milliways_bar | Entries tagged with steven rimbauer

whychoosefear.livejournal.com

Paul and Ali walk in together, chatting quietly about various things happening in the city and with Today For You.

A few moments pass before they are joined by Collins, who seems bemused. More than usual.

The sign is up, refreshments are provided.

Life Support is ready to begin.

[ooc: Everyone is welcome to come to Life Support! Complain about canonical or Milliways happenings, complain about backstory, or, hell, complain about the way the fourth waitrat never gets the gin and tonic mix right. Come one, come all.]

[ooc mark two: Mun shall be AFK at 8:00pm CST for CSI. Will return after that.]

[ooc mark three: I ask that all threads be slowtimed or fade because I am exhausted and overwhelmed by how awesome you guys are. *heart*]

tokilltherose.livejournal.com

(OOM: It's starting to get really weird.)

Steve walked into the bar. Usually, he was all right with walking into the bar, but this time, he wasn't sure if he felt relieved or even more worried.

The fact that he could actually hear things now...

Steve shook his head. He couldn't hear things here. Surely, he couldn't. After all, he'd never heard things here, besides those... whispers...

No. He wouldn't think about that. He sat down at the bar and ordered a hard lemonade. He was in the mood to slightly lose his mind.

command_dot_com

[OOM: Someone prepares... for a little surprise later on. ]

Earlier today Dot asked for some music from the bar, in return she got an MP3 player full of music and secretly...some txt files on a certain subject. She wanted to put on a good show after all.

She had a basket of fried paradoxes which she nibbled on from time to time, and invitation to come and talk if any of her friends, or any new people wanted to go a round of 'talk to the green chick'. The files will be shrunk and put away if certain people or children arrive.

Current Mood: satisfied
Current Music: Zero 7 - One arm break

b-a-summers.livejournal.com

There's a rather chipper blonde who comes down the stairs. She's not been magically transported back to her own world to continue her Slayerly duties yet, and she's rather enjoying the break to pamper herself.

But it's work-time, so she chalks up the specials and turns over a plastic crate to stand on. She's tired of being short behind the counter.

SPECIALS:
Blonde Bombshell
Blonde on Ice
Blonde Moment

"Hey guys, it's Happy Hour! What can I get you?"

tokilltherose.livejournal.com

Steve was happy this time when he came into the bar. Why? Well, he had his reasons, but part of it might be his wallet. That was why he found it so easy to head over to the bar and settle in. For once, he actually had the money to do something.

gone_byebye

Ray has had better days than this.

On the other hand, none of the Senators actually bit him, although Lord knows it sure looked as if Senator Santorum wanted to. Tom Wright, the Senate minority leader, even asked some genuinely insightful questions about the proposed response plan. So there's that.

He's still got to go back tomorrow, but they'll probably have Senator Frist on a leash by then, so all in all it balances out.

tokilltherose.livejournal.com

Steve was not happy. Annie had said it best when she'd called it a bad house.

Steve was watching the deal fall through.

He was looking at photos that he, himself had taken. And he didn't like what he saw. Namely, Joyce in one of the windows.

"God."

tokilltherose.livejournal.com

He was going insane. That was the only thing he could think about.

He kept hearing the whispers. Even at his (now) job. He worked, though, and he was good at his job, and getting paychecks. The paychecks weren't much, but he wasn't continually spiraling into debt anymore. A lot of the minor debts were actually paid off.

He was living on peanut butter cracker sandwiches, but so far, things were getting paid off.

"Water, bar. Please," he asked as he sat down at the bar's surface, and pulled his jacket off. It was going to be a long night.

tokilltherose.livejournal.com

Steve had actually stayed the night.

There was a lot of reality out there that he wasn't quite up to facing just yet. Or at least not up to facing until he had worked out what was really happening.

That was why he was staring at his binder again.

...Damnit, there were still those whispers...

tokilltherose.livejournal.com

Steve sat there and worked. Or it was something like work, anyway. There was a bar, and on the bar, he had a soda, a binder, and a pencil. The pencil's eraser was tapping on one of the pages - a picture of a house that looked like it'd been hit by falling rocks.

Maybe because it had been.

But there were marks on the picture. Crosshatching over some of the holes in the roof, for instance. Or windows drawn in where they'd been broken out.

And Steve was staring at it.

"Damn."

And why did he keep feeling like he heard whispers?

tokilltherose.livejournal.com

He was getting more and more tired of seeing...

He wasn't sure what, exactly, he was seeing. Maybe, he thought, he was fooling himself. Maybe he was just being paranoid as the time came closer and closer.

But maybe paranoia was worth it, too.

Either way, when he came into Milliways, he was wearing an outfit close to a suit - button-down shirt and a jacket and a tie, that he immediately loosened. Job interview clothes.

tokilltherose.livejournal.com

There was no pause, this time, between Steve's entering and his coming over to the bar.

"Beer," he requested, voice flat, and placing a bill from a bank envelope on the countertop.

He needed time to figure out what the hell he was going to do next.

tokilltherose.livejournal.com

The surprise had been for a brand new reason when Milliways had shown up in his apartment. He'd actually shown up on purpose. Now, he had a glass of water, a pen, and a stack of applications to fill out, which he was doing dutifully. He needed work. Especially now.

tokilltherose.livejournal.com

Steve sat at the bar again. He'd slept at home, had even gone home for a while, but it was so much easier to wallow in denial here. Here was easy to deny in general.

So therefore he sipped water and thought about something besides Seattle. Like work. That would be good.

tokilltherose.livejournal.com

He hadn't bothered to leave. Maybe it was stupid on his part, but he'd only gone back for long enough to get some food and a change of clothes besides sleeping - as someone had so happily pointed out to him yesterday, the way to cure brokeitis wasn't to rack up bills at a bar.

But someone else had told him that time stopped here.

That sounded lile a gift to his coping mechanisms if ever he heard one.

blowupthefloats

Munch hadn't really been expecting Milliways to show up in the doorway to his apartment today, but he's not complaining. After visiting his uncle Andrew he feels like he needs a bit of a break before heading over to the precinct.

"Beer, if you please," he says, laying the money for it down on the Bartop. It disappears, and a moment later the requested bottle shows up in its place. "Thanks."

So, detective inna bar witha beer. Botherable.

((Mun has housework to do, so responses will be slow-timed. Apologies in advance for inconvenience and stuff))

tokilltherose.livejournal.com

This time, when Steven came in, he looked shaken and, for once, glad to be in some weird-ass bar at the end of the universe. He had a little bit of a handle on things by now, and when he approached the bar, he sat down gratefully.

"It's five o'clock somewhere," he addressed the bar with no-one behind it. "I really need a beer."

works-in-space.livejournal.com

James Kirk is not a happy man today. He's not happy to be Bound. He's not happy that good people are suffering. He's not happy with the weather, as it gets just a bit treacherous for jogging and continues to be all wrong for riding a horse he's never met.

In short, James Kirk is grumpy.

This means that someone should try to cheer him up. Or distract him. Or something.

[ooc: ~~Got "invited" to a two-hour meeting~~ There's no escape from meetings, is there? - back whenever]

Current Mood: grumpy

b-a-summers.livejournal.com

[OOM: Post "Flooded"]

The door opens, and Buffy comes in with a bucket of deep fried chicken under her arm, ready to toss her keys on the side table and sit down to dinner.

Unfortunately, when she tosses her keys, calling, "Hello?" it doesn't echo lightly like it does in her house. It doesn't echo at all, and her keys don't land on the side table, causing her to chuckle embarassedly, bending to pick them up and looking at her chicken.

"Oh well, more for me."

She takes her chicken to a table, on the way noticing a sign. She needs a job, after all.

"Stupid full copper re-pipe," she mutters, and heads on over.

That done, she comes back to the table, grabbing a diet coke on the way, to enjoy her deep-fried chicken parts.

Current Mood: chipper

tokilltherose.livejournal.com

There was a test-opening of the door.

Once more, it wasn't his apartment. But at least it wasn't the mirror library. It was that bar again, and he could handle the bar. The bar wasn't some creepy place courtesy of grandma. So Steve let himself in, looking around. He wasn't sure if he recognized anyone or not, but if this place was going to keep being there instead of his apartment, and it wasn't eating him, he may as well get used to it.

tokilltherose.livejournal.com

"Oh hell no."

The man at the door stood there, not going any further, a typical apartment building hallway behind him.

And he stared.

Any empaths in the building would probably be getting a heavy dose of fear, anger, disbelief, and denial from him as he stared into a room that should not be there. What any empath would not be getting would be a sense that this hadn't happened to him before. Because it had.

Too vividly.

And he was ready for it not to happen again.

"No," he stated, anger smoldering. "I had enough of this six months ago!"