milliways_bar | Entries tagged with trudy chacon

When the Front Door opens, Carl doesn't hesitate in striding through into the bar. He's got a heavy-laden backpack slung over one shoulder and he's carrying an older bolt-action rifle slung over the other. With the faded look of his clothes, the level of facial stubble (high) and layer of grime worn into his skin, he looks as if he's just wandered in after forty days and nights in the desert.

(That's not a stretch.)

"About bloody time," he mutters, to nobody in particular.

He stops by the bar to check for any mail, and finding none that he's that concerned about, turns his attention to the bar (no tender tonight) to order a drink.

"Scotch," he says, before he clarifies. "the Glenlivet."

When a glass appears, he shakes his head.

"No, just give me the bottle."

The glass remains, so he takes it to an empty table near a wall with a view of the doors and the counter, and settles in to contemplate if he should take an interest in a dinner that isn't liquid-based.

(The verdict is still out.)

[He's botherable, and will share the scotch if you bring your own glass. EDIT: Midnight EST, I'm off to bed but if anyone wants to tag, I'll pick them up this weekend.]

hasthehighground

A guy dressed in black jeans and a worn purple t-shirt opens the door, and takes a half-step in. One foot over the doorway, and one foot in his world, he glances sideways to use his peripheral vision. Yep, apartment still there.

Huh.

"... Sure, why not," he says. He steps in, hesitating for the briefest of moments before letting go of the edge of the door so it closes behind him. Clint rubs his hand over the short hair on the back of his neck, and steps to the side of the door so he's not blocking it. He realizes he stands out, but a door showed up in his apartment. He's pretty sure it'd be weirder to not be confused.

[OOC: Clint has been re-set with a new mun! Hellooo. He is post-Thor, pre-Tesseract babysitting duty. Please don't spoil him re: the future.

~~Catch me in crackchat at the moment as TLvop~~, or check out the contact post in his journal -- I'm prone to slow, but slowtimes are A+ awesome :)]

one_man_army

Those familiar with the sounds of gunfire and/or grenade explosions will probably take notice of the Front Door faster than those who are not; and while the Bar itself is in no danger from any shrapnel or wayward bullets, it is not protected from sound.

In this case, the door flies open with the bone-rattling sound of a nearby explosion, sending a man in camo fatigues and body armor sprawling onto the floor in a cloud of dust and smoke. His face is obscured by a black helmet and a pair of tinted goggles; his hands are wrapped around a M4, and it's only thanks now-closed door that he doesn't fire a burst back out into the fight.

(His men are out there, and he needs to get back--)

With a grunt, he tries to haul himself up off the floor, and manages enough footing to throw his weight at the door, shoulder first. It doesn't budge - and the soldier ends up in a heap at the foot of the door, blocking the path.

That hurt. A lot. He'll try again in just a minute, once his ears stop ringing and his teeth stop humming in his mouth. Damn RPGs are always more trouble than they're worth.

[OOC: Post is open. Carl will not shoot your pup - though he hasn't realized fully exactly where he is, since this is a pre-Milliways timeline shift that's occuring. He's younger, beneath the gear. Any questions can be hit on AIM at young scurlock. edit: SLOWTIMES please, still open to new tags though all will be hit back in the morning.]

hallelujahpilot

Out by the - well, not actually the lake, but the Caribbean inlet.

Let's start again.

On the beach of the Caribbean inlet, there is a battered looking Samson tiltrotor. The pilot of said vehicle is lounging on the sand nearby, her flightsuit rolled up to her knees while the upper part is unzipped, tied around her hips.

She can still get her gun from this position, but damn if she isn't going to enjoy some sun some place where things don't (generally) try and kill her.

Of course, her Samson made a ton of (possibly familiar, by this point) noise on entry, so the fact that she's around isn't exactly secret.

hallelujahpilot

[OoM: It's been three days since Carl appeared...]

The door swings open slowly. Which doesn't objectively make any sense, because the door that opened on the other side was a sliding one, but that's the way Milliways rolls, it seems.

The fact that it still seems to be acting like that is reassuring to the woman who cautiously peers around it.

“Well,” Trudy says to Carl behind her, “the Bar still seems to be here. A little banged up, though.”

Carl has his hand on the door-frame, as if testing it for stability as his eyes scan the room.

“It still looks better than it did when I left it,” he says. “I think that's a good sign."

Trudy walks in, still a little cautious, hand hovering where her handgun should be (it's in the room behind her). She turns to face him, and grins crookedly as he walks in, letting the door swing shut behind him.

It doesn't vanish.

“Guess we better see what the damage is upstairs,” she says, and with that, the two make their way across the bar (each taking note of the repairs) before they disappear up the stairs.

[ooc: no tags, please! this is just to establish that they are back]

Current Mood: relieved

one_man_army

After the evacuation notice went up, he knew he couldn't wait much longer to leave Milliways.

He leaves two notes tacked to the notice board (it seems more likely they'll get delivered that way), one for Jack and one for Trudy. Jack's is simple: Went back to Africa. You should come visit if this place goes to hell. -Carl Trudy's is also simple: I'm going back to Africa. I tried waiting as long as I could. If this is it, know that I'd get wet sand in my boots for your sake, Marine. I'll be better to the Earth, too. Always, C.

He packs a bag upstairs (he didn't have much here) and heads for the door, sidestepping the hole in the floor and ignoring the cracks in the ceiling. With a deep breath, he opens the door and heads for home.

Only problem is? He ends up in a supply closet instead.

[reactions only, he's gone for the duration of the allpocalypse.]

one_man_army

Carl is sitting at a table near the bar with a damp washcloth and a first-aid kit, cleaning out a rather impressive wound on his right forearm. He's gotten the bleeding to stop -- for the most part, anyway -- and is now working on getting set to suture the cut closed.

He doesn't seem bothered by the prospect either. He's dealt with worse on his own many times before.

He's got a bottle of water sitting beside him, half gone. He's botherable, as long as you don't mind the DIY doctoring going on.

hecu_marine

Adrian Shephard is not a man known for his subtlety or his patience in anything that does not involve waiting for a target to wander through his sights. Which is why he's standing in the middle of the Bar, hands cupped around his mouth, as he calls out, "Hey! Anybody here know anything 'bout all that shit down in the garage? I wanna see a man about a helicopter!"

That being said, he plops down in his seat and gets to work going over an extremely detailed topographical map of western Mongolia. He's got a busy week ahead of him.

hallelujahpilot

"Hey there, sister, long time no see."

"...that's what happens when you die on me.""

Current Mood: angry

one_man_army

not-really-oom

After the dead have had time to talk, it's their turn.

donthidemycigs

"What the hell is going on?"

This is not what the xenobotanist expected when she stepped out of the lab tonight. And we don't just mean Milliways (after all, she's already been through the welcome speech). We mean the burgundy and grey catsuit* she'll be burning the second she figures out where the fucking zipper is. She has a pistol. Or some weird excuse for one. Her boobs are spilling out all over the place. She's blonde.

And someone took away her goddamned cigarette.

Somebody better come forward with an explanation, and it better be a damn good one. She's pissed, she's nicotine-deprived, and she's armed.

[OoC: Open forever, with warnings for intermittent slows!
*Sorry for the poor quality image, it was the best I could find where she wasn't smiling. Grace refuses to smile. >_>]

trigger_man

Jack promised Carl and Raylan that he'd stay in the bar until they figured out what to do about the situation he'd run into outside, and he has no intention of breaking it. Besides, he's still pretty sore, and the bar's a much better place to recuperate than anywhere he can think of outside.

So Jack's sitting in a chair by the fire, sipping a beer. The swelling around his eye, jaw, and cheek have gone down, though they're still some pretty funky colours, and his movements when he gets up are still careful.

[ooc: off to bed, but open indefinitely!]

one_man_army

Carl's standing over near the Observation Window tonight, looking at the end of the universe -- though to be quite fair, he's not really watching the show of explosions and color. He's deep in thought, considering just what he and Raylan will have to deal with when they go back out to Jack's side of the door.

He has a beer sitting next to him on the ledge, but he's not drinking it due to the distractions running through his head.

hecu_marine

Here's the thing. Five out of six Combine combat terraforming Synths are dead. Four of them were taken out by Resistance attacks coordinated from the Greenbrier HQ. The one in Africa was taken down by the local humans acting entirely on their own. One Advisor died at the hands of the humans in the most recent attack. The Combine are anything but stupid; they're going to be stacking up their defenses on the last Gene Worm like there's no other strategic target on Earth. And as good as he is, as fast a learner as he is, Manny Redondo isn't gonna be able to handle air support during an attack on a facility like that all by his lonesome.

Which means that Shephard's gonna have to fly as soon as humanly possible, never mind the fact that he jumped out of his own helicopter and wrecked it. Which means he's gonna have to get better faster than even bug juice treatment will allow.

There is one very tired, very bruised, generally unhappy-looking Marine in the Bar just now, although the fact that he's wearing a blue and green sweater with the eagle-globe-and-anchor emblem on it instead of his fatigues may throw some people off. He's debating whether or not he's up for trying to repair his old fatigues, or whether he should just cash them in as scrap and get a new set from the Bar. Seems like cheating somehow. He's also debating what filthy names to call the Bar because it won't give him a beer, so feel free to point and laugh.

smallgayjew

Posner has been coming to Milliways long enough that he is under the impression he knows just about all the tricks the bar has to play on its patrons.

He's never seen the odd sort of stereo system off in the corner before, and he has to go and investigate.

When he gets closer, he finds he actually has to investigate further. He really doesn't want to pick up the microphone, but he finds himself doing it anyway.

And when the music starts, he doesn't recognize the song, but he sings anyway.

I don't want to get over you
I guess I could take a sleeping pill
And sleep at will
And not have to go through what I go through
I guess I should take Prozac, right,
And just smile all night
At somebody new,
Somebody not too bright
But sweet and kind
Who would try to get you off my mind
I could leave this agony behind
Which is just what I'd do
If I wanted to,
But I don't want to get over you

Cause I don't want to get over love
I could listen to my therapist,
Pretend you don't exist
And not have to dream of what I dream of;
I could listen to all my friends
And go out again
And pretend it's enough,
Or I could make a career of being blue
I could dress in black and read Camus,
Smoke clove cigarettes and drink vermouth
Like I was 17
That would be a scream
But I don't want to get over you

He sounds nothing at all like Stephen Merritt, but he does all right with it anyway.

[ooc: Evil Karaoke Machine time! Tag in to respond to Posner, or just to start your own karaoke thread. Open forever. Threadhopping much encouraged.]

hallelujahpilot

One mercenary pilot in the bar.

She has a booth to lounge at, a glass of whiskey, and her sketchbook. (Okay, fine, she also has her handgun, because she just walked off the Hell's Gate base, but she wears it so often she feels odd without it).

Botherable.

Current Mood: content

hecu_marine

Shephard's gonna be in Poland, or what used to be Poland, real damn soon. He's got a helicopter to fly and then a lot of hell to raise (once he gets past the throwing up part, which has unfortunately become pretty much ritual for him whenever he touches down successfully). He's just tidying up a thing or two before heading out, and by 'a thing or two' we mean 'the hide of a yerik that he managed to take during his visit to Pandora with Tsu'tey'. The hide's upstairs. He spoke with Tsu'tey at some length and came up with a chemical bath that he figures should do the trick for turning it into the equivalent of a buckskin. That's gonna take a few days, though, so right now he's not touching it. He's going over the one other thing he took from the yerik instead- the animal's largest teeth. Elk on Earth have big damn canines that make for nice carved ivory objects, and yerik teeth look to be about the same.

Oh, don't look at him like that. Tsu'tey's people got the meat.

Anyway, feel free to bother the fellow in military fatigues who's currently meticulously cleaning the rather large teeth of an animal found nowhere on Earth. Or don't. Up to you.

one_man_army

When Carl makes it back into the bar for the first time in weeks, he fully intends to head for a shower and then make an effort to find his girlfriend.

But Bar, it seems, has other plans.

He eyes the napkin, and the stairwell upstairs. He's seriously considering making a break for it when a second napkin appears.

"At least let me change my shirt, then?"

A plain black t-shirt appears on the counter before Bar heads off for a nap; Carl changes quickly before glancing around for a piece of chalk to write on the blackboard. He thinks for a minute or two about what he's in the mood for, before writing up the specials.

Happy Hour Specials
Mai Tai's half off.

Tell me your favorite vacation spot (tropical locales preferred) & 1st drink is free.

He dusts his fingers off on a damp dishtowel before he goes looking for some snacks to set out on the counter. Happy Hour is open!

[ooc: Open for at least the next 3 hours, so until at least 10pm EST, but possibly longer than that.]

one_man_army

Carl hasn't been in the bar all that often (things have been a weird combination of both quiet and chaotic out in Africa) but when it shows up for him tonight, he's grateful for the chance to get a hot shower.

So he leaves a note for Trudy at the bar, heads upstairs, and cleans himself up.

Once he's through with that, he's back downstairs and settled in a comfortable booth. He's stretched out across one bench seat with a book in his hands (it is not a romance novel, at least not tonight -- tonight it's a guide to vegetable gardening) and a beer close by.

He's hoping his girlfriend is around, but he's botherable by anyone.

hallelujahpilot

The bar is up one Marine pilot.

Said Marine pilot is at a table, boots up and crossed at the ankle, sketchbook balanced across her thighs. She's absently doodling, but from the faint frown she's also thinking.

Shephard offered her a puppy. A houndeye puppy, admittedly, but still. A puppy.

She really, really, really wants a puppy.

And yet, the logistics aren't looking that promising.

Trudy would probably appreciate someone distracting her.

Current Mood: discontent

hecu_marine

The door opens under the assault of a massive wave of summertime heat. On the other side is the song of birds and the chatter of scores of unseen insects, and the smell of plants both Earthly and otherwise. There are hints of moisture on the breeze, redolent as it is with the scents of sap and smoke as well.

And of something not unlike wet dog, since there is a blue-striped three-legged Christmas ham of a creature scampering through with a happy wriggling trill. We feel compelled to mention the happy part, because the two humans and the one Na'vi some paces behind her look anything but...

Australia is not a place for the faint of heart. Today it doesn't look like it has been a place for the strong of heart, either.

Enter three guys, covered in bits of Australia, and badly in need of a drink. Or twelve.

[OOC: Three pups, three muns, and one happy houndeye. Have at!]

v-accidentprone.livejournal.com

Alex has a rucksack full of books and is entirely prepared to spend a few hours at Milliways working on homework so he has plenty of time to play football later. (Yeah, Milliways is weird, but he's not stupid; he's been offered a godsend to his free time, and he'll take it.) But he swings by the bar first to get a snack, and instead receives a note politely requesting that he tend the bar.

He stares at it. "You do know I'm only fourteen?"

Yes, the note informs him, it is aware of that.

Alex sighs and hops behind the bar, getting the idea of the layout before he attacks the specials board.

HAPPY HOUR SPECIALS
Milkshakes
(bartender is not qualified to serve alcohol)

Help the bartender with his coursework and get 2/3 off anything.

With that sorted, Alex settles behind the bar with a bag of crisps and a notebook to get in a little work in between customers.

lasthalfmile

Ben, for his part, is mostly squelching a smirk as he scribbles on his half of the specials board.

Dead Man Walking
The Lazarus
Walking Dead

He glances at Dan once he's finished.

"Well, I think it's funny."

Dan, however, is not so amused.

"You just give a minute to figure somethin' out..."

After a quick consult with the giant book of drink recipes, he chalks up a few specials of his own.

Arrogant Bastard Ale
S.O.B.
Extended Jail Sentence

And then, he's smirking too.

Happy hour is open!

[OOC: Tag one or both, if unspecified, you'll get both! EDIT, 11:55PM EST Holy cow, ya'll! AWESOME HAPPY HOUR IS AWESOME. No new tags, please, and all slows will be picked up tomorrow! Thanks for tagging!]

one_man_army

When Carl comes downstairs, he's met with the sight of construction toy 'mania' and it only takes him a minute to remember just what that means. The vid-window that appears when he approaches the bar confirms it, and after a moment of browsing his possible options, he makes his selection.

Four legs is going to take some getting used to, for a moment. But then, Bar provides him with a squeaky toy, and all bets are off.

And this bunny rabbit is going down.

open all cubefall!

trigger_man

[OOM: March, 2014]

The door flies open to reveal Jack standing on the other side, looking rather alarmed. It's not the sudden appearance of the bar that's put that expression on his face or at least not entirely. Usually he'd be glad to see the bar, but not now. Now isn't the time to get stopped by anyone he knows, and the last thing he wants is for someone else to see him like this. Not when he's done a pretty good job at pretending that he's okay, inside the bar at least.

He needs to get outside, get some air, and he needs it now.

He strides through the bar, his eyes locked on the lake door. Once he's outside, he heads toward the lake, hopefully far enough from the bar that no one will see him.

There, he braces himself against a tree and closes his eyes, trying to breathe, trying to talk himself down from the anxiety that makes it feel like he's breathing through a straw.