milliways_bar | Entries tagged with tracksuit draculas

A lone bro appears, affixes a new notice to the board, then just as quickly exits toward the Lake.

He's awfully stealthy for a man wearing a lime green tracksuit and clutching a tomahawk.

Don't pay attention to him.

( Read the notice. )

If you know how to answer the notice and claim the reward, slip a note under the door. Maybe don't linger?

[ooc:for reactions and slipping of notes under the door only. no draculas present. yet]

brobrobrobrobro

In the corner, someone (or someones) has erected a temporary stage. Why is there a stage?

For the performers.

There are often live performances at Milliways, but how often do they involve at least a dozen Eastern European Elvis's in rhinestone-studded jumpsuits?

(Only as often as the Jumpsuit Draculas accidentally stumble into Milliways and don't get locked up in the security office.)

(JK, they still sing when they're in lock up.)

Tonight, though, a rare treat. All of them! Performing at once! Singing different songs!

ONE.

NIGHT.

ONLY.

(It sounds *@&#$ awful.)

[ooc: Please enjoy tonight's entertainment, both the music and the inevitable descent into beating people with mic stands. Reactions only. Probably. Unless you really piss off the King.]

mnt_raph

Raph emerges from the Staff Hallway the vision of a man who's just taken a long hot shower in a place where indoor plumbing is the norm. He's actually smiling.

That is, of course, until he approaches Bar under the guise of snagging himself a Gatorade.
The moment his hand makes contact with Bar's top everything changes.
Gone are the wide-legged cotton pants and black tank-top he'd been wearing.
They've been replaced with a Captain America t-shirt and cargo shorts.
His once bare feet now sport flip flops.
And there might be a fanny pack.

A napkin appears on Bar's top, and in flowing script the following can be read:

Happy Independence Day, Raphael.
Keep an eye on things while I nap, won't you?
I want to be fresh for the fireworks tonight.

But before Raph can respond the napkin goes blank.

"...you've gotta be freakin' kiddin' me..."

But she's not, and he' knows it.
Remember how he was smiling before?
Yeah...not so much now.

brobrobrobrobro

oom? under-milliways?

q: why are the bros not in jail?

a: well they've been wandering around in new loompaland for like the last forty days or whatever, bro

doc_evil

[OOM:

The chase finally reaches a messy, chocolatey end.

Elsewhere, a note appears on Frau Farbissina's desk. It reads:

From Another World, I write this,
So you will have a Guiding Light
In your time of evil-less sorrow.

As the World Turns,
The Bold and the Beautiful,
The Young and the Restless,
With but One Life to Live,
Will look to All My Children,
And the Generations yet to come.
Whether born in a "General" Hospital
Or beautifully cloned in an evil lab,
My evil Dynasty will live on.

The evil lair in Dallas shall be Scott's,
Because I hate Dallas: so loud, so annoying.
(Are you picking up what I am putting down?)
Santa Barbara's shall be Mini-Me's.
Mini-Mine?
Anyway.
My perfect clone in 1/8th form likes to surf.

If I had yet Another Life to Live,
Which I don't,
Apparently,
Bugger it all,
We would be together all the Days of Our Lives,
For you are the Number Two of my heart.

Yeah, I don't know what that means, either. Scott made me add it. After he was done rolling his eyes and asking if I was kidding him with the first part. I'm an evil genius. I don't "kid." Throw me a freakin' bone, Scott.

I don't understand non-evil youths today, honestly. Whatever. He's your problem now.

Evil out.]

[OOC: Thank you SO MUCH to everyone who participated and who tagged Doctor Evil over the many... many... years. It's been fun. :D ]

mnt_mike

The door to the Staff Hallway is propped open, and the smells of American Thanksgiving with All the Trimmings is wafting through into the Main Bar. If one followed their nose they'd find themselves into the suite occupied by Michealangelo. All the furniture in the living room has been swapped out for long dining tables complete with place settings, decorative centerpieces, and even cloth napkins.

And if your nose doesn't direct you, then perhaps the seemingly limitless number of hand-turkeys decorating the main bar directing you in that direction that way just might.

THANKSGIVING!
All are welcome.
Mike's Place.
Bring your appetite.

[ooc: Standard Lake Party rules apply. Please thread hop.]

doc_evil

There's someone new in the Bar today.

Or is there?

New or not, he's certainly, what's the word.... 'shagadelic?' Yeah. Shagadelic. From his lustrous brown locks (wig) to his fancy blue suede cowboy boots (where Mini Me got those, one can only guess), this man is dripping with 'mojo.' Also questionable fashion choices.

Doctor Evil doesn't have his Austin act down perfectly by any means. He doesn't speak fluent Austin Powers, for one. Yeah. His nemesis is ri-godamn-diculous. That said, no one will ever expect Doctor Evil, the most evil of evil geniuses, to disguise himself as his dreaded nemesis!

Muahahahaha!

Ahem.

Yeah, baby!

He practices Austin's swinging gait as he approaches Bar, smiling wide with his disgustingly fake teeth as he looks around for Adidas tracksuits. Maybe he should step behind the bar for a while. That seems like something Austin would do.

How has he not managed to kill the insolent idiot yet? Honestly.

"Riiiiigh... Right. The bar is... open," he announces. "I'm Austin Powers. I will be your bartender this evening. Yes. Totally Austin Powers. From 'England.' From the 'Sixties.' Yeah, baby, yeah!"

He flashes a peace sign and writes Hot Pockets, Eggos and the ever popular Venti Skim Extra Shot Extra-Hot Extra-Whip Sugar-Free Caramel Macchiato up on the Specials board.

[OOC: Bartending is open! Threads will likely be short, but slowtime is still okay! Just expect short. Because otherwise my brain will melt out my ears. :D ]

cutting_edgex23

[OOM-but-not: In which X learns how many reasons there are to never do paperwork in the Security office again, and the Tracksuit Draculas learn -- something else. And there are no lasers. None.]

onceaviking

The door opens and a vampire walks through.
He's at work it seems. Tight black clothes, smeared lipstick on his cheek.
He also doesn't mind a break.

Headed for the bar first to get something to get rid of the lipstick with, and then taking up a booth, sprawling.

lady_mary

Bar has recently provided Mary with a spinet piano for her room. The small, black instrument is simple but elegant, and it is more than adequate for practice, but can’t match the sound of the larger model in the Bar. (Which, in turn, is not as fine as the instrument at Downton Abbey, alas.)

It’s been a long time since Mary last played in front of an audience, and then her listeners were fellow aristocrats, but she’s had so many changes in her life lately, what’s one more little one?

Tonight she’s seated at the piano in Bar area, playing a set that begins with Satie’s Gymnopédies. If that goes well, she may continue with some Dvořák.

Admirers welcome, between pieces of course.

[ooc: open till it scrolls]

fry_sandhu

Something has been playing on Fry's mind for a little while. So he has left a note at the bar.

( Gene )

With that off his chest, he starts doing some homework on the water cycle.

onceholyknight

Michael comes through the front door carrying a bundle in his free hand. It's made up of slashed and tattered grey wool, somewhat bloodstained, and what looks like the corners of soiled bandages poking out of it.

He heads straight for the fire and tosses it in, then sits down with a sigh.

from_earth

[Pre-Milliways: On the crimson plains of the fourth planet (we designate it Mars), Felton Lagravenese, a local yokel, informs Sparks Nevada, Marshal on Mars, that something strange has shown up in Town. Is it Jupiter spies, or worse, an illegally parked spaceship? Find out on the next thrilling adventure of: Sparks Nevada, Marshal on Mars!]

The front door to Milliways opens and makes an unusual sound not unlike swinging saloon doors.

Two men enter. One comes first -- tall and ruggedly handsome, if he does say so himself -- with a shock of red hair poking out the front of his cowboy hat and two pistols at his hips. Also present: what appears to be a pair of robot fists.

The other man -- shorter, grayer, more harried -- is creeping along behind, gazing fearfully around the first man's body.

Sparks Nevada, Marshal on Mars, stops inside the door and looks around.

"Reckon it's a saloon after all, Felton, else these aliens have a dedication to thoroughness and realism that's to be admired."

[OOC: First entrance! Tag one, the other, or both! Slowtime is likely, but post is open forever. :D ]

bigarmy_strangepants

Ragnar comes striding in, bringing good news -- he's taken Jarl Borg prisoner and will deal with him, and has taken his ships to man in the next raid to England! King Horik, now, that is another problem -- the man pronounced his own death sentence with what he said about Athelstan. But first, Ragnar needs him to get to England.

He sees neither Athelstan nor Sinric as he comes in, but somehow wasn't expecting the former; after looking around for the latter for a while, he walks up to the bar, and does indeed get letters from them -- a thicker one bound in twine, and a thin sheet. With those, he orders a large clay cup of mead, and then retires to the fireplace to read them.

It takes a while, as Ragnar isn't very good at this reading thing, and while he works his way through the missives, his face falls and darkens more and more. At the end, he downs the rest of the mead in one go, then lifts the cup and throws it into the fireplace with a moment's fierce anger. The cup shatters against the back of the fire, startling all the fish.

Ragnar orders a large jug of strong wine, and proceeds to get stinking drunk.

never_promised

Take no scorn to wear the horn,
It was the crest when you was born,
Your father's father wore it
And your father wore it too!

Hal-an-tow, jolly rumbelow,
We were up long before the day-O...

That's the sound of dishes being washed, really it is!

To back up a bit, Thor told Harry and Harry to take a couple of days washing dishes--separately. Morning and afternoon. But "morning" is a tragically loose concept, and Prince Hal has chosen to interpret it as midnight to...well...some time. By the time he made it to the kitchen (on the dot of twelve) Hal had acquired a small wooden whistle and another bottle of sack.

He has been washing dishes. Dutifully! But dawn is a slow time, dish-wise, so mostly he's entertaining the kitchen rats with pipes and dances, and occasional performances on the theme of The Battle of Lord Henry Percy, surnamed Henrie Hotspur of the North, with the Dishes of Milliways.

He finishes up a verse of his song, tootles briefly on his pipe, and then takes up a coffee cup. "If I mistake not," he shouts at it in an outrageous rendition of a Northumberland accent, "thou art Harry-- Harry Mug!"

...Did anyone want a peaceful quiet cup of coffee to start the day?

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.

forceimbalance

On the other side of the door, where no one can see it, a young man frowned slightly at a feeling he's not sure of for a split second before the Door opens.

In fact, the Door doesn't so much get pushed open as slide aside in an uncharacteristically futuristic way. "No, no, go tell him I'll be right there," he says over his shoulder--a computerized voice can be faintly heard to be saying "Of course, sir"--and steps through.

And freezes, even as the door closes behind him.

His eyes narrow as he scans the room. Nothing seems overtly threatening, though--and a bar is a bar. After a moment he moves with almost deceptive casualness towards the bar itself, trying to project that he knows exactly what he's doing. After all, where better to learn what's going on?

And if Anakin Skywalker's hand stays close to his lightsaber, well, who can blame him?

brobrobrobrobro

A gang of men in matching brown Adidas tracksuits steps into the bar. One rests a baseball bat on his shoulder. Two others have handguns tucked in their waistbands.

The ones carrying concealed weapons have their weapons... concealed.

"What is this, bro?"

"Bro. Is bar, bro."

"Not apartment, bro?"

"No, bro. Is bar."

"Drinks, bro?"

"Bro."

[OOC: Plot-locked to Doctor Evil. FOR NOW FREE FOR ALL, BRO!]

herostanding.livejournal.com

There's a small boy sitting cross-legged on the floor near the fireplace, apparently watching the various waitrats who pass.

(He's chatting to them through the Force; nearby psychics might pick up on this communication.)

Jacen has a mug of hot chocolate by his left knee, and a comic book (some Star Wars equivalent of Batman, probably starring Kyle Katarn) by his right.

sunbaked_baker

The long day of baking had been cathartic, and Sunshine had needed it. Rae... wasn't thinking about what was going on back home, just yet. Wasn't ready to, so wasn't going to. Not right now. She had just set the tray of still-warm baked good on the bar when she'd received a napkin.

"...Well, all right. You get some sleep," Sunshine says, slipping behind the bar and grabbing one of the drink recipe books.

She's in lime-green jeans and an electric-blue top, though they're mostly covered by the sunflower-dotted apron still tied about her waist. Where her clothes are not effectively covered, they're dusted with flour (how unusual!).

Soon, the Specials Board is up. Some the writing might be a bit cramped, but she'd had to make sure everything fit.

Happy Hour Specials!
Tequila Sunrise
Sunburn
Sun of a Beach
Sunset

Non-Alcoholic
Sunshake

AND Sunshine's Fresh Baked Goods
Cinnamon Rolls As Big As Your Head: $2.50
(Extra Icing: $.50)
Bitter Chocolate Death: $2.50
Caramel Cataclysm: $2.25
Lemon Lechery: $2.00
Chocoholia: $2.00
Muffins: $1/ea, $10.00/dozen
(Blueberry-Candied Pecan, Strawberry-Chocolate, Oatmeal-Cranberry, Jalapeno-Sweetcorn)

"Happy Hour starts now, denizens of Milliways," Sunshine says, smiling as she snags a gooey, fragrant cinnamon roll for herself. "What will you have?"

(ooc: Mun is tired and heading to bed. Post is open for tags forever, though. <3)

Current Mood: okay

gone_byebye

Tyler's not the only one capable of using the area out back for 'saber practice. And after the events of today- not the holidays, just today- Ray could really use it. Meditating at the Firehouse just got a dozen times more difficult.

He'll be going out to work with his nephews in Bellmore soon enough. For now, Ray's out by the lake with his green 'saber, blocking the living daylights out of a training drone set on the pattern he calls That Hamster Has Too Much Blood In Its Caffeine Stream.

... look, not everybody can be serenely and meditatively poetic when they're working with Jedi equipment, okay?

gone_byebye

"Oh. My. God."

Ray stumps through the door in his Unhappy Time Clothes (which is to say a three piece suit).

"No more. Just- no more. Hey, if anyone here happens to be from Washington DC or is in any way affiliated with the United States Government's Department of State, I'm going to need you to stay well away from me for the next twenty-four hours. That also applies to anyone affiliated with the House Foreign Affairs Committee, the Senate Foreign Relations Committee, the Department of the Navy, or the Department of Environmental Protection. No offense but right now I bear each and every one of you an impersonal burning dislike that's completely at odds with virtually every kind of personal moral or ethical code I currently profess."

Ray's kinda got lung capacity, what can we say. At any rate he stumps over to the Bar, gets a bottle of forest green, sluggishly moving, iridescent green stuff, and heads out back. He's gonna be doing lightsaber practice in that suit of his shortly, so watch where you step, okay?