milliways_bar | Entries tagged with susan sto helit

Shufti is in the bar, by the fire, knitting a little bobble hat. The ball of wool rests on her heavily pregnant belly.

And there's a crossbow resting on her belt as always, just in case that demon she's heard about should show up.

oldromansaint.livejournal.com

Once more the Italian Vampire is in the bar. Armed with a glass of white wine (red is far too iconic), he was seated in plain view, at a table.

There's an empty seat available for those who care to join him.

sto-helit.livejournal.com

Susan in a booth nearby, head down on the table, not moving. An untouched glass of water sits in front of her folded arms.

edit: Same pup now walking outside by the lake, ignoring the wind that's picking up, a lone huddled figure.

[ ooc: Tags may be sporadic / slowtimed due to work. ]

street-sparrow.livejournal.com

Gavroche comes out of the House of Arch.

Gavroche stops and stares.

Gavroche runs back through the painting and re-emerges a few minutes later with a camera borrowed from... someone in the House.

Fear, costumed patrons of Milliways.

silver_flecks

There's an Endless.

Being Endless-y.

She was not going to have an entrance post, but some things were Taken Care Of, so now she can. Say true, say sparkly penis beads being handed out left right and center.

sto-helit.livejournal.com

It'd just been a normal day. She'd just come downstairs, calm, cool, collected, ready for a drink at the bar, in her plain grey dress--neatly ironed, perfectly creased. Very proper and appropriate attire. And then the bar offered its own views on appropriate attire.

The outraged shriek was pretty impressive, all things considered.

[ooc: ~~Mun's gotta run for an hour or so, but will pick up all tags when she gets back.~~ Back! Laissez les bon temps rouler, tout le monde!

Further edit: As the tag below notes--thank you, whoever you are--this thread has an NC-17 warning for graphic imagery. Read at your own risk.]

shufti

Shufti comes down the stairs, not quite meeting the eyes of anyone in the room. She looks a little pale and clearly didn't sleep well.

With a little difficulty, being neither very tall nor, at the moment, very strong, she pulls herself up onto a barstool. Without her having to say anything, a glass of milk and some breakfast appears, along with a note.

She frowns at the note, turning it over in her hands and then starting to trace some of the letters with her finger, trying to spell out the words.

[ooc: Gone to Kempo, back later]

oneman_onevote

Assassin, bar, shadowy corner thereof.

Havelock is unobtrusive as always, but solidly there to all eyes, in a way that sometimes he manages not to be.

He may know about this. Then again, he may not. It is unclear.

By one elbow there is a faintly steaming mug giving off the faint rich smell of good, strong coffee.

In his hands, there is a small crossbow, which the young man examines closely and meticulously for signs of rust or wear.

shufti

Shufti comes downstairs, dressed in the dusty dress she had on when she came in. Now clean, the bruises on her skinny arms are visible. She puts a pile of washed clothes on the bar.

"Please can you give these back to Petra for me?" she asks quietly. The clothes disappear to be replaced with a large plate of breakfast and a glass of milk.

"Thank you." She climbs up onto the barstool and starts to eat.

csi-catherine.livejournal.com

Catherine in a booth, going over a load of paperwork and looking distinctly exhausted and murderous; Nina at the bar, drinking heavily and looking unfocused; Susan by the window, looking distant and glum; the Librarian on the floor with a stack of books and a banana, looking rather cheerful with all things considered.

All pups in the bar, ready for tags.

[ooc: Warnings herein for some swearing and whitetext.]

[ooc 2: Must slowtime for work, will pick up all tags as soon as possible :(]

medicine-bird.livejournal.com

Having comandeered a booth with a good-sized table, Jean has proceeded to roll out a trio of posterboard-sized sheets of plastic transparancy across it. "Family Tree" has been written across the top of one in black marker.

Her actual family tree in her universe follows below, with the names "Scott" and "Logan" circled beside her name. Logan's features a few question marks inside his circle.

The other sheets get different colours, red marker for one, and green for the other.

On these, she's got the names 'Nathan' and 'Rachel' written, her name, Scott's, a bubble labled 'Clone?' and a plethora of different connecting lines.

She's now attempting different ways of getting things to line up.

Have even the slightest contact with the Summers clan, it seems, and you're in for a headache trying to understand it no matter what reality you're from.

Jean looks determined to try, however.

[OOC: The mun's got to take her kittybeasts to the vet, so I may be unable to continue. Thanks muchly!]

shufti

Entering the bar for the third time is not such a surprise. Shufti slips quietly through the door, then goes to kneel by the fire to get warm. Filthy and obviously malnourished, two big blue eyes look around the bar, still taking in these strange surroundings.

medicine-bird.livejournal.com

Over by the hearth as usual, Jean Grey sits with a small box of truffles and the latest copy of Human Genetics, at least by her standards. She hadn't had a chance to read it before heading off to Boston, you see.

For all her intent study of emerging genetic anomalies, she seems to be quite open to company.

[OOC: The mun's been summoned elsewhere, so no more replies from me, alas. Thanks muchly!]

withrocksin

Musician inna bar. (Without rocks in, this time.)
He still has yet to try to go home, though he can at least see the front door again. If the music's really that determined, he wants to be at least somewhat more prepared to fight it off.
Meanwhile, the bar can provide soaked dwarf bread, and he's got a notebook.

no_justice

The horse is white. The rider wears black.

They appear from... well, it's not obivous where they appear from. It would be nice to give a long and graphic description of rends in the fabric of reality, with blue sparks and smoke and big crashing chords, and lots and lots of adjectives.

But that's not that case. They just trot down from somewhere that isn't here, and arrive in the stableyard. There's a few seconds in which the horse's feathered hooves appears to be at a spot somewhere a couple of inches below the ground, but he soon remembers where he's supposed to be.

The rider dismounts expertly, patting the horse's steaming flank with the experienced affection of someone who has been riding the same horse for centuries

the_antiangst

So what happens when the mun wants to toss Angel at three separate entrance posts, but doesn't have that kind of energy right now?
Angel gets his own entrance post, that's what.
So: Couch by fireplace, pizza, fuzzy gender line - standard fare, for Angel. Have at.

(OOC: Tags may occasionally be slow, as am a bit scatterbrained and theoretically getting useful stuff done. But yes.)

killer-bride.livejournal.com

A tall blonde woman in blue scrubs walks stiffly into the bar. A rather pink and retro key chain dangles from her hand.

Like all newbies, she's confused.

[ ooc: also, please not to be confusing her with Angua. They Look Nothing Alike™ ]

Current Mood: confused

sto-helit.livejournal.com

Double post:

Jittery Catherine in the bar, fighting nerves and excitement and--for no apparent reason--a bad headache from last night--and Susan at the opposite end, curled up by the window and watching the universe end, her face almost (but not quite) expressionless.

no_justice

The front door flies open with a loud crashing discord, and something hurtles through at a tremendous pace.

The first impression is one of speed, then one of... OK, no, the impression is only really speed right now as a black and white blur shoots into the bar in a whirl of blue light. It's only when the blur spins and skids across the bar, knocking tables and chairs flying even as it decelerates rapidly, that you can make out a shape.

And you'll probably wish you hadn't.

Take two perfectly ordinary cartwheels. Sling a horse's saddle between them and add a curved piece of piping above the front one. Stick a horse's skull in front, and decorates the rest with feathers, beads, black roses, and most of the rest of the horse. Although why anyone would want to is not really answerable in this entrance post.

The rider of this strange contraption is not wearing a helmet, and if he were, he wouldn't be able to shake uncut unwashed black hair out of it. He is, in fact wearing his normal black cape - which was freshly laundered this morning. Ultimate dark doesn't stay ultimate dark by itself, you know - but over the top of that is another robe: a long, black leather one, borrowed from a wizard. On the back, in leather studs, is picked out the words BORN TO RUNE.

OH BUGGER, WRONG TURNING. SORRY.

[OOC: Kay, this is how it works. Once in a lifetime opportunity to thread with the Pale Rider onna Bike. I'm going home now, and out drinking later, but I WILL pick up any and all tags. So have at!]

withrocksin

The music's running out of time, and it knows it. But for right now?
Everything's still going just fine.
So, musician with rocks in inna bar, over by the piano (has he even moved since he got here? Who knows?), enjoying the chaos.
Well, mostly enjoying the chaos. Somewhere in there, he's more than a little fed up with the current state of affairs.
Anyone have a well-timed distraction?

(OOC: Is plotty! You know who you are.)

the_antiangst

It's been an extremely long couple of weeks; all Angel can really do at this point is hope they haven't run out of time to fix things.
He's having a casual sort of day for his own part, so that means jeans and a sweatshirt. It's not the usual three-sizes-too-big sweatshirt, though - that one needed to be washed. Instead, it's one Angel found in his closet this morning, probably left over from when Mark was sharing the room.
Which explains quite nicely, then, why the Juilliard dropout is wearing a Brown Journalism Department sweatshirt.
He also seems to have left his notebook upstairs, for the first time in at least a week.

inquisitivehero

Hank sits at the table near the Infirmary, watching the bar and eating a large breakfast. For once, he isnt tapping at his laptop, but instead just wtaching people.

sto-helit.livejournal.com

Susan, alone.

She's got a cup of tea, which is a sure sign that someone needs badly to talk.

~~Incidentally, her mun needs to find an actress for icons and has no ideas whatsoever.~~

the_antiangst

Angel inna bar, to say nothing of the skirt. Or the camera, at this point.
Still with the rather large mug of tea and the notebook, as well. Today, he's also got a basket of paradoxes, and Soul Music, the end of which he's busy rereading.
Do come and talk to him, especially if you're trying to figure out why a friend has been acting really weird for about a week. You might catch him on the verge of an epiphany.

inquisitivehero

Hank McCoy is, momentarily, out of the Infirmary and in the bar.

He is, even so, still working. His rather odd looking laptop is open and he is tapping away quickly and steadily. Nearby a plate of breakfast cools slowly and a very large mug of coffee has long since gone cold.

But he is, at least, in the Bar.