milliways_bar | Entries tagged with yuna

night-hibiscus.livejournal.com

It's... possible Yuna overdid it on hot rum toddies last night. Not extravagantly, but enough that she chose to spend the night in Milliways. This morning she had a small headache, but it's passed by now, and she's more-or-less cheerfully marking time by the fire; when she goes home, she'll need to go to sleep, so she needs to wait until she's tired to go back.

In the mean-time, she's leaning back on a couch, working on the Rubix Cube she got in Ray's New York. She's still wearing a simple blue shift, and she's still barefoot. As her hands move quickly over the surface of the cube, twisting and ratcheting, her large amber ring flashes in the firelight.

night-hibiscus.livejournal.com

Yuna looks better than she has the last few times she was in the bar; tired, but clean and unbattered, barefoot in a simple blue shift. The Al Bhed shop doesn't have all the amenities--the constant lightning strikes are bad medicine for Al Bhed machina--but it's inside, and there's beds, and a tub to wash her dress in.

That might explain the sudsy hands, which she wipes on her skirt. Her smile spreads as she heads the bar and orders "something warm." The rum toddy is--well, it has more rum in it than she expected, but it's maybe not a bad thing.

night-hibiscus.livejournal.com

There's a pot of tea on Yuna's table, and a few cups; it would be very rude not have other cups available, if someone came over.

There's also a sphere; it looks something like a paperweight, a billiard-sized crystal ball of clear blue water, but faintly luminous.

Right now, if we can apply the word in Milliways, Yuna is praying, her lips moving silently in supplication and appeal to powers that she is not entirely certain can hear her from here. She does not look desperate, as if she's praying against hope for hope, but appearances can be decieving. On that front, although there's a small silver cross pendant from her rosary, it doesn't seem to be a part of whatever devotional tradition she's following, as her fingers slip over the beads of jet and cowrie shell.

She'll be finished shortly.

(Her appearance--as she has been since she entered the Thunder Plains, she's battered and muddy, and despite the iron grip she has on her expression and composure, nothing can hide the ragged edge of her weariness, at this point. If she slept badly in the constant storms before, then there are no words for how she sleeps since she found herself affianced to a murderer.)

night-hibiscus.livejournal.com

Sometimes it seems like the Thunder Plains are never going to end.

Yuna is sitting at a table by herself; if you saw her the last time she was here, there's not much else to say. It's the same, maybe a little worse. She's damp and muddy and fairly battered; her expression is composed and serene, but there's not much to be done about the mounting exhaustion.

(It's impossible to sleep; even if you get used to the thunder, you can't get used to the way Rikku screams every time she hears the thunder.)

She has a cup in front of her; it's not tea. It's rum. The cup is fairly small, but on the other hand the bottle is not.

night-hibiscus.livejournal.com

Yuna slumps into the bar, sopping wet and streaked with dirt and mud. Years of posture admonitions from Lulu are giving way under the weight of her sodden sleeves and her staff. There are scratches on her face and her bare upper arms, and she's entirely given up on the smell of singed hair that hangs around her like a cloud.

There's a fixed lack of expression on her face that doesn't give an inch as she drops into a chair. She doesn't order anything, but accepts a cup of tea a waitrat brings her.

Cursed, cursed Thunder Plains.

night-hibiscus.livejournal.com

There's the deep rumble and sudden crack of nearby thunder, impossibly loud, and the bar door blows open; Yuna flies in through it, landing heavily on the ground.

She looks more angry than harmed, although the unmistakeable stink of burnt hair is all around her.

The image in the door is frozen, as it is usually is when she enters, but it's usually not this eerie--the land outside is desolate, blasted; cloaked in clouds and dotted with steel towers. In the distance, a lightning bolt is frozen in mid-air, licking out at one of the towers.

She kicks the door shut, scowling through her fried hair.

night-hibiscus.livejournal.com

[OOM, In Spira:

Something long expected finally occurs, and also something less expected.

Something almost happens, but does not.

A variety of people thought lost re-appear, and one vanishes.

Something is discovered that everyone already knew.]

night-hibiscus.livejournal.com

It's getting cooler out there, and Yuna remembers clearly what it was like last year; she's taking the opportunity to swim a little bit more before all of summer has leaked away.

(And if there are bittersweet memories out there--Spira's entire sea is bittersweet memories. It's something you learn to take in stride.)

She's a lot less chilled than an Earth human would be, but she's looking forward to a hot cup of tea, when she re-enters the bar. Her clothes absorb water and dry quickly; the only sign of her swim is the wet tangles of her hair.

gabriel_tam

He knows that Regan is likely to be less than pleased when she hears about this. Still, right now he's restless enough that he's willing to chance it for the opportunity to get out of the few rooms in the New Mayfair house where he's been recuperating.

And so, moving slowly and with extreme care, Gabriel Tam comes through the front door into Milliways. There are newly-healed scars on the left side of his jaw and throat; he's leaning heavily on a cane and clearly breathing with some difficulty, but he's evidently very determined.

Fortunately, it's not far to the nearest table.

almost-chosen.livejournal.com

Okay, nobody told Neville that Milliways had a replica of the Hogwarts lake out back.

Not an exact replica--there's only one greenhouse, and there's no stables or firing range or smithy at Hogwarts, and he's pretty sure he's never noticed that inlet before, but the lake and the surrounding area are, for the most part, the same.

The next question is, obviously, whether or not the plants are the same, which leaves Neville happily Herbologizing outside the bar.

Just wait until he realizes there's seaweed that belongs in the Caribbean in that inlet.

[OOC: Mun reaching maximum thread capacity for Friday night brain, alas, and going to have to ask for no new threads. Neville will be around again before too long. :D]

tibetanmethod

It's not so much a question of what's wrong with this picture as what isn't wrong with this picture.

The front door opens. Dale Cooper is rumpled, unshaven, bruised; his hair is all over the place -- and hanging in his eyes, because he's looking down. His fingers are running over his badge as though he's never seen it before -- as though he has no clue it belongs to him.

When he looks up, however, he's clear-eyed and smiling.

"A bar is no stranger," he says, cheerfully, "than anything else."

His name might be Dale Cooper.

But he doesn't know that.

He doesn't know much of anything, really.

He slips the badge in his pocket and meanders toward the bar.

He hasn't noticed that he's barefoot.

night-hibiscus.livejournal.com

When Yuna comes in tonight, she's barefoot and dressed for sleep, her sleeves and wide yellow belt folded beside her staff and her bedroll. Beyond her the door shows darkness and a small campfire, and the slumbering bulk of Kimahri.

She looks briefly surprised, but shrugs and enters. After a brief detour to the bathrooms she returns to bar and, yawning, takes a cup of tea to a couch. Owlish people-watching is a nice hobby when you're tired but not yet ready for sleep.

gabriel_tam

[OOM: Following the (previously posted) assassination attempt and subsequent emergency treatment at Milliways, Gabriel Tam is taken to a Londinium hospital to recuperate. Over the course of the next several days, there are a number of visitors.

The next day, River is there watching over him when her father wakes up. Galadan brings a very worried Mary Lennox by so that she can see for herself that Gabriel isn't dead, thank you. Crowley waits for Galadan to depart the premises before making his own visit, but finds a cranky River on guard instead.

Simon brings Yuna with him when he visits. The doctor and the healer together find that all is not quite as well as they hoped, and take steps to address the situation. Later on, following his worried arrival and reunion with Crowley, a certain 'Prior Fell' checks on the senator and offers a helping hand of his own while Crowley talks with Simon elsewhere.

Kaylee has her own ideas about how to cheer up anyone stuck in a hospital, and comes armed with presents to help. They're much more pleasant gifts than the one that arrives later with a note from Raguel-- although it's quite possible Galadan's even less pleased about that than Gabriel is.

By the time a few days have passed, Regan and Gabriel have developed something of a routine, even if it's not exactly an easy one. (Nor is the news that Regan brings this time about what's happened with Kaylee especially easy, for that matter.) Still, as usual, she falls asleep by his hospital bed, her hand in his.

As it turns out, she's still there when the final visitor makes his way into Gabriel's hospital room, much later that night.]

samstewart.livejournal.com

Sam's in the bar again, having once again found it on the other side of DCS Foyle's office door. (The past few times, she'd been more than a little disappointed when she found herself in the police station corridor. Especially when she'd been wanting a cup of Milliways tea more than anything.)

Regardless, she now has that longed-for cup of tea, and a new case to mull over. Really, normal working-class girls generally don't go about shinning up telegraph poles and cutting important wires, let alone owning up to it afterwards. But the girl in the cells at the Hastings police station seems to have done just that. It's sabotage -- and it's a hanging crime.

It's got Sam thinking, and frowning a little as she stares down into her cup.

night-hibiscus.livejournal.com

If you asked Yuna where her party was, she would tell you they are close to the Guado city of Guadosalaam. She's been saying this for several weeks.

'Close' is a relative concept, when you go everywhere on foot.

The good news is that Rikku is getting pretty handy with her blades, and building up quite the collection of weird stuff in her backpack.

The bad news is... well, the usual. Continual battles with fiend, dry and salty preserved food, trying to strain tadpoles out of the drinking water.

Which may explain why Yuna is seated comfortably enjoying a cup of tea with absolutely no wiggly bits.

To a stranger, or at least a stranger from Earth, she'd appear to be a young Japanese teen who got lost in the woods in her dress clothes, something like a kimono with seperate detachable sleeves long enough to trail the ground and a seperate, vine-patterned skirt. Her hair is beginning to reach past her shoulders now, except for around the right side of her face where it's twined in blue and yellow beads, with a shiny sort of bangle at the bottom of the largest.

There's a pretty good blue-and-yellow bruise puffing up her left eye, too, that she isn't taking much notice of.

gone_byebye

Ray trundles down from upstairs, where he's been doing analysis of the various stories of Sheer Wonderfulness for the past eight hours straight, and puts up a sign at a very visible table:

Doing A Study On Reunions And Meetings Only Made Possible By Milliways
Tell Me About The Most Wonderful Person You've Encountered Here

I Promise Not To Talk Your Ear Off About My Fiancee

Then he flags down a wait-rat. "Can I get a half-pound ostrich burger, medium rare, with cheddar cheese and a basket of Fuddruckers-style fries, please? And a root beer?"

The rat squeaks and scampers off. Ray settles back in his seat with a sigh and contemplates going back to school for a degree in epidemiology. Lord knows he's earning credit towards it here.

night-hibiscus.livejournal.com

They should've been in Guadosalam by now, but a few encounters have made it clear that while Rikku is a whiz with anything magico-mechanical, she's not on the same level as a combatant. There are a lot of fiends in the jungle leading towards the Guado caverns, and they aren't that dangerous; Yuna's happy--well, willing, anyway--to use a little time getting her cousin up to par.

There's something to be said for a fifteen year old girl so cheery that she bounces back to her feet with a wisecrack and a stagger after a rock-fiend hurls her into a tree. It's just--sometimes, the something is, "Go away."

Yuna is currently at the bar, sipping tea and reflecting on the silliness of childhood from her grand position of two years older than Rikku. She's also occasionally searching the room with her eyes, looking for something or someone.

river_meimei

[OOM: Gabriel Tam gives a speech to a cheerful crowd, and to a few surprise guests.

And things really, really don't go as planned.]

The door slams open, and Regan Tam runs through. For once, she's neither composed nor immaculate, though she was a short while ago; her hair is straggling, her face white and eyes wild. She grabs the door, holding it open.

The reason becomes clear an instant later, from the cavalcade that follows: Galadan, bearing an unconscious and blood-drenched Gabriel Tam in his arms. Gabriel's face and chest are laid open, deep awful wounds seared black at the edges. Beside him hurries Simon Tam, taut and intent; taking up the rear comes River, her skirt soaked with red and her hands streaked with it. She scans the room with a bodyguard's sharp paranoia, as the group hurries towards the infirmary.

[OOC: They're going to be heading straight for the infirmary and not likely to change course, but this is not at all plot-locked! Feel free to notice, to try to interact if you don't mind your character getting a very distracted response, or to have your character stop by to help or stare.

Also, warnings for a fair bit of gore in the above OOM.]

night-hibiscus.livejournal.com

Rikku's only been a part of Yuna's party for a day, and already the advantages of having an Al Bhed in the party have made themselves clear: to wit, Yuna has her favored staff back, now equipped with special abilities it didn't have when it left Besaid. And Tidus's shield is a lot sturdier with just a little bit of tweaking. It's amazing what you can do with junk you find in the jungle.

Yesterday was not a good day. Today is a decidedly better one. It's that much better for having a cup of tea (or Pepsi, if you are a horrible savage from Zanarkand) and a soft couch in it.

In other words, Yuna and Tidus, in the bar. Tag either or both.

night-hibiscus.livejournal.com

[OOM: The Moonflow: Two Views]

night-hibiscus.livejournal.com

They have gone on. And she has to go back.

(And what is the use of anything?)

The (next High) Summoner sits by the side of a sea that isn't really the sea, and weeps; and is not ashamed to.

In time, she dives into the water, and she swims, from one side to the next, and with her tears washed away and soaking just as she was when she entered, she, too, goes back where she belongs.

[Exit and post-sending post for Yuna; feel free to tag in at a time before she leaves.]

night-hibiscus.livejournal.com

Time passes. Conversations ebb and flow. And finally a mood comes over--not the room, but certain tables in it.

And Yuna, perhaps naturally, has been keeping an eye on each of those tables. She feels it, too, when the time has come, and she rises, her face solemn and composed, and moves towards the door to the lake, carrying her staff. She pauses in the doorway, to catch Lucy's eye, and a nod passes between them.

And then she heads down to the water, to the edge of the inlet, where salt and sweetwater meet, as the sun comes down and turns it gold.

To wait, just a little longer.

[OOC: This is the Pevensie's exit post. Well-wishers and even spectators are welcome, but please, in subthreads below the first. These can go on even after the main thread concludes--time, as ever, is a face on the water. :) Thank you.]

night-hibiscus.livejournal.com

Yuna is sitting on a couch; for the first time in a week, she's dressed as she was when she entered.

As a summoner. Duty calls.

For some time she sits quietly, praying under her breath, her prayer beads clicking gently. It takes her about twenty minutes, and then they vanish up her sleeves, and she turns to her tea.

lord-of-dreams.livejournal.com

Take a story, and bind it into a book. There is a cover, a title page, credits, and the information which a publisher adds. Dedication, acknowledgments, and the chapter heading before the story begins. Stories never begin in the beginning. They start in the middle; one trick first time writers are told is to put the second chapter first.

Stories do not have beginnings. The most common thing said when someone is trying to explain something is I don't know where to begin. Where does the story of a life begin? With the birth? There are nine months of growth before that. With conception? That implies that the past has no effect on the present.

Somewhere there is a book. This book has a beginning, a middle, and an end. This book holds the story of the universes. The beginning is not here. The end is not yet. The middle is too large to contemplate. The book is full of chapters, paragraphs, which hold parts of the story. They may never connect in a way that the reader expects, but they are all part of the story.

Endings are a bit easier to define. Some define an end to a life-story as death. Some define it past there. All stories share the beginning, but endings are private.

Say goodnight, Gracie. The End. Wake up.

Sometimes you can see the end before you get to it. You turn the page and realize there are not many left before you reach the back cover on this fragment of the story. You hold a friend and realize that when the hug stops they will drive away forever. You see a flash and know that tragedy has struck. You look ahead and see the diploma waiting for you.

Not all endings are for the worse. Some are a form of freedom. You see them coming, and you can not help but smile for what lays ahead for the heroes.

Most endings include a period of goodbye, and Dream is fond of stories. In one way he is a story himself. Morpheus, Dream of the Endless, has passed the end of his story and marks time at the End of the Universe. From here he has watched the ending of many stories, and the change of many more. In one way he is the stories he watches.

An end is near, and it is not his end. That end is passed. It would, however, be a small and petty thing if he who had held the story and helped a woman force her story to linger were to allow this ending to happen without noting it in a greater way.

Dream is seated in his throne, a glass of white wine held in his snow-pale fingers, watching the bar and the stories within it. It is not often he manifests without being called; but he is here. One he has called his own, one he has called a friend, finally gets her long deserved and desired ending. Dream is here to say goodbye to Lucy.

He is manifest in the bar, however, and that means that he is willing to speak with those who desire to speak.

simon_doctor

There is a doctor in the house. Sitting at the bar, to be specific, with a tall glass of iced green tea (unsweetened) and an order of potstickers.

He's reading something on his datareader, but not with any particular concentration.