milliways_bar | Entries tagged with steve jinks

It had been a while since Jinks had been in Bar. It was business as usual in the ATF field and this time, Bar opened a door when Steve was returning from such fieldwork. He walked through and it took him a moment or two to realize where he was but he didn't make a fuss. He shrugged and headed up to Bar to order a soda and as it appeared in front of him, he took a sip and sighed. At least this place was, relatively, peaceful. There was nothing like dealing with alcohol and firearms, especially when they ended up together. Tobacco? Routine but when people get drunk with weaponry, things tend to get interesting. After that first sip, Steve found himself a table and sat back for a moment.

humanliedetector

Jinks enters the bar and grins for a moment. He wasn't expecting to be in the bar but it is a welcome change. He's in his ATF windbreaker and jeans. Slowly starting to relax, he takes a seat at a nearby table. He thinks back to the day's events and waves down a waitrat. The rat scurries off and Jinks leans back in his chair.

crossbowkillshot

Daryl Dixon is sitting at the bar. His crossbow is unloaded on his back with his quiver of arrows. He's drinking some water and just people watching. He leans back in his chair for a moment and sighs.

Near the fireplace is Steve Jinks attempting to stay at least a little warm this winter. He rubs his hands together as if he has just been outside and maybe that's a face.

At a booth, Cato sits, finally feeling rested and more energetic. The scars on his face healed but still visible. They are a reminder of what he went through before coming to the bar. His look is pensive, and for a moment, one might see a smile peek out through his gruff exterior.

All are very botherable.

cantdiequiteyet

How can you tell if a Claymore is truly happy?

Some people would tell you that a warrior of the kind called Claymores can never be truly happy. They may have a point.

But others would say... Well, that really depends on the warrior in question. If it is the warrior Helen, for example, then it would be her big smile, and the way she makes sure to tell you she's happy. If it's Quicksword Ilena, then you'd need to be paying careful attention to her usually expressionless countenance.

No one knows what Ophelia, the Blood soaked warrior is like when she's truly happy, for no one has survived to tell.

But with Teresa, it's maybe in the lightness of her expression surrounding that faint smile, the way she doesn't quite look like she's mocking the world, but actually living in it for once. That the world is worth actually living in for the first time since she died.

It's a subtle expression. You'll probably miss it.

There's no reason to miss her, though. She's on the lake shore, in full armor and with her sword on her back, looking out over the water's surface. Occasionally a breeze might pick up her cloak and make it flutter in the air. She doesn't mind the cold.

It's a beautiful day.

battle_butler

Gunpowder, treason and plot.
I see no reason, why gunpowder treason.
Should ever be forgot.

When Alfred came in today, he noticed the date on the calendar behind the bar. It seems to be matching up with home, for once. And well, it feels like no one remembers the 5th of November in America.

So, he goes outside, and spends the afternoon gathering firewood. It's now all piled up in a cunningly stacked bonfire. All that is needed is an effigy, Alfred's got the Guy Fawkes mask.

Remember, remember,
The fifth of November.
Gunpowder, treason and plot.
I see no reason,
Why gunpowder treason.
Should ever be forgot.

[ooc: Standard party post rules apply, all welcome!]

[Edit: 12:45am GMT: Alfred-mun is going to bed, slowtimes are welcome.]

thekidfrombrooklyn

Steve has been hanging around Milliways for a few days before he heads back to the front, and when he stops at the bar for a drink before he starts his workout, a napkin pops up.

"Really?" he says on reading it. "Me? The most bartending experience I have is ordering."

Of course, he can keep things simple.

TONIGHT'S SPECIALS
Manhattan
Whiskey Sour
Martini
Non-alcoholic
Moxie
Root beer float

Well, this should be an adventure.

[tiny tag: Oswin Oswald]

[OOC: No new threads, please, and slowtime on existing ones. Thanks for tagging in, everybody!]

againsttherules

Previously...

[oom: Inspiration comes in the strangest of places]

The door opens a slither. Those close by may see an eye staring at the room.

Then, carefully, the door opens fully, and in walks, or rather, limps Jack West. He doesn't look too badly hurt, if you discount the limp and stitches on his leg and head...

He's not alone, either. As he walks in, he is carrying in his left hand, a cage, containing a Peregrine Falcon. The bird may well look reasonably presentable from a distance, but up close, it is clear that she has been beaten, both repeatedly and recently.

He walks over to the bar and places the cage on the surface top. No, he doesn't seem to know quite what to do now, either.

poins

One tavern in Eastcheap is much like another tavern in Eastcheap, and even a discerning man cannot discern much between them. A less discerning man, however, will know the inn-keepers and wenches, and where his drinks will be chalked up without complaint, and where he must pay coin.

Ned Poins is one such undiscerning man who knows them all by heart; and when he saunters in today he knows beyond the shadow of a doubt that this is not a tavern in Eastcheap.

Appointed much like a nobleman's home, but set up much like a tavern.

A stately country inn for travelling merchants?

But not in Eastcheap, surely?

humanliedetector

So, the door appears (nothing new here, right?) and it cracks open a little bit, hinges swinging into the bar proper. Suddenly, the door is kicked open and someone in a bulletproof vest marked "ATF" comes into the bar. He starts edging around, and then something dawns on him.

A) This is a working bar and the wait rats (wait did he just see wait rats?) were staring at him nervously.

B) It seems he is the only one from his team here.

He stands still for a moment, assessing any potential threat level, and then holsters his gun quickly. "Um.. Sorry?"

His empty hands are in the air as he looks around puzzled. He just stands there.

Before tagging please read this and let me know if there are any issues.

[tiny!tag: Steve Jinks]

noattachments

There's nothing like a good salad for dinner. Which would explain the one in front of Kate as she flips through a newspaper, occassionaly sipping at a glass at lemonade.

Short and sweet entrance post tonight.

symbiote-venom.livejournal.com

Eddie is sitting in a booth by himself, feet propped up on the table before him. He's got a somewhat ironic 'I heart NY' cap pulled down over his eyes, though he's not truly sleeping.

Jack is also in the bar, though he's a bit more polite, sitting cross-legged on the floor in one of the bar's (apparently) many corners. Tea as always is set before him, a small kettle on the ground and a cup of the steaming drink in hand.

Have at!

noble-samurai.livejournal.com

If one were to look outside by the lake, they would likely see a young samurai performing slow, sweeping slices with his sword, running through a few easy exercises to center himself and help clear his head. It resembles a slow dance, as if Jack is battling in slow-motion with enemies nobody but he can see. His eyes are closed, his body moving with grace, his sword rending the air around him like it's an extension of his arm, not a separate piece of weaponry at all.

Feel free to come by and say hello to the calm samurai. He won't ~~slice~~ bite.

seker-pride.livejournal.com

You know a trip someone has taken is a success when you look at all the souveniers they bring back.

Strahan's brought back a few of them, but the greatest of his souveniers are the ideas for animal shape he got during his trip to Africa.

That's why, striding amongst the tables—and knocking over quite a few—is what is perhaps the tallest shapeshift Strahan has ever attempted. A giraffe.

Yeah. A giraffe. In Milliways. A giraffe.

That's apparently misjudged the proportions of the animal in relation to the bar, because its bumping its head against a few rafters when it forgets to duck.

He really should pick smaller animals when he shifts his shape...

But for now, it's an opportunity to stare, gawk, laugh, curse as your table is upended.

For he'll be smaller tomorrow.

Current Mood: aggravated

dragonofgrey.livejournal.com

Draco had been busy concentrating, focusing. Going over his notes, research, and training for a few weeks now.

It took a long time, but there was a certain pale wizard back in the bar, strutting in fact with his superior smirk in place. You can still almost imagine a bushy tail behind him as he swaggered in. In fact, the smirk grew, and he abruptly changed into a fox again. Just for shits and giggles really as he hopped onto a barstool, the tail swishing behind him triumphantly.

bohemian-mark.livejournal.com

Mark. Bar. Camera. Filming. You? Probably.

noble-samurai.livejournal.com

Jack wanders into the bar with as close as he ever comes to a scowl on his face. His clothing is ripped, the top half of his kimono turned to ribbons. His hair is down and he appears beaten up, not to mention several long, nasty slices across his chest and back that are quite fresh. He hardly takes notice of his surroundings as he makes his way to a booth, asks a passing wait-rat for some bandages, and places his sword, in its sheath, on the table.

Holding his head in his hands, Jack resists the urge to bang his fists on the table, throw his head back, and just scream out of frustration. Another portal, lost. Another chance to return home, gone. And Aku has won. Again. Jack has earned nothing from the long journey he took, except for several wounds and the chance to destroy a small army of robotic beetles.

As the bandages are brought, along with some warm tea, Jack sighs, hangs his head in shame, and begins to bandage his wounds.