milliways_bar | Entries tagged with tars tarkas

we_dont_fly

[oom:

Edgar and Tars finally get things sorted. Mostly.

Millitimed back to the end of the bodyswap plot.]

hate_gettin_older

Edgar is not exactly starting to regret asking Tars to show him how to use the sword, but he's maybe regretting not asking for a smaller training weapon to start off with. This thing's fuckin heavy. And the air outside is cool, but not cold enough to prevent him sweating.

He's letting the blade rest against the ground right now to give his aching arms a rest, and catching his breath at the same time.

[Plotlocked until after bodyswap happens!]

hate_gettin_older

Under Milliways:

How do you know which way is which, without the sun?

the_gene_genie

Good luck getting to the bar near the TV today. Denied his usual Saturday afternoon football due to having to work (on a Saturday), Gene was happy to find the door to the pub opening on to Milliways instead. All right, this poncey twenty-first century football isn't quite the same as the studs-up scrum of the '70s, but it'll do in a pinch. Particularly as City are getting ready to trounce some soft Southern shites. Gene hates Spurs.

So. Beer, chasers, pork scratchings, crisps, an already overflowing ashtray, the remains of a meat pie with brown sauce...they're all there, if you can see through the fug of smoke, or hear over his bellowing at the set.

'Bloody....get in there, you twat! Man on! No, you....what do you think you're doin'!?

....GET IN MY SON!!'

1-0 City.

[OOC: Here for the next twelve hours or so, with the odd slowtime for dinner, etc. Open until whenever!

Aaaaaannd, I'm not getting any notifs. Sorry guys, tagging up now!]

we_dont_fly

Tars Tarkas, Jeddak of the Thark clan, was pleasantly surprised to see the shimmering break in the air above the red desert floor. It looked like a heat mirage to the other warriors. Dust swirled on one side, but beyond, if he held his head at the right angle, he could see the rich blues and greens of the pocket universe known as Milliways. He craned his head back, and no one else seemed to notice. He knew if he steered his mount through it, he would disappear from one side and appear on the shores of a Jasoomian lake. When he returned, it would appear as if he rode out the other side. And they would have no idea he'd ever been gone, no matter how long he decided to stay. It was a phenomenon that Dejah had tried to explain to him as a quantum anomaly, but it still seemed like magic to him. (A part of him still bristled at the thought that it might be Thern trickery, but the Thern had been gone from Barsoom for many, many ords now.)

He peered at the silvery threshold and gently nudged his heels into Lutha's sides, urging her towards it. It had been awhile, and he was curious how Edgar was doing. And the other one. Curtis. His jaw rolled at the thought.

Lutha lifted her nose the moment they were through and let out a soft wonk.

"Yes, we can check on the little one while we're here. You should know the way by now." She did, and started down the path towards the stables, each of her eight feet leaving a print the size of an oil drum in the forest silt.

[Catch them on the path, at the stables, or later in the bar.]

hate_gettin_older

The front door opens, and in stumbles Edgar, looking exhausted and covered with red dust from the knees down. At his side ambles a baby thoat, which looks around at the noisy crowd and immediately tries to hide behind Edgar's legs.

"Oh thank Christ," Edgar breathes, as Tars Tarkas steps into the room behind him.

[Edgar is taggable! Tars is heading home pretty immediately.]

we_dont_fly

[oom:

Welcome to Barsoom.

(Part two of two. Part one here.)]

hate_gettin_older

Out of Milliways:

"... where the fuck are we?"

(Part 1 of 2.)

hate_gettin_older

[Elsewhere in Milliways: A Night in the Cells.

Millitimed to before Cubefall, after this.]

we_dont_fly

[ after this ]

Tars shouldered his way passed a line of waitrats, ignoring their indignant squeaks he strode into the bar proper. He was looking for the human. Curtis. His name was Curtis.

And he had dared to touch the face of Dejah Thoris. He would speak to this Curtis and educate him on precisely why this was a dangerous thing to do.

All he would do is speak to the man.

The crowd of evening diners shrunk back from the glowering figure. A nine-foot-tall Thark warlord on a mission is a terrifying thing to see.

[ Plot locked to

2goodarms and

hate_gettin_older, please. Reaction threads to the unfolding events are welcome! ]

dejah_thoris

[oom, in the gym, Tars Tarkas confronts Dejah Thoris:

"Who in Issus's name is this human that he dares to touch your face? He does not even know who you are! You defeated the Thern and saved all of Barsoom! He should bend his neck in respect when you enter the room. You are Dejah Thoris. You are the daughter of a thousand Jeddaks. Your metal is the entire citadel of Helium --"

"We are not in Helium!" ]

man_without_fear

[oom: You don't have any money, and we don't have any clients.]

As far as rude awakenings go there aren't many that compare to receiving a phone call about how your brand new client was nearly strangled in her cell overnight.

Matt is all horns and no bull when it comes to confronting the two detectives in charge of Ms. Page's case and he and Foggy secure her release.

While Foggy hunts down a change of clothes for their client Matt wanders the station in search of coffee. He's expecting to find a vending machine, one of the old relics held over from days past that sits in every public building and belches out hot mud. What he finds instead is Milliways.

Stepping through the door he hesitates, then decides to do his stomach lining a favor and go ahead and have a cup of joe here.

Navigating to the counter he sets his bag onto one unoccupied stool, and takes a seat on another; his cane he leans up against the bar, close at hand.

Smoothing his palm over the countertop, he clears his throat and asks, "Can I uh, get a cup of coffee?"

It's still weird, talking to a piece of furniture, and weirder still when she answers.

His fingertips brush warm ceramic and he traces his way around the mug that's suddenly appeared until he finds the handle and lifts it, taking a careful sip.

"Thank you."

[ooc: spoilers for episode 1 in the link and probably more in any threads. ~~ETA: Signing off now. Threads will be picked up tomorrow. Thank you, everyone.~~ The sun rises, and threads are a go again. Warnings for slows, but I'm here all day.]

we_dont_fly

[ after this]

Sometimes the door that admits patrons is a door. Wood, or iron, or plasteel, it's easily identified as a door. Sometimes, the door -- is not a door. It is the tanned hide of some great beast. Most doors are with certain expected parameters. Usually around six feet tall. This door? Is eight feet tall. And the patron who enters via this new door has to stoop to clear the threshold.

He's also easily nine feet tall, has four arms, two huge tusks and green skin. Tars Tarkas enters the bar and draws himself up to his full height, his lower right hand coming to rest on the sword sheathed at his side.

"What in the holy name of Issus?"

[all threads after Ysalwen's will be post introductions, please.]

http://users.livejournal.com/_venus_de_milo/

[OOM: First, there was this. Fake ninjas, flirting, talk of doom, and WHOOPS.

Then, there was this. Sometimes, you just gotta get naked.]

notdarkgeneral.livejournal.com

There's a ex-Negaverse general sitting at a table. Black slacks and a black sleeveless tank, and his long white hair is loose around his shoulders.

He's even being so not evil as to read a book, a cup of coffee at his elbow. Feel free to inturupte him. For any reason. After all he's reading Tolstoy, so, it's dry.

female-were.livejournal.com

Three very different people are in the bar tonight. Spread out, because they don't know each other.

Raina is curled up in a booth, knees up to her chest and slightly resting on the table in front of her. There's a magazine resting on her knees, because it creates the perfect resting spot for the magazine. There are two plates sitting on her table. One is empty except for small traces of blood; steak: 0 Raina: 1. The second one is smaller and has green things(lettuce) on it. Green things(lettuce) I say! The green things(lettuce) have red things(tomato) and other green things(cucumber) with it. All of this odd food has a light vinegar dressing on it. The smaller plate is slowly being munched on as she reads through her magazine, though she wouldn't object to company.

- - -

Over by the fire, in a comfy chair, sits a man. This man has long white hair that has been pulled into a ponytail. Said ponytail has taken up one arm of the chair, and trailed a little towards the floor. Said man is dressed in black clothing and not that horrible, itchy general uniform he's known for wearing. Oh, right should probably give the name of said man, Kunzite.

He might be up for conversation, or confrontation. Pending on who you are and if he knowshas history with you.

- - -

Our third man is out by the lake. And by the sword work and way he fades in and out of shadow as he moves he should need no introduction. But we'll give one anyway. Doyle is practicing sword work out by the lake. A small sheen of sweat can be caught by moonlight, and tells that he's been out here for a while.

Come out and watch, or strike up conversation. You'd be amazed at his multi-tasking skills!

[please make sure to say which you are tagging. And blame any weirdness in the intros on Monster Energy]

notdarkgeneral.livejournal.com

There's a long, white haired generalKing Knight lounging in a big comfy chair. No uniform, no evil glint. Just some jeans, a black ribbed shirt, and a book.

One would think that the book would keep him entertained enough. Not true. He's looking over the books edge every so often. He might be on the look out for a person or two. Is it you? Even if it isn't, feel free to ask him something, or bother him.

notdarkgeneral.livejournal.com

There's a general sitting at the booth there. Though, don't feel bad if you don't recognize him for who he is. After all, he's wearing a black tank and a pair of jeans, and his long, long white hair is pulled back in a ponytail.

There's a faint bruising on his cheek and a patch of skin that looks like a fairly new scar on his arm. Other than that, he looks pretty good. Especially for a dead man.

He's currently working on a salad and a large cup of coffee. Feel free to inquire about the wounds, or anything else that you may be confused about. He's in the mood for company.

notdarkgeneral.livejournal.com

Time flows oddly when your dead. Or at least that's what Kunzite would tell you if you asked him. Though, you wouldn't be able to. Only his Prince can talk to him, part of their bond. It also feels odd, to not have a body, not really.

So, it isn't really a surprise that the moment Kunzite enters the bar he has a shocked expression. He could feel before he came into the bar, but only...emotionally.

He wasn't corporeal.

He shouldn't be able to feel his feet against the floor.

He shouldn't have to breath.

Nor should he be able to feel the irritable itch the fabric of his gray uniform sometimes had, though he'd never admit to.

He had lived...hurt...killed...
died.

He knew this.

Had felt this.

And yet, here he was. In a body. Alive? Able to feel.

And so, a very shocked Kunzite is looking startled and confused about the bar.