milliways_bar | Entries tagged with wee hughie

There's a man by the fireplace, writing little bits and pieces in a very beaten up notebook. He's rather deep in thought, but botherable.

~~(Slow time for a few hours. My library books are going to be overdue, and I need to return them).~~

Right. Back.

wee_hughie

Hughie is carrying a large cardboard box filled with comic books. He foolishly tries to open the door to his apartment without first putting the box down, and so, not being the most graceful bloke in the world, when the door flies open under the weight of his shoulder, he loses his balance, trips over the threshold, and takes a nosedive.

The contents of the box go spilling across the floor of the bar: The Seven, Homelander, Teenage Kix, Blarney Cock, Ledge Leaper, Ape Fist, Tek Knight, Wonder Wing, Supremo, Overboot, Cape Brigade, Bullet Point, Lard Lad, Scarlet Wasp, Bicycle Repair Man, Sgt. Yeah, Pressure Cooker, Fire Dog, Iron Owl, Man Can, Vicadin Jill, Judge Badge, Kid Banjo....

Yeah, these ain't your usual comic books.

Flat on his belly, he groans and gets to his hands and knees, sighing when he sees where he is and the mess he has to clean up. "Bollocks," he mutters as he begins his task.

[Tinytag: Gordon Freeman]

wee_hughie

Hughie's taken to napping on the sofa, even though he's been warned repeatedly not to do so because of Weird Things That Might Happen To Him Whilst He's Asleep, Hur Hur Hur. So unfortunately for him, he'd completely forgotten that it was April 1.

He awakes with a snort. He rubs his eyes and yawns widely. He stretches and starts to get up.

*clunk*

A bloodstained cricket bat falls from his lap onto the floor.

"...Uh?"

Wait. He looks down at his clothes. He's wearing a white shirt that's smeared with blood. And a red necktie. And a little nametag that reads ... Foree Electric. Sales Adviser. ... Shaun.

Shaun???

Hughie quickly gets to his feet and he's immediately hit with the sensation of being about five inches taller than he ought to be. Also, he's got hair.

"Oh, fer Christ's-- AUGH! Ye've got t' be kiddin' me!"

At least he's still got his Scottish accent.

uksupercop.livejournal.com

"I should have known this would happen sooner or later."

[tinytag: gordon o'dell, jake o'dell, dennis doyle]

got-red.livejournal.com

The only things Shaun had on his mind today were doing a favor for a sort-of-friend and having a nice cold pint afterwards.

What he definitely wasn't expecting was ending up several inches shorter with someone else's face.

"Ohhhh fuck."

zombiequeenliz.livejournal.com

Today, there is a grumpy blonde Brit sitting Indian-style in a booth.

She has tea.

Tea makes everything better.

Tinytag: Liz (SotD)

callitavesper.livejournal.com

James Bond...

...has a Santa hat stuck on his head. Bar's doing. He's not happy.

Current Mood: aggravated
Current Location: at the bar

hero_farmboy

It might be winter in Kansas, but there isn't a whole lot of snow as yet. This is why Clark is out back, enjoying the cold weather and the snow that is here at the bar. He's wandering slowly around the lake, occasionally balling up some snow and perfectly aiming a snowball at an unsuspecting tree.

Ignore the fact that he's not exactly dressed for it. Winter clothes are a foreign concept to those from ice planets.

call-me-kick.livejournal.com

Kick's been gone for two days. (It may seem longer, if you haven't seen her -- and chances are, you haven't. She's stealthy like that.)

She hates being home, though, especially without her uncle (even if he's the reason she left in the first place) -- so before the sun rises, she slinks back through her door and back into Milliways.

Slowly, she makes her way to Bar and is greeted by a happy-looking Nero on the way. "Shush, you," she says to the wolf, petting him on the head. "Don't you tell uncle Nick I'm back yet."

He doesn't. He does follow her, though, hoping that Kick'll share the waffles she just got from Bar.

She does.

So there you have it -- a small girl and a wolfpup who's a little more than half her size, sitting near the fire, eating waffles.

wee_hughie

[OOM: Issue #11 details about where he's been.]

Hughie stumbles through the door, a hand clasped over his mouth as he's very nearly on the verge of retching, when he discovers that he's not in the men's room at Vasilii's tavern, but the Bar at the End of the Universe.

...Nice.

At least there's central heating here.

He sits down heavily at the nearest table and puts his face in his hands, exhaling a shaky drawn-out sigh.

feminine-menace.livejournal.com

The Front Door slams open and YT stalks in, smelling faintly but nonetheless unmistakably (and somewhat nauseatingly) of vinyl. She crosses to the Bar without saying hello to anyone and collapses on a stool, her elbows on the bartop and her fingers clenched in her short hair. YT emits a noise that falls somewhere in between a sigh and an "Aaaarrrrgh."

Guess what kind of day she's having?

uksupercop.livejournal.com

Judging by the faint crying sounds from the towel-wrapped bundle in his arms, Nicholas's recent time spent as a dog has left some residual empathy for canines in peril. After stopping at the bar for some suitable puppy food, he heads for a quiet booth.

Feel free to intercept him though, because he really doesn't know what he's going to do with the little guy yet.

wee_hughie

Hughie starts to itch again. He feels the impending change coming on. And in just a few moments, he'd be human -- a naked human.

Darting through the door as fast as his stubby little pony legs can carry him, he races up the stairs to his room. The doorknob is horse-mouth-sized, so after a deft turn, the door opens, and Hughie tumbles inside--

PWROM.

--He lands sprawling on the floor, completely starkers. He toes the door shut.

"Buggerall," he mutters, rubbing his knees and elbows as he gets to his feet. But hey, he's bipedal again, which is most excellent.

And luckily he's left his leather trench coat here. He can cover up with that. So he pulls it on and wraps it close around him, and as he goes downstairs in his bare feet, he feels vaguely like a crusty flasher. This is not helping his mood.

"Bar, y'know I love ye, but I'm thinkin' I'm owed one right now. Ye could replace my favorite green hoodie, could ye not, then?"

A green hooded sweatshirt appears on the countertop, neatly folded.

"Thankye, lass."

Tucking it under his arm, he heads straight for the door -- and home.

(Unless someone happens to strike up a conversation with the barefooted flasher in the leather trench coat.)

wee_hughie

This tiny Scottish pony is fed up with being a tiny Scottish pony.

He did learn to talk again (he ate some hay and it cleared his throat right up -- he was just a little hoarse -- ha! ow, sorry), which gave him some hope in the sense that maybe he was slowly turning back into a human. But he was still a quadruped with hooves, when being a biped with fingers and toes was all he wanted.

Although he had to admit, running along the lakeshore at a nice gallop was pretty exhilirating.

Hughie is now hanging around the backdoor entrance, chewing on a straw of hay. If anybody wants to talk to him, he can answer without it being Horseyspeak.

Current Mood: moody

wellthrownstone.livejournal.com

Your bartender is not a wolf.

The reason for that has more to do with the fact that cosmic fate has decided that the poor Rivan King will not be wandering past any chairs than anything else. There is no other reason, really, except perhaps that being a wolf wouldn't be a particularly upsetting situation for Garion as he is, in fact, related to an actual wolf.

Don't ask.

That said, he's at the bar, actually somewhat pleased at all the four legged critters wandering around the bar. While he's unaware of the situation that's causing it, he's quite sure that seeing more animals in the bar of all kinds might prevent that most irritating of reactions from people when he's trying to sleep near the fire as a wolf. That said:
Specials
Timberwolf
Pink Pussycat
Trojan Horse
Monkey's Lunch
and any other drink named for an animal
Why yes, he does think a few of the patrons could do with a bit of experience on the furry/hooved/clawed side of things. Why do you ask?

bartletstrust.livejournal.com

Outside, by the lake. One Bovine Conspirator, watching the rocks nearby.

He's been unable to figure out how to talk, so far, and even if he did--He's not going to tell anyone who he is.

He's hoping that someone will figure out how to switch the transformed patrons back; 'wait until it wears off' isn't a solution to his mind.

Lacking magic, though, there's really not much else to do.

wee_hughie

There is a tiny Scottish pony outside by the lake.

Hughie had found it far too claustrophobic inside the bar. It was probaby some kind of deep-seated animal instinct that made him want to escape it, to be out in the open. And somehow, the lush, dewey greenery and the quiet stillness of the water reminded this pony of the northern island far, far away where his hardy ancestors had been born and bred for centuries--

Aw, this's just bloody stupid! Hughie snorts with an irritated toss of his head.

He can't go back to New York like this, obviously. He's going to have to wait until someone in the bar figures out what happened, who did this, and how to turn them back into people again.

And currently, he has the grave sensation that any moment now, small children would discover him and want to ride on his back and/or tie pink ribbons in his mane.

wee_hughie

Right. So.

Hughie had promised himself to stay put and not do anything out of the ordinary or eat anything out of the ordinary unless it came directly from Bar. And that's exactly what he did! He swears! He only bumped into a chair when a hyperactive sheepdog came running aimlessly through the pub and almost knocked him over.

But then not too long afterward, he started feeling itchy and snorty and kept stamping his feet for no reason.

And then?

There was a tiny Scottish pony in the bar.

"Oh, bollocks," Hughie whinnies, shaking his mane.

feminine-menace.livejournal.com

She's not certain how it happened, or when, but one thing's for sure - YT is pretty pissed.

YT entered Milliways through the utility closet door in her apartment, as usual, and immediately headed for the couch by the fireplace to do some of her Comp Lit reading. She didn't so much as see any suspicious free food, much less eat it. So why the hell does she now have four feet, no hands, and her eyes in the wrong place? Why did everything get so much bigger all of a sudden?

When she finds out the answers to these questions, and the person responsible for this crap, there will be a reckoning. Oh, yes.

She doesn't know exactly what she's turned into: someone should maybe show her a mirror or give her a clue. Anyone who knows YT may find it odd that, while she is under normal circumstances a rather petite human, she makes for a pretty big rat.

[OOC: Warning for slowtimes throughout the day. As far as plot stuff goes, YT has turned into one of those big feral rats you'd see in, say, the New York City subway system. She can speak Rat but only at "me talk pretty one day" proficiency.]

cheevy.livejournal.com

Chairs are set in a circle, and nearby tables stocked with the usual Free Stuff -- coffee, tea, snacky stuff. The sign for Life Support is up. Guppy is here in some Guppy-manner we're sure his mun will get around to describing. Miniver also is here, looking typically rumpled and sporting a rather interesting mark on his neck.

Let the meeting begin!

[ooc: As usual, Life Support will be taking new threads through Thursday and slowtiming as long as necessary to allow for muns in all timezones to have their pups in. Don't worry about tagging in "late". Tag to Miniver or Guppy or just pop in and someone will get to you. And thread-hop people! Is a circle!! ^_^

To any new muns who haven't seen this before: Welcome to Life Support! Drop in and have your pup bitch about canon, backstory, bar plot, doom, or just come chat. All are welcome.]

wee_hughie

Hughie has claimed the corner of a couch for himself. He rather likes this couch, mostly because he doesn't possess the luxury of one, especially one this comfy. He's vaguely considering asking Butcher or M.M. to get a couch like this for the office, but then Butcher's dog would probably monopolize it anyway.

So, there he is sipping an Irish coffee, leafing through a comic book. There's a stack of the damn things on the coffee table. Tek-Knight. Swingwing. The whole Payback canon.

Sometimes, he muses with a slow shake of his head, I just cannae believe people go for this crap.

There's also an English-to-Russian phrasebook lying untouched on the cushion beside him. He should at least get some phonetic memorizing done, but he's too distracted. Isn't he always?

Anybody remotely attracted to comic books or giving a brief lesson in fun and useful Russian phrases is bound to notice the goateed man in the green hoodie on the couch with his Chucks up on the edge of the table.

Or, y'know, not. Whatever.

[OOC: Slowtimes in effect plz :)]

stubborn-annie.livejournal.com

[OOM: Wells meets a wandering storyteller on the road in Arcadia.]

Annie makes her way down the stairs, scrubbing at her face with one hand. There's nothing new tacked to the bulletin board about Harry, and the Bar merely offers an apologetic silence with her breakfast, so she's just going to find a spot to sit and hope like hell that someone's figured out how to look for Harry. Right now she's just too tired and wound up to really attempt much on that front herself.

Most likely she wouldn't mind a distraction from her thoughts.

pirate-gibbs.livejournal.com

The door opens, and a man stumbles through. By the standards of later eras, he'd be declared legally drunk. By his own standards, he's teetering far too close to sober for this hour of the night. And there's always one more pub, tavern, watering hole or bar to visit before he finds his way to the whatever convenient lodgings are available.

This bar, however, is new to him. And well lit, and devoid of the usual smells and noise. Surely the wealthy planters of Port Royal haven't begun to invade his fair Tortuga, have they? No matter. A bar's a bar, and Joshamee Gibbs will take his rum where he can.

He heads to the bar, leaving in his wake a rather distinct aroma that stands out even in his own day.

[OOC: Please see this back room post for details! Also, must call slowtime i will tag as I can.]

got-red.livejournal.com

[OOM: It's been a funny sort of day. mid-canon, pre-epilogue]

The door opens slowly, revealing a youngish man with reddish-brown hair and a very confused and annoyed expression on his face.

"Okay, this is really not fucking funny."

[ooc: And I am ridiculously late posting this. Slowtime is our friend.]

wee_hughie

[OOM: A lot happened in the past 24 hours (vague Issue #10 details in condensed form).]

Wee Hughie looks like the walking dead as he shuffles in through the door.

Annnnd the pub isn't exactly the place he wants to be. He would've preferred his apartment.

...No, wait, his apartment is filthy and there's a disgusting smell coming from the alley below his window and there are crazy people always shouting in the hallway.

Milliways is better. Ooh, and there are couches here, nice, big, cushy couches.

Hughie makes a beeline for one of these couches. He takes off his trench coat and drapes it over himself like a blanket as he slumps down against the cushions. Heaving a sigh, he closes his eyes.

But even though he's exhausted...he can't fall asleep. There's just too much going on inside his head. Also, the knuckles on his left hand are busted up and it kinda hurts a bit.