milliways_bar | Entries tagged with the tardis (idris)

The TARDIS has, this evening, set up a large board on a large easel.

Several things are attached to it, with pins and string and tape and staples and glue and ribbon and the occasional wad of used chewing gum.

They include, but are not limited to: a compass, black Sharpie, the 2 May 1944 Daily Telegraph crossword puzzle, a detailed sketch of the workings of a clock, a single page sheet music from the second movement of Brahms's Third Symphony (the bassoon part), a map of Kyoto, costume sketches from a 2078 RSC production of The Tempest (Prospero and Miranda), three postcards of Van Gogh paintings, a recipe for the perfect cup of tea, a receipt from a cafe for a cheese sandwich, five sheets of blank A-4 paper, and nine colored pencils (all shades of blue).

The TARDIS has decided it's time to go back (or forward, or sideways, or around, or . . . well, really, any direction you like) to the drawing board.

[OOC: Slowtime, please. Good night!]

stole_a_time_lord

This holiday is excellent.

Earlier, the TARDIS read the explanatory screen from end to beginning, and again, starting somewhere in the middle.

She likes middles. So much of things is made up of middles.

She's in the middle of something right now.

Specifically, she's in the middle of the floor of a 1960s British Police Box, which she built almost entirely out of blue Legos, and some black ones and white ones, and the occasional purple one, here and there.

It's smaller on the inside than she was expecting, but at least the doors open out the way, properly, when you pull them, as you should, rather than push them, as he does.

She has also, after careful review of her options, acquired webby finny fishy hands. And those, in turn, have required the acquisition of pudding.

So. One TARDIS. Sitting in a replica of a 1960s Police Box. With fish fingers. And custard.

[OOC: Slowtime please, as of 10:20 EDT. My brain has gone all . . . custardy. :) Please, no new tag ins. Thanks!]

not_only_wisdom

Nynaeve could still hear the cries of the wounded children, the screams of the dying villagers, the howls of the Darkhounds that seemed endless in number --

But so, too, could she feel the Warder bond to Lan, her husband, seated firmly in her mind.

She counted it (and her new self-knowledge) well worth the cost. But now, that so-necessary errand handled, it was time to get back to the White Tower for her night of contemplation.

Preparing the weave for Traveling away from the Black Tower is the work of several moments, a fine feat considering her current state of exhaustion.

But when she steps across the threshold and is confronted with the bar, Nynaeve pauses, lips pressed tight together, and takes a deep breath. This could have happened on a better day, when her hair hadn't been burnt off and she were not so badly exhausted.

The Light burn Milliways, anyway.

"And here I'd thought we were done with the place."

Well, time to make the best of a bad business. Perhaps some tea will see things begin to sort themselves out.

A newly-raised Aes Sedai can hope.

stole_a_time_lord

OOM-but-not: What the Dickens?

stole_a_time_lord

There's a woman in the bar this evening, reading.

More specifically, there's a woman in a ruffled blue dress, sitting in the middle of the floor with eleven open books ranged round her in a circle, and she is reading them all at once, finishing a page in one, setting it down, turning a little to the next (to her left), picking it up, reading a page, and then repeating the process. Around and around, one page at a time, paying very little attention to whether or not she's in anyone's way, because she's all caught up in her books.

The books are The Lost (and Found!) Moon of Poosh: Revised Edition; Il Mio Primo Dizionario; The Tragicall Historie of Hamlet, Prince of Denmarke (which she is reading back to front -- she wants to see how it begins); The Diary of a Young Girl; A History of the Fez; You, Too, Can Conquer Tivoli! A Beginner's Guide to Planetary Invasion; The Secret of the Old Clock (the Hebrew translation); Bimbos of the Death Sun; I Was a Teenaged Zombie War Bride from Outer Space; Bartlett's Familiar Quotations; and A Brief History of Time (which occasionally makes her laugh).

stole_a_time_lord

There is a woman (who is not exactly a woman), in a blue party dress (which has seen better days), standing by the observation window (with her nose pressed up against it), watching the end of universe (again).

Hmmmmmm.

Rerun.

stole_a_time_lord

[OOM: Just ~~soon~~ ~~later~~ ~~then~~ ~~after~~ now: . . . where she's never, ever been . . . ]

The door opens and a woman in a flouncy blue party dress comes running into the bar.

Stops quite abruptly.

Looks around.

"This isn't where I am meant to be.

"This wasn't where I was meant to be.

"This won't be where I will be meant to be.

"Oh, tenses are difficult, aren't they?"

[OOC: Please see very important information here. Thank you!]

[OOC: ETA: My dance card is full at this point. No more tag ins, please. Thanks!]

cute_bruiser

Molly Hayes is flying a huge purple bunny-faced kite outdoors by the lake, and trying not to get pulled off her feet by the wind. As she's not exactly the biggest twelve-year-old ever, this is proving somewhat problematic. Anyone want to come help (or better yet, come play) before she winds up in the lake?

Sam Linnfer has managed to appear in the Bar whilst still in his pyjamas, these comprising a clean-but-old black t-shirt that's several sizes too big for him and (clean, happily) black boxers. Whether this is because he is a lazy arse and didn't get out of bed til 5pm, or because the mun bent Millitime like there was no tomorrow, is up to you. Anyway, he's curled up in a booth somewhere near the back of the bar, trying to sleep and eat toast at the same time. He's mostly succeeding.

Tansy Williams goes back to Aberystwyth University tomorrow, and has therefore been out to give her wolfhound Fflur one last long walk. Only her front door, for the first time in quite a while, opened on a bar. So now there's an extremely windswept, slightly soggy red-haired teenage girl happily sipping Coke, with an enormous grey wolfhound on her best behaviour under the table at her feet.

And Esther Cohen has also found the bar unexpectedly. Unlike her first and only previous visit, she's much more composed this time her kitchen door opens on somewhere that is not her home, and accordingly sits primly in an upright chair to order a nice large milky coffee. Good news for the welfare of the still-steaming sponge cake she's carrying, and also good news for anyone who wants a slice of it. Thieves, however, will be thwapped.

necessary_child

Sam's curled on a sofa in front of the fire, sleepily nibbling at chips. In between drowsing and chip-eating, he's reading something in one of the Heavenly languages: Arcadian. Or at least, he's looking at the pages.

Despite appearances, he's more or less recovered from not sleeping for eleven days and most of the accompanying problems, and is therefore happy to chat.

~

Molly's in a booth with her dinner, which was accompanied this time by a note saying 'eat your greens'. She's currently ignoring the note and the greens in favour of watching the observation window and eating her burger.

~

Tansy is also watching the window, with her mouth open and a very definite air of n00b-ness. When she's not watching, she's nibbling Bar's welsh cakes (which aren't bad, but they're not as good as her Mam's) and sipping tea. She should be doing an essay on Owain Glyndwr; anyone care to remind her of this?

guppy_sandhu

After last night, Guppy only really had two options. The first being to switch to self destruct mode, the second to work through it.

It hurt too much already to go through the first again, so after a mere four hours sleep he came back downstairs, forced himself to eat half a piece of toast, and started the paperwork.

He's still doing the paperwork. The fact that he's almost reached the bottom of the normally neverending pile is probably a bad sign.

necessary_child

Miserable and flu-suffering young mutant curled up in a booth with hot chocolate. Molly's not as ill as she was a few days ago, however, and therefore can probably stand company, since she's really very unlikely to infect you.
~
Sam, meanwhile, is outside by the lake, swordfighting his own illusions again in preparation for later. Of course, he'd sooner fight with a real person.
~
Tansy walks in, arms full of of books on Welsh history, talking over her shoulder.
"Yeah, T.A., I'll meet you back at the flat after... T.A.?

"Oh." Realising where she is, she stares at the bar for some moments. "...This had better not get to be a habit."

But she decides to make the best of it, and orders a large Coke from Bar before sitting at a table and trying to revise 'Wales between the wars'.
~
(OOC: Three pups, one mun, specify or risk getting all three. Mun may become severely distracted in half an hour by TORCHWOOD OMG.)

apostrophewitch

A seal enters Milliways, accompanied by a small amount of water. It looks about itself for a moment with a frank expression of 'this is not Ynys Haf' on its face before becoming a dripping-wet young woman in her late teens, wearing jeans, t-shirt and tatty trainers, and the same confused, slightly-scared expression as the seal.

She looks uncertainly behind herself at the door.

"...T.A? Gwyd?"

Welcome to Milliways, Tansy.