against nutjob lobbyists is all part of a day's work for him. It's a relaxing weekend of showing off, kicking ass and taking names.

Josh should have seen it coming. He should have anticipated Mary Marsh losing her cool when he had the upper hand. He should have realized what was happening when she said it. Those fateful, fatal words.

Well, I can tell you that you don't believe in any God I pray to, Mr. Lyman. Not any God I pray to.

He should have controlled himself. But oh no, he had to win.

Josh blinks at the Bar, but surely this can't be as bad as the reaming he's going to get back at the White House.

Go on. Ask him. Ask him what he said on national TV.

hopeitsworthit

"--freaking hate poltergeists. And chairs."

Dean steps through the door, absently rubbing at his shoulder and scowling viciously.

"Things that heavy should not go flyin'--"

His expression changes quickly, scowl dropping away into a self-satisfied kinda smile before he looks back over his shoulder.

"Yo. Sammy! Get over here. We're havin' the good beer tonight."

Just let him head over to the bar to pick up a coupla bottles.

its-a-robe.livejournal.com

*Poof.*

On top of the bar, there's a tiny puff of white...smoke? mist? When it dissipates, there's a six-inch-high angel standing there, frantically dusting off his robe.

Halo in place, check. Harp, check. Wings and hair smoothed out (quickly, he runs a hand over both), check. The other guy standing a few inches aw --

Wait.

Sam frowns. Turns around, searching.

"...Ralph?"

path-that-rocks.livejournal.com

*Poof.*

Well, now. We haven't seen this in a while.

There's a tiny table on the bartop now, with two tiny chairs -- precise replicas of the more standard-sized Milliways chairs and tables. With two smaller *poof*s, two little figures appear in the chairs.

Ralph leans his chair back, props his ankles up on the table, and folds his hands behind his head with a smug grin.

2brickstogether.livejournal.com

Someone is knocking on the Door.

The knocking is insistent, and lasts for a few minutes, punctuated by puzzled pauses, before the door opens, quite suddenly.

A man in gumboots, suspenders, a sweater vest and a handkerchief on his head backs into the Bar. "DOCTOR?"

He turns around. At the sight of the Bar, rather than the doctor's office, he stops, and stares.

Finally... he speaks.

"Doctor? DOCTOR?" He turns around once, just to make sure he's not missing something. "DOCTOR?"

Quick, somebody talk to him before he starts smashing things!

its-a-robe.livejournal.com

*Poof.*

On top of a salt shaker, a tiny, ornately-wrought golden chair appears. In the chair sits a six-inch-tall angel, complete with wings and robe.

Strangely enough, though, he's lacking in halo.

It's probably underneath the beehive hairdryer sitting on top of his head.

With an equally loud, if slightly redder *poof*, his companion appears on the pepper shaker next to him.

path-that-rocks.livejournal.com

A tiny poof of ... smoke? mist? ... appears on the bartop. It resolves into a perfect three-inch-tall replica of one of the Milliways tables, with two chairs to scale.

In one of said chairs comes an even smaller poof of white cloud, dissipating to reveal a tiny white-robed figure with little feathery white wings, a halo, and a golden harp roughly the size of a Sacajawea dollar (circa early 21st century America).

In the other, almost simultaneously, comes a poof of flame, dissipating to reveal ... a tiny red-jumpsuited figure with little spiky red wings, horns, and a pitchfork that an ordinary human-sized patron might easily mistake for a salad fork if it weren't barbed.

Both of them are looking around in startlement. The red-clad one gives a short, dry laugh.

"What are the odds?"

The Bar at the End of the Universe

Entries tagged with sam the shoulder angel

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"Are you the brain specialist?"

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First Entrance

Milliways Bar

Important Places

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