milliways_bar | Entries tagged with satine

2020sight

"--surutoki noufu wo kougeki suru!"

The man who walks through the door is already in the clothing of 1905, waistcoat and all, though his jacket is off and his shirtsleeves are rolled up. He's half turned to finish his remark to someone outside; he sounds thoroughly annoyed.

Epimetheus turns to the bar as he pulls the door shut with a little more force than necessary -- and blinks.

"What the hell is this doing here?"

His voice is different, too. He sounds like he's been spending time in Britain, or at least around Englishmen.

rigthegames.livejournal.com

It’s those little things in life, like being able to actually reach doorknobs, that you never really appreciate until you find yourself one foot tall.

And cute.

And fluffy.

Penguin inna bar, trying to get as drunk as possible (a tricky feat when you can’t actually lift the glass). Don’t let the aura of overwhelming adorability fool you.

[ooc: ~~I must away for an hour! Back later.~~ Back!]

diamndcourtesan.livejournal.com

If it's Indian, Satine has a weakness for it. And so when the curry appeared, really, it was more a pleasant surprise than anything else. She went to bed feeling fine, feeling slender and leggy and possessed of a head of red tresses enough to drive men wild from Paris to... well, whatever mattered that was outside of Paris, really.

Things are a bit more puzzling now, though. Satine is a tall lady. She has always been tall. It's been many years since she's been under waist-height. And yet here she stands, all knees and no neck and -- and --

Satine lifts her arms -- flippers -- high in the air and -- wiggles from side to side.

"What's going on?" she warbles, in a panic. "Where has my waist gone?!"

[[ooc: Yes. Penguin. Think Norma Jean from Happy Feet. *handwaves the icons*]]

thirdbetrayer.livejournal.com

Gin woke up yesterday with a very strange feeling. The day before he’d found that his door had unaccountably gone missing, and after deciding that it wasn’t worth getting upset about (Kira could take care of the paperwork and all those stupid forms, after all, he was so good about that) he got a room key and headed up for some sleep.

Then he woke with the feeling that everything was somewhat skewed, only to discover that he looked…well, different.

Very different.

In the hopes that it was a dream and/or would wear off soon, he kept to his room, but upon waking and discovering that nothing had changed he decided to wander on down to the bar. Maybe someone would know how to fix this.

And so it is that there is a ~~Mr. Gumby~~ Gin Ichimaru seated in the bar, drinking tea and smiling. It’s a very odd smile. Doesn’t quite look at home on the face.

…perhaps he oughtn’t be bothered.

omniscient-pa.livejournal.com

The blonde girl walks purposefully into the bar behind a rather large stack of papers, focused more on not dropping any of them than her surroundings. She sighs and frowns a little

"Um, Matt, Andy said you needed... to..." Blink. "This... isn't Matt's office."

Suzanne, welcome to Milliways.

verymodelof.livejournal.com

[Pre-entrance post]

"- nurse... went...?"

Danny trailed off and frowned at the room he had just walked into. He had been in the studio. Now, he was most definitely not. Danny could tell the difference between his studio and a bar, and this was definitely the latter. He wondered if it should worry him that his first thought was to wonder if Simon and Tom had had anything to do with this.

He tilted his head to one side, quietly considering his surroundings and finally observed eloquently, "Huh."

[OOC: Danny Tripp from Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip. Forgive any weirdness in the narration - the typist is in an odd mood.]

diamndcourtesan.livejournal.com

"La route chante,
Quand je m'en vais.
Je fais trois pas,
La route se tait."

If this were being sung properly, it would have an accordian accompaniment and a stage and a thrillingly bohemian atmosphere.

Instead, it's Satine sitting at a high-up table, high enough off the ground for her to swing her legs. She's enjoying a Shirley Temple, maraschino cherries and all. And for once, she's happy. She's made peace with her life as it stands. Surely nothing can knock that off-course.

"Sur la marée haute,
Je suis monté.
La tete est pleine,
Mais le coeur n'a pas assez."

For such dreary lyrics, it certainly is a cheerful tune.

Apologies to Lhasa de Sela!

diamndcourtesan.livejournal.com

If you follow the sound of the humming, you might round a corner and chance upon a distractable young woman nursing a tea with Bailey's in.

Tea always tastes better with conversation, don't you agree?

jackdriscoll.livejournal.com

[ After this. ]

Three tired figures enter the bar. Two are locked together: one tall man with his arm slung around a petite blonde wearing an oversized jacket. The man looks quite relieved to be inside the bar.

[ ooc: plotlocked. ]

diamndcourtesan.livejournal.com

She's been around. It's just an optical illusion if you haven't seen her.

Satine. Red dress. Plate of something called panang curry, which the mun is certainly not enjoying at this very moment.

Hello.

coming-west.livejournal.com

The door to her room opened up into a pub when Cally attempted to put away her studies so she could go to a pub with her fellow interns; however, there's nothing wrong with stopping to have a drink (tea) before going out to have another drink (something harder, one hopes).

So Cally is curled up in a booth reading Il Cortegiano.

One is never to young to brush up courtly behavior and reading it in the original Italian helps one expand their vocabulary.

There is a legal notepad and a thick, hardback English-Italian dictionary she borrowed (She hasn't exactly left the embassy, so it's still borrowing. Yes. It is. She's still trying to convince her slightly guilty conscience.) from the embassy's small library. Every now and then the consults the large dictionary. Her lips move as she reads; if you're close enough you might hear her muttering in Italian.

diamndcourtesan.livejournal.com

Satine is humming. This doesn't have anything to do with a demon, it's just normal.

She's staked out at a table, looking collected and glamorous (possibly irritatingly so). The drink of the day is something fruit-laced and bright green. She and her paperback (Madame Bovary) are quite content right now, thank you.

[[ooc: plot-locked, say sorry.]]

song_tra_bong

Well, about like she figured, she didn't get a whole lot of sleep last night. She made up for it this afternoon. So Mary Anne wanders downstairs with a mild case of bedhead and orders french toast.

Dinner of champions.

jack_f_twist

Isn't all that unlikely, these days, to see a cowboy sitting stretched out on the couch with a beer and a smoke, but this one ain't been there for a while.

And he still hasn't found his harmonica.

Still, Jack's lounging with his hat pulled down over his eyes, looking like the cat that got the cream. Could be the pack of cigarettes and the possibility of company, but...likely it ain't.

diamndcourtesan.livejournal.com

So there she sits, at a table with a good view of the lake, a book of poetry in one hand and a smoothie at the other. And just think: Satine is one of the few people who won't blink an eye if you burst out into song at her.

Though if you're interested in starting a brothel, she may just have some advice for you.

Even if you're not described as one of the above, she's wearing a super-hot outfit tonight. It's good to look good in red.

diamndcourtesan.livejournal.com

Mun is on the dial-up clunker from hell. But her weakness knows no bounds of technology -- and so a much-healthier-looking-than-the-last-time-you-saw-her Satine walks into the Bar, dressed in red and feeling frisky.

It seems she's been left a present, though: she reads the note from Mary Anne and smiles to herself for a moment before turning her attention to the dozen red roses. They're quite lovely, with fantastically soft petals (coming down during her final scene they're all ready in the bags overhead).

They're quite lovely, but what's she going to do with twelve roses? More importantly, what are you going to do when the most-wanted woman in Paris holds one out to you with that Look in her eyes?

"Would you like a rose?"

locks_it_up

It's been a while.

She's been tending to her responsibilities. Now, though, it's time to let her hair down for a bit.

The corner barstool is hers tonight, and she's got a White Russian in her hand.

((ooc: OMG MUST SLEEP. I am sorry, guys, I'm braindead. Slowtime=teh good. I love you alllll.))

jack_f_twist

Jack's looking mighty scruffy round the edges, but a man don't need to look his best to get a drink, so he's down here, leaning against the Bar, nursing a beer and what looks to be a sore hand.

Not to mention a smoke. Then again, that ain't exactly news.

diamndcourtesan.livejournal.com

Sometimes a girl just craves a little human company.

Especially after coming into the Bar (fully dressed, even!) and receiving a letter like this.

So. Tall French redhead at a table with, at the moment, downcast eyes and thin lips. Bar has graciously provided a mango lassi. When she looks up to look away from the letter, you might just be the one to catch her eye.

jackdriscoll.livejournal.com

[ Upstairs, where doom happens:
Yesterday, Jack and Mary Anne shared a celebratory glass of wine. Today, Mary Anne paid a visit to Satine. A few facts are spilled; communication between two ex-lovers becomes necessary. So Jack and Satine have a talk with Mary Anne present. Or try to talk.

You know how it ends--with the word "well," and the phrase "does not." ]

You may see a tall man in khakis, a white button-down shirt, and a dark green corduroy jacket walking downstairs with a suitcase and a cage containing one cat. The suitcase and the cage are both bulky objects. This is not the most curious thing about the man, nor is the rather atrocious olive green hat shoved over his head. They do complement his eyes the way Mrs. Denham intended, but true to Jack Driscoll's prediction, his eyes cannot be seen.

There is, then, a method to the madness of wearing such a ugly hat. Depending on how observant you are, you may notice that his cheeks are a little damp.

You may also notice that there's a letter sticking out of one of his pockets. This he leaves at the bar. In exchange, Jack receives a thermos full of hot chocolate. The bar smartly gave him one with a shoulder sling. He wraps it over his shoulder, picks up his luggage, and keeps walking. It's hard not to look back, but it's important to him that he doesn't. He has to walk forward. He has to move on.

He has to grow. For her. For himself. For everyone.

So he leaves. He walks out the door.

He doesn't look back.

The next time she orders something from the Bar, Satine will find ( a letter. )

[ ooc: don't be to flailing--jack will be back! flailing in an "OMG DOOM" way is encouraged. *nods* just no "omg jack is leaving the game!" cos...no! he vill be bach. much love to mary anne and satine -muns, who both are of the awesome, like a bowl of frosted flakes or cocoa puffs. *g* ]

mogget_cat

*There is a Bright Shiner at the piano, tonight. The music sings of the heat haze of a high summer sunrise, where the air seems to hum. The luxurious lethargy of letting the light cascade down upon one, filling one with warmth and the pure energy of day. Arpeggios stretch to the sky, twisting as they wake the melody; chromatic swirls of notes, energy rippling in whirling curlicues of golden delight play among the slanting shafts of harmonic light.*

*Come listen.*

the-diamond-dog.livejournal.com

The door opens...

It's not everyday that an entrance comes with a soundtrack. But anyone in the vicinity of Milliways' entrance right now cannot fail to overhear the sounds of one hell of a party going on. If anyone should look through the still-open door, they'll likely see nothing but swirls of colour, twirling bodies and the crush of a club full of dancers, acrobats, men in tuxedos, tattooed bohemians, a mermaid, boxers, every costume you can think of as people scream, drink, sing, dance, yell...

...and the thumping of a band beating out the can-can with everything its got.

Harold Zidler, owner of the infamous Moulin Rouge, stands on the threshold of Milliways bar, a cloud of confetti and glitter blowing in from behind him. A large man, he's dressed as a huntsman in red tailcoat, top hat and cane, straight from entertaining the masses at his club.

This is not where he expected to be.

The door closes and sound cuts off.

'Well. My goodness.'

[OOC: Zidler is from the start of canon and therefore, knows nothing of the love triangle of DOOM! Prefer to keep it that way for the time being please. :)]

creator_raven

Something small and quick and black drops from the rafters, thunking solidly into the seat of a chair.

Black wings resolve into the tails of a long black coat, and Raven fishes in his pocket for a few cookies.

It is not long after this that a waitrat approaches with a pot of tea and a plate of cookies.

Someone, it seems, is predictable.

At least in certain ways.

diamndcourtesan.livejournal.com

Five days of bedrest, even if it's very, very good for you, still makes a girl very, very antsy.

So even if she can't go very far, Satine goes.

Which means: one (1) French courtesan/dancer-type, in a comfy chair enjoying people-watching. Maybe you know her, maybe you don't. Maybe you saw her spectacularly dramatic entrance last Sunday and want to give her a hearty "WTF?" Whatever the case may be, come talk to her.

She's not dead yet, but it may be some time before she goes for a walk.

diamndcourtesan.livejournal.com

OOM? OOC? Right. Satine's awake. If you'd like to visit her, tag the post. I'm going to be out until about 6 PM Central time, but I will respond to everybody who comes in! Slowtimes are love, so yeah. It's all good.