milliways_bar | Entries tagged with the fool

It's been a while since the door has opened for the Fool, so he's quite surprised when it does. A surprise that turns to delight as he's missed the place. Not that he's told anyone it. Sometimes a fool must have his secrets. Humming an aimless tune he walks over to the bar.

"Hello there," he says giving it a pat. "What brings me here?" For the Bar always has a reason for bringing someone in.

A cake appears with the phrase, "Happy Birthday" written in green icing on it.

"Birthday? It's my birthday now is it?" Keeping track of time happens to other people, but a calendar does show that it is, in fact, leap day, and thus it is, in fact, his birthday. "Well then. How about that? Thank you."

Fool he may be, but he's still polite. The cake is big enough to share and so he cuts himself a piece. It's a strawberry cream cake, and there's plenty left around if anyone would like a piece.

Current Mood: cheerful

magnus_archivist

The door opens, nudged slowly by a foot in sensible and (somewhat) fashionable leather loafers. A man who clearly at some point knew what 'upper management' office wear in a fairly image-conscious facility was supposed to wear but who had to buy both on a budget and in a bit of a hurry backs through the door, balancing a large stack of paper files in his arms, topped by a tape recorder.

"No I... look, it's fine, I'll just... no, no, Martin, don't, I don't need... no it's... yes, a cup of tea would be fine, thank you." He huffs, teetering on the edge of trying to be polite and utterly exasperated as he retreats through the door.

It's only when it closes that he realizes that this isn't his office.

Welcome to Milliways, Jonathan Sims.

run_barry

[oom: anger management issues]

The front door opens and Barry storms in, rigid with anger.

He looks around and his expression darkens when he realizes he's in Milliways without intending to be here.

Irritably, he grumbles and heads across the bar for a corner table. Taking a seat, Barry hunches over, rubbing his temples and just trying to breath.

He's perfectly fine. He just… needs a minute to sort everything out.

[ooc: Barry is definitely not fine. He's been whammied and teetering on the edge of explosion. Please see this backroom post before tagging. Any questions/concerns feel free to ping the mun either on Discord, PM or gmail. All those deets are in the backroom post. Thank you! ETA: Warnings for violence in the threads below!]

littledroidthatcould

The decor of the Bar shifts, as it does, only this time, it's not quite a generic cantina. It's a cantina, for sure, but its got a little more of the forest-y look than the usual. The walls look like wood, or maybe durasteel made to look like wood, and the decor as well, with deceptively primitive decorations on the walls besides the usual banners with the emblems of many groups in a certain galaxy far, far away.

There are also a number of bowcasters displayed on the wall--no ammo and bolted on, they are for display only.

Of course, out on the practice range is a wonderful array of bowcasters for trying out, all carefully provided by Bar to be non-lethal.

There are also plenty of options popping up on data pads for people to try out being a Wookiee for the day, if they so choose.

Outside, several race tracks have appeared, focusing primarily on vehicles rather than animals this year. Pod racing, swoop bike racing, and speeder racing are all available, as are some simulators for racing ships. There are a few extra tracks and a few extra falthiers found in the stables, and some other critters, but there's no obvious scoreboards both inside and outside the bar like for the vehicles.

There are other practice weapons and costumes available too--though bowcasters and wookiees are showcased as the centerpieces, with racing the showcased activity.

And there are porgs found here and there. Not a huge swarm, like a year ago--but there are porgs. Lots of porgs.

Food and drinks for the day will likewise be somewhat arboreally themed.

[[ooc: for peter mayhew, of blessed memory. rrrooooawrr.]]

skepticgirl1

It's been a good long while since this particular pre-teen with violet eyes has been in Milliways, and today when she enters she's wearing ratty old blue jeans and a red plaid shirt over a yellow tank top. She's looking particularly exhausted, too, and probably sleep deprived, from the circles under her eyes. It takes her a visible few moments to readjust to being here and not in the motel she was expecting.

Eventually, though, she does, and slowly stumbles her way to a booth to sit down. A concerned waitrat trails after her, and she hurriedly asks for a milkshake and chicken nuggets before all but collapsing in the booth to stare ahead kind of blankly.

When her food comes, it includes a slice apple pie that looks homemade and--when she finally gets to tasting it--tastes like heaven. Enough to make one wonder who could make a pie like that.

But tasting it will take a long, long time for the twelve-year-old Lois Lane, as she's busy zoning out and forgetting to eat or drink a bit.

forgottenmotley

It's cold outside and the Fool doesn't seem to be minding too much despite the thin looking coat he wore. He sat by the lake near a very patient looking duck very carefully making tiny snow ducks. They looked like rubber duckies but made out of snow. At this point he probably had about forty of the snow ducks and they're slowly surrounding him and the duck. Eventually he'll run out of space to put the ducks in easy reach but for now, he's still got room.

Rather like this

(Working a convention this weekend so slow time after tonight.)

cottoncandypink

The nanny had said at hire that he'd need a few days off at the end of the month, and it still managed to sneak up on Wilford. He's been so involved with everything else that arranging a replacement just never happened.

Which is fine. Wilford has no problems taking the kid with him to the studio for a few days. But now, they need lunch. This time, Wilford parks them in a booth. Michael has his eomuk, and Wilford has a little bit of everything. Maybe lunch can keep the kid distracted for about five minutes so Wilford can finish the script he's trying to hammer out on his laptop.

Ha. As if.

herr_bookman

Laying on his belly in the dirt, Autor adjusts his eye protection. He takes aim with his air rifle at the targets sitting pretty thirty-three feet away. He holds his arm out, places the butt into his right shoulder, and then brings the arm back in. The boy folds his arm and places the elbow on the ground to give him both support and easy access to the trigger--which he keeps well away from for now.

He reaches to lay his other hand on the forestock, avoiding the barrel. Then he bends his arm and uses his elbow for even more support, trying to keep it still and stable. The boy stretches his legs back, folding one slightly inward. Autor digs his toes into the soil and pushes slightly forward, bracing himself and hoping he doesn't bruise his shoulder with the recoil.

The boy eyes the target through the crosshairs, paying close attention to how his breath raises and lowers the gun. He holds his breath for a moment. Then Autor pulls the trigger, launching a solid metal pellet seven hundred feet per second out of the barrel. The boy feels the kick--which is just as Shephard demonstrated--and breathes again, waiting for a moment to reset the process.

After about an hour, he has hit the target twice.

in_revision

The door opens, and a man walks in. He must have been here before, once upon a time - he's certainly not a regular, but he doesn't even pause as he takes up a seat at the bar, leaning against the wood so he can casually people-watch.

Ward is pretty sure aliens are involved. Aliens, maybe the ones who call themselves gods (this seems like a place the one that calls himself Thor would like), and... magic?

No. He's not ready yet to admit magic. That's still weird, even for him.

(OOC: Hellllllloo Milliways!)

forgottenmotley

Possibly the Fool should have been doing bartending yesterday. After all it was April Fool's day. But that's precisely why he didn't do it. It was expected of him. Tonight however is a different thing all together.

After a great deal of thought he writes out the specials in his neat, copperplate handwriting:

Bloody Irritating Noise.

Bees make it, don't drink it.

Sweep him away.

It's got two ears in the middle of his face.

Free if you can guess it. Half off if I have to tell you. Don't try the peanuts unless you really want to.

He sets the board up and starts to make a house of cards with a rather intent expression and a rather normal deck of cards.

forgottenmotley

When the Fool ambles up to the bar, she presents him with a birthday cake. However the cake doesn't read "Happy Birthday" instead it reads "Happy Should Be Birthday". He gives the cake a frown and then an annoyed eye-roll with eyes that are more brown than usual.

"Yes. Thank you for reminding me of that." While the Fool doesn't mind or care about being born on February 29th, Alexander does for he had to put up with a great deal of teasing from his family growing up. And right now, on his birthday, he's a bit more Alexander than the Fool - because the Fool doesn't have birthdays.

Still... he is enough the Fool that cake is cake and so he starts to cut himself off a piece. (There is no candle, because it's not his birthday...)

mogget_cat

A pale young woman(-looking creature) dressed in white but sporting numerous strings of shiny plastic beads in purple and green and gold, and wearing a silver-white cat mask with gold filigree ears comes in through the bar door, accompanied by music and the chaotic noise of crowds in full revelry mode. Her fierce grin shows her very white teeth beneath the edge of the mask as she dances.

It is Mardi Gras, the topsy-turvy time of ignoring and outright overturning social convention, changing one's persona through elaborate costumes and masks, dancing and drinking and debauchery, color and music and joy and chaos.

And it is Yrael's favorite holiday.

Come join the dance, won't you?

Current Mood: flirty

freedom_is_grey

Shephard left her a package of books -- three of them, to be precise. Ysalwen has two of those before her now, The Book of Five Rings and The Art of War. She's already been through each of them once, and is now seated at a central table taking notes on the similarities and the differences between them.

Eventually she'll be asking Bar (or Ava) for cultural references, as well. Chunks of each are based on place, and rulership, and philosophy. Maybe learning more about that will open up more of the books to her.

It's something to work on, at least.

Liranan, meanwhile, is napping at her feet. He may even be drooling.

forgottenmotley

The Fool is sitting cross-legged on one of the couches.

He is also staring at nothing.

It's a deep stare.

Deep and unblinking stare.

Stare.

Stare.

Stare.

Stare.

Staaaaaaare.

herr_bookman

[OOM: "Autorchen, why on God’s green earth are you sewing an apricot onto a handkerchief?"]

In the first few days of the new year, Autor performs some housekeeping. He cleans his room spotlessly, returning old books he no longer needs to the library and paring his scant possessions down. Then he dons his Milliscouts hoodie and heads to the bar to drop off a couple of notes.

One is for the Barmen.

( To Mike or Sallie )

And the other is for Lucas.

( To Lucas )

Afterwards, he curls up under a blanket in a window seat in the library, devouring books, "on writing".

Specifically On Writing by Eudora Welty, On Writing by Stephen King, On Writing by A.L. Kennedy, Black Milk: On Writing by Elif Shafak, On Great Writing by Longinus, On Writing Short Stories by Tom Bailey, and On Writing Well by William Zinsser.

The boy finds them to be all on point, as far as he can tell, though he's having difficulty telling the differences between them. He could use a distraction.

forgottenmotley

The Fool is doing something possibly normal. He's got some apples and is roasting them in the fireplace. They've been cored out and had sugar and cinnamon stuffed in them. They smell lovely.

Also, for once his shadow is also flickering properly, if only because it's behind him and he's sitting in front of the fire.

foreverisalongtime

Violet Harmon thought she'd found every closet, nook, crawlspace, and hidden passage of the house over the last few years. When you're a ghost bound to the grounds for eternity, you have plenty of time to explore, especially during the brief times someone living moves into your room.

She had no idea there was a recreation room tucked behind a dusty door in the basement. Moira had never said anything about it, and she was the one who knew the most about the house.

And all these people... There are so many more ghosts in here. Violet wonders how many more the house can possibly hold.

She drifts towards the bar, her fingers fidgeting with the edges of her long sleeves.

OOC: Open until I say it's not!

herr_bookman

Autor has his feet up on the couch today, taking notes on Schak's German translation of The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam.

A medical textbook is on his lap, with detailed entries about dopamine, oxytocin, and endorphins earmarked. Dog-eared copies of The Princess Bride, Pride and Prejudice, and The Great Gatsby form a stack on the floor against the couch. On the stack is a plate of dumplings, cold and untouched.

Unfortunately, none of it seems to help with his ultimate goal: falling out of love. There's a dearth of classics that teach what he wants to know. Love drives all the great stories, Rae had said, and Autor finds that her words are true, even though he doesn't think his great story is written that way.

There's still a blush on his face. The Rubaiyat is a bit mushy.

sunny_side_up

Sunny, being stuck in the Bar as she was, decided to make the most of her time. She had been spending the majority of her time in the library, reading literature from other world... books she would have never had the opportunity to otherwise. She clawed through book after book, suckling at each drop of information contained within. It was all so fascinating.

Even through there were bedrooms to sleep in, she usually preferred to nab a few blankets and pillows and make a book fort in the library. She always made sure to put the books back in order after, with meticulous attention to detail.

But today she decided to venture down into the Bar. She still doesn't know why she was brought here, or why she's stuck, but she's gotten used to it at this point. She sat on the stairs leading upstairs playing her PSP, simply observing those about her.

(OOC: My AIM is Jazzadam. Feel free to IM me.)

herr_bookman

It has been a while since this child sat at the piano here, but he settles in comfortably enough. Erik Satie's Gnossienne No.1 flows from his split-knuckled hands, and he closes his eyes, listening to the conversation that the piano holds. His technique is perfect, his pace slow, and his shoulders loose as he drifts, feeling the rain fall on his face--completely content.

aleranchala

The door opens, and a girl walks in.

A girl with white hair and a half-shaved hairstyle in pretty rudimentary clothes who automatically realizes she's not where she expected to appear, and jumps to the highest point she can find. Heights are always the easiest way of getting the upper hand and doing some quick reconnaissance, and she quickly recognizes the kind of place Alerans would call a tavern.

So have a girl with very bright green eyes staring curiously at you from above.

[ooc: New mun with a new muse. ~~Open until I go to sleep (in a couple hours, Europe timezones!) and after that~~ open to slowtimes.]

forgottenmotley

The door to the bar opens and the Fool comes half running, half stumbling inside.

Following him are sheep.

About a half dozen of them.

Following the sheep is Jocundus barking happily as if this is the best thing in his life, ever. Like really. Ever.

The Fool makes it to the other side of the bar and flings open the door.

The sheep are herded out by Jocundus as the Fool watches.

He whistles and Jocundus comes running back, tail still wagging.

Then, as if nothing happened, the Fool shuts the door and wanders over to the bar to get a drink.

forgottenmotley

The Fool, being in one of his his moods, has put a sign up on the table next to him.

The sign reads simply, "Get answers to any question you have. Guaranteed."

In the meantime the Fool is playing solitaire with a deck of Tarot cards.

chocolate_reign

There is a sandwich on the bar. It's a perfectly nice sandwich with the distinctive aroma of grilled swiss cheese wafting from its crisp surface. Or perhaps, now that you get a better whiff, that smells more like raspberry jam. Perhaps it's calla lily with mustard. Perhaps it's yours. All of which show an awfully limited view of things. Because whatever you happen to think the sandwich is at this precise moment does not negate the fact that it also happens to be a doorway. Two sets of mismatched talons emerge from within the sandwich to part the bread, admitting... something.

Something tall and sinuous. Something vaguely draconic. Something regards its new surroundings with mad, yellow eyes.

"Well, finally!" proclaims the odd being, floating lazily in to the air and peering around with interest. "So this is Milliways."

forgottenmotley

It could be said that the Fool has been planning this for a while. It could be said that he came up with it on the spur of the moment. With him, it's hard to tell.

Whatever it is, the Fool takes but a moment to contemplate what he is going to put up for the Happy Hour Specials.

It's a single word, written in his almost perfect copperplate handwriting:

Guess

He then sets a series of bottles on the bar top of various sorts and sizes and colors and waits, a tiny mischievous hint of a smile on his face.

For those that are fearful, they have nothing to worry about. He hasn't done anything to the bottles or the drinks. They're perfectly safe. But sometimes the best joke on people is the one where they fear something bad will happen.