milliways_bar | Entries tagged with tyler darrow

Tyler has been productive in a sideways sort of way.

This means that he has:
Cleaned his apartment
Washed everything machine washable in that apartment
Shined every pair of shoes he owns
Researched several new book ideas
Checked for new pirate radio stations in his neighbourhood and
Written several chapters - none of which fit into the book that is due next to his publisher.

So now he's just going to step out of the linear flow of time, get a beer, and check if he has a check from a parallel timeline available. It's iffy to sell your soul do the devil for money, but selling book rights has worked out alright so far.

If anyone wants an author he'll be at Bar going through royalty checks.

lazy_but_loyal

The door swings open to the sound of thumping house music.

A leggy, blonde woman steps through, distracted by checking text messages on her cell phone. (No word from Eric yet that he's coming home from Dallas.)

She's wearing a tight mini-dress made of black vinyl with a matching cropped jacket, her hair teased and tousled and sprayed perfectly into place. Those strappy, six-inch high stiletto heels could kill.

And when she finally glances up from her phone and realizes that this isn't Eric's office at Fangtasia, so could the look on her face.

"...Oh, what the fuck."

Who dares to welcome a pissed-off and confused vampire to Milliways?

[ooc: All threads millitimed to before Sunshine's because of reasons. >_>]

wolfinsheclothing

"I have to say," the young-looking woman with the wolf ears and tail announces with an air of authority, "that this wine is most excellent." That air of authority is, perhaps, diminished by the fact that she is standing on top of her table as she makes her announcement.

Still, she manages to appear quite dignified, for someone whose cheeks are flushed and who was sloshing a bit of wine out of her glass as she gestures with it for emphasis.

"Most excellent," she repeats, words carefully enunciated so that they aren't in danger of slurring. She tilts the glass back, drinking the last of the wine in it, and then frowns at it as if it has betrayed her by being empty. Then she looks mournfully down at the table where a number of bottles have been laid out. Many are empty, but a couple still contain plenty to drink.

Unfortunately, they're all the way down there on the table, and Holo is up here, standing up. She may not be especially tall, but she is now drunk enough to know that bending over to find a non-empty bottle might, possibly, be a bad idea.

Still, she looks like she's pretty seriously considering it.

aleister_author

[OOM: Look in a book.]

Tyler has a book by another author tonight.
Cryptonomicon
It's not really his normal genre, to read or to write. Which is part of why he would be distracted when the napkin to take a turn bartending comes up.

"Wha? Sure. I've got a few thoughts, but give me a deck of cards first."

Specials
Whip wine
Prickle Berry Wine
Longland Beer
Sunshine

"Happy Hour is on folks!"

Come and ask what the cards are for or order a drink, either works.

aleister_author

"The branches scratch - scratched."

Tyler stops reading out loud to scrawl a correction on the manuscript in front of him. Editing, on any level, kind of sucks. Why don't you give him a break? Please?

aleister_author

In deference to the season, the working title of Tyler's current project is boxing Day Hordes and not nearly as filled with sprays of blood as his usual work.

It's also in script form backed with stick figure sketches instead of his usual prose. He promised something you could use for an arty sort of movie and there's no point in starting further from the end point than you have to.

So, near the fireplace with a pad of paper on his knee, there is a botherable horror author.

scarred_grin

There's another, smaller party going on down by the lake, in honor of the longest night of the year.

Well, religious celebration complete with 'sacrifice' (no animals were harmed during the making of this party) and sunset-to-sunrise music and dancing. And feasting. Totally free food and drinks, if you don't mind Roman cuisine.

If you can find the place, that is. Sure, there's a small bonfire, and there's activity going on, but it's off on the far side of the lake, more secluded. This isn't a lighthearted thing, here. This is a throwback to the time when people knew how vital the sun was, and didn't just take for granted the fact that it would come up tomorrow. Worlds are born and worlds die, and you just never know when.

And if it's after midnight, and the sacrifice has been made, you just might be able to catch the Norse god posing as the Syrian-Roman priest-emperor whose shindig this is, if you're so inclined. (He'd be the one covered in blood and flowers.)

[ooc: open all week, what with holiday business and whatnot]

fireinthehole

The creepy feeling in the woods hasn't gotten much better. But time and a crop that needs tending wait for no man's jitters. And jitters are against Boyd's personal motto, anyhow. Especially when there's this much work to do. He's got a rain gauge out there in his little clearing, and last time he was out there he thought it was looking a mite low.

So to add insult to injury -- he's got a lot of work still left to do on the drying shed, which means hauling out even more supplies from the bar into the spooky woods -- Boyd Crowder is hauling gallon jugs of water out into the woods, and he's doing so without aid of a cart or a handtruck or any such device. Two are in his backpack. One is in his left hand.

(His only concession to the increasingly spooky woods is the handgun at the small of his back. This is why his right hand is free.)

Just a mild-mannered gentleman farmer, out tending his fields. That's all Boyd Crowder is.

aleister_author

From one corner of the bar the noise are mostly scratching pens, coughing, and the ding of wrapped cough drops off a candy dish.

Tyler has acquired a blanket, a pad of paper for notes, and a home cold remedy.

Ok, that last one is a mug of hot Everclear cut with lemon water and honey but there has to be something he can take for this cold.

Botherable and slightly miserable.

scarred_grin

Fake it 'til you make it, honey.

Feeling uneasy, maybe a little vulnerable? You do what Pyrrha!Loki does: you put on your tallest platforms, a skirt you really like (that covers your bandages) and your favorite shirt from your favorite band; you make your hair extra-big, and you runway-stomp on down to the bar like nothing in the universe can bring you down today, and maybe it won't.

And if you're Pyrrha, on this particular day, you find a note waiting for you at the bar. She reads it and grins like a kid in a toy store--oh, this'll be fun.

So, music. Drawings on the board representing the eternal struggle of robot versus demon. And of course:

Specials:
Snakebite and Black
Death in the Afternoon
Hazelnut Hot Cocoa
Cherry Cola Slushie
Win a staring contest and your drink is free

Go on. What could it hurt? She's never met a bad mood she couldn't break.

[ooc: open forever]

aleister_author

Tyler staggers down from his room and to the bar. He has had better mornings.

"Oooh. Poor life choices why do I make you?"

Mostly because having your brains smashed in, either by a slice of lemon wrapped round a large gold brick or the cheaper cousin that is a used and broken length of two by four, generally leads to a hangover of some sort.

"Painkillers. Painkillers and water. Please."

No loud noises, please.

aleister_author

Tyler comes in from the back rubbing his arms through his jacket, trying to restore circulation. This sudden cold snap is nothing he wants any part of.

"Hey, can I get something like a Pan Galactic Gargleblaster, but cheaper? Like's it's budget cousin or something? I'll be over by the fireplace."

Order placed with a waitrat he heads over to the fireplace to see if one of the couches is free. Or maybe one of the armchairs.

thekidfrombrooklyn

Steve is drawing.

This has happened before.

Steve is drawing trees.

This has...not often happened before.

He puts his pencil down and rubs the back of his neck, frowning.

[ooc: Slowtime in effect as of 11:30 p.m. mountain time. Thanks!]

dont_turn_around

There is a new tree in the forest.

Elm do brood,

The other trees don't like it.

and oak do hate,

It's keeping to itself, for now.

but the willow walks when you travel late.

For now.

bloodyvirgo

It's late, but sleep hasn't come yet for a certain troll. The last few nights have brought troubled sleep for Kanaya, sopor slime or no, so this evening she's a little reluctant to head upstairs and climb into her recuperacoon.

So, there is a young troll curled on one end of one of the couches, a laptop on her lap and displaying a movie while Kanaya watches through a half-lidded gaze.

sees_them_too

If there was one thing that could be admired about Professor Umbrdige, it was her efficiency. The March issue of The Quibbler, with Harry Potter’s interview splashed across the front page, had arrived at Hogwarts this morning. By the time the first class of the day let out, a new educational decree had been posted all over the corridors.

Luna had snagged one and is now looking at the large, impressive piece of parchment with an unaccountable expression of happiness.

By Order Of
The High Inquisitor of Hogwarts

Any student found in possession of the magazine The Quibbler will be expelled.

The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-Seven.

Signed
Dolores Jane Umbridge
High Inquisitor

Luna lays it down next to her own monthly issue of The Quibbler. She’ll have to find a way to get it to Dad. He might well want to frame it.

An official ban by a member of the Ministry of Magic? That’s brilliant.

stuck_mynock

Did something happen?

Everybody seems so tense. And some people are bears.

Atton whines softly at the bar when he arrives. It gives him a napkin.

Long story.

Sniffle. "Can I stab people?"

No.

"I hate you."

He forgets his hate pretty quickly when a bowl of ice cream appears on the bar top though.

deadlinedriven

The hand-holding's over, tonight's signing was a success, and the Black Pawn after-after-party is winding down.

Gina's exhausted in the best sense of the term, and she's stepping out to hail a cab when she walks into what's become a familiar bar, instead.

She smiles to herself, and threads her way toward the counter.

A short napkin exchange later, she's behind said counter. Gina's never one to back down from a challenge, even when she's wearing a strapless Lisa Ho number that arrived from Sydney less than twenty-four hours earlier.

Specials:

Bukowski Boilermaker
Chandler's Gimlet
Margarita Atwood
Old Fashioned Anderson

(Editor's note: Manhattans are also half-off, as soon as I find rye whiskey back here)

By all rights, she should switch out these Manolos for something more sensible, but the height advantage can't be ignored.

[ ooc: and, as of 12:43 a.m. EST, I must beg off for bed; thanks for tagging in, guys, y'all are fantastic! I'll be hitting up slows tomorrow for all who want 'em. ]

gryphon_leaper

All the lands the sea washes, the saying goes, owe tribute to Minos. The ships of Crete keep pirates down, and ensure the safety of travelers and goods alike. More, any people who would make their tools of bronze rather than horn or bone or stone must rely on his good graces; should Minos stop the tin-ships, it would be disastrous for all. When Crete calls for tax and tribute, Crete receives what it demands. From some lands, some towns, it is nothing more than goods. From others- well, Minos has foreign levies from Africa, and slaves from anywhere they can be bought. But mostly when there is human tribute to be taken, it comes at a set time each year: so many youths, and so many maidens, to be taken safely to Knossos and dedicated to the Earth-Shaker there.

A Cretan ship that had been very long and very far from home arrived at the harbor at Amnisos this morning. It was a long time between that landing and reaching Knossos town, and the ceremonies and purifications in the House of the Ax did not make it any less long. Even seeing the bull-dancers brought in long ago practicing on the Bull of Daidalos did the new arrivals little good. All they have on their minds just now is the serving-trestle at the far end of the hall, where the food is being put out. There will be time to change out of blood-spattered clothing and into something else later. After the food.

Although, now that she has stepped through the door at the end of the hall, the girl in the quilted jacket and deerskin trousers looks rather as if she thinks someone's pulling some ill-conceived prank. Why, there's nobody here at all that she can so much as recognize.

Already she's beginning to hate the Labyrinth.

[Tinytag: Thalestris, Apollo, Palamedes.]

mightbeawizard

Between texting her sister - Where is my old prom dress? I need it for my stupid job - and balancing her third coffee in the other hand, April is not giving very much attention to where she's going.

The parking lot of Pawnee City Hall seems a lot more crowded than normal, though - so she looks up.

She has about thirty seconds before throwing her coffee at a waitrat.

aleister_author

The sign goes up in a simple white chalk scrawl.

Mixed Special Tonight
10% off mixed drinks
50% off if you have a mixed species relationship

No, they can't both count at the same time.

"Happy Hour is on folks. Come and get it!"

igetthatalot

Bad thing about Varric Tethras' life: the people he has to deal with. He's a younger son of a noble family turned merchanters in a city where the Dwarven Merchants' Guild and the Carta can make life very, very miserable for merchant families that don't play the right games the right way. Good thing about Varric Tethras' life: the dwarf is very, very, very good with words. Sometimes better than his family is with money- and his family's usually pretty good with money. Ranking Carta members can be remarkably vain, and playing on that vanity can go far. Bribes don't always have to be monetary.

Did you know there was such a thing as a dwarven romance novel? And that a really good writer can put just about anybody he knows in the role of the ridiculously buxom and breathtakingly clever protagonist as she carves her way metaphorically and physically through the hidebound but remarkably lusty nobility of Orzammar?

Well, if you didn't, you might want to check out the rolls of parchment drying on the table where Varric is currently working. Or not, if you're the kind of human or elf or whatever-you-are who isn't into that sort of thing. Varric will probably be sociable either way, once he gets Mischa past the gate marshals and into the Proving Master's pants. It's a tricky paragraph. These things take a deft touch.

aaaaaaaagh_sky

[Out of Milliways: Discussing the missing water with Sheriff Simms.]

The door opens and Ellen comes in, Dogmeat at her heels. She's wearing an ancient leather duster over her blue and gold Vault suit, and she's frowning at a yellowed piece of paper in her hand. It takes her a few moments to realize where she is. "Huh," she says. "Okay, didn't mean to do that... Anybody here ever hear of the Apostles of Eternal Light?"

Somehow she kind of doubts that's the case, so she heads over to the Bar to get a bottle of Nuka-Cola in the meantime.

morethanprops

After trying Atlantean Moist is in a comfortable chair by the fire with some lemonade.

The world feels fuzzy and he's not sure if he's floating but so far he has no complaints though he does worry about his legs. They keep not being there the way they're supposed to be.

Tomorrow his hangover will be epic and he's going to regret most of what he said but that comes much later.

(OOC: A rare chance to see Moist completely drunk and not in control of what he says. Open until it scrolls.)

laundry-buddy.livejournal.com

When Billy next finds himself in Milliways, he finds himself accosted (if such a word can be used of a tabletop) by the bar, via napkin.

He reads the very pointed note, and goes around to stand behind the bar, instead of moping around in front of it. Billy's drink-mixing skills are barely existent, but he figures he can manage for a little while.

He thinks carefully about what to put on the specials board, finally going with:

Martinis
and...
Beer?

(Can you tell he's not too good at this?)

(ooc: open until about midnight EST.)