milliways_bar | Entries tagged with zorro

silentson.livejournal.com

Down by the beach, you will believe a man can fly!

But only because he actually is, hovering a few inches above the sand, a look of intense concentration on his face. The fine control is a little rough, and, so long as he's stuck with this form, he might as well practice with it. Feel free to bug him.

not-de-la-vega.livejournal.com

Joaquin had gotten used to the idea that he was going to be stuck here for some time.

Of course, his sleep patterns hadn't settled at all, he didn't suspect they were ever going to, really. As soon as he was in a good old-fashioned deep REM sleep he'd jolt himself awake thinking he smelled smoke, or heard the bells, or any number of things.

Of course, being from 1887, he didn't have anyone around to diagnose it as extreme stress. Or some bizarre form of ADD or something.

Just at the moment he was settled near the fire, sipping a mug of coca and watching the flames.

awesome_lilly

Lilly is not sulking. Mature dead women of twenty whatever who have stopped counting birthdays because hi, dead, do not sulk.

She might have a back booth, a raspberry vodka and ginger ale and a slightly pouty expression, but it's existentially pouty. After all, when one of your first bar BFFs and one of your first bar boyfriends have just ditched you for heaven, existential pouting is totally appropriate.

It just also sucks.

not-de-la-vega.livejournal.com

Joaquin wasn't used to practicing out of mask and hat and cape, but, well, he didn't have them with him and didn't want to raise suspicions by asking for a set from Bar.

He still had no idea what was normal around here and what wasn't.

So, a young-ish, though world-weary young man out by the lake, practicing sword forms in the half-light. To say that he had some serious shit to sort through would be an understatement, which might attest for the near-fury he was moving with.

not-de-la-vega.livejournal.com

The young count de la Vega hadn't been expecting to find the bar apparently, if the fact that he was about to draw down against the front door was any indication, "No! Not now!"

Realizing belatedly that he was making a scene, he forced himself to calm again, tugging his mourning jacket straight before making his way smoothly, if tensely, to the bar. Instead of the usual glass of port, he ordered a bottle of tequila that he took off to one of the smaller tables near the window.

Feel free to join him, he'll probably even share the tequila.

shufti

Chairs set out, a gazebo at one side of the garden. Little bunches of flowers decorate the makeshift aisle.

It's a warm sunny afternoon, with no sign of rain, perfect for a wedding.

snorkacklover.livejournal.com

It’s not that Luna hasn’t been around, it’s just that you haven’t been looking in the right places. Of course.

Incidentally, the place to look today would be out by the lake, where Luna’s sat cross-legged in the grass, with her (currently purple) umbrella slung over one shoulder like an oversized parasol. There’s no wind, but it’s trembling anyway.

She pays it no attention as, frowning in absolute concentration, she threads daisies onto a chain already several feet long.

[ooc: now I go do that sleeping thing I hear so much about!]

not-de-la-vega.livejournal.com

The front door banged open, kicked wide by a large, rearing, black horse, there was a clatter and a sharp whinny as the horse realized that all these people and all this noise should not be on the other side of a barn door in the middle of a fight.

A man in black swung himself down quickly, jerking the horse's head down so he could look it in the eye, talking to it sternly in Spanish for a moment until it calmed enough to walk to the back door and outside.

mutinyandmurder

The bar door opens, letting in a blast of ocean scented air and a cloud of black smoke. Someone stumbles forward, coughing and sputtering.

When the smoke clears, the girl looks around. And it is a girl, one with soot streaked and rough cut canvas clothes, and damp, tangled hair.

The door shuts behind her. She sinks to her knees and rests her hands on the floor, next to her bare feet.

"God almighty," says Charlotte Doyle, staring with wide eyes.

not-de-la-vega.livejournal.com

It was a foggy, somewhat gloomy morning in the Napa valley, so Zorro was mildly surprised to find the weather outside the bar much the same.

He didn't mind it much however, after all, weather was weather and he still had to practice no matter what it was like.

Which is to say: man in black out by the lake with a rapier and a longish dagger, going through the motions, feel free to interrupt.

not-de-la-vega.livejournal.com

There was a young count off at one of the tables near the window. The normal window, not the observation window, given as how that one still gave him the heebies.

He was thankful, mostly, to have gotten away from his mother's first garden party of the spring, and was dreading going back to it.

For now, however, he had a glass of port and a book of narrative verse that he was blinking at in something akin to confusion.

turned_captain

Given that it's late January, one would expect fewer people to spend time out by the lake. It's cold, the ground is frosty and dangerous, and the atmosphere indoors is surely a lot more amenable to a person who spent their adolescence and adult lie in the Caribbean then the freezing Scottish cold outside.

Indoors, however, offers little in the way of occupation for a blacksmith and a sword fighter. Will Turner has little use for tables and chairs and bars between his three hearty meals a day. He has a daily routine, and hardly any of that affords him time for wrapping himself up indoors.

Practice is a habit he's been in since he forged his first attempt at a sword. Since then these self-invented "katas" and footwork routines against a homemade dummy have so ingratiated themselves into his routine that a day feels odd without these three hours he sets aside just for himself. So that is what he is doing now; out by the lakeside, putting himself through his paces.

not-de-la-vega.livejournal.com

He was back, there'd been frost at home, even the wine valley of California had winter after all, but he hadn't expected the heaped snow here.

Not that it put him off any, he still had a mug of warm mulled wine and a plate of mostly-finished breakfast.

He didn't have paperwork with him for once, but only because he'd gotten out of the house before his mother could give him any for the day. Winter, it seemed, made him a bit melancholy, but he'd enjoy company.

not-de-la-vega.livejournal.com

The Count was back, no, not that one, the other one. The younger one. Yeah. Him.

Once again he had paperwork, and once again he was ignoring said paperwork in favor of a glass of port and watching the universe ending outside the window.

Go ahead and poke him, it'll probably make him jump.

blue-star-badge.livejournal.com

Adric had finished his commission and was now just making sure it worked and that the heads didn't catch on each other and that sort of thing, working out the final kinks, though they were few and far between.
He'd actually had breakfast already, the remains of it were on a plate at the edge of the table. Spoon was around, likely still carrying a basketful of firecrackers, he hadn't let anyone near them at the bonfire.

~*~*~

Zorro, or, rather Joaquin de la Vega, was back as well, with another stack of paperwork and a plate of eggs, he was not enjoying the former, because it meant that his mother was preparing to leave him the estate, but he was enjoying the latter, because they were good.
He'd probably appreciate help with the paperwork. He hates the stuff.

~*~*~

Estsanatlehi, grandmotherly just at the moment, was sitting near the fire, weaving on a smallish lap-loom, she hadn't brought the full-sized blanket loom in today, but there was always the chance that she might. Her basket was on the floor beside her and Duck was curled up atop the blankets in it.

~*~*~

Remy had finally gone outside, it was a bit colder than he'd been expecting, and he'd probably go back inside soon enough, but for the moment he was enjoying his walk around the lake, hands in his pockets and looking terribly interruptable.

not-de-la-vega.livejournal.com

It was a good thing, really, that the be-masked ~~Mexican~~ Californian hero missed Halloween. It probably would have sprained his brain. Lots.

In any case, he was fighting off boredom and the cold out by the lake, practicing.

Not with his sword for once, though it was still on his hip, he was working with a pair of long knives, just a hair too long to be considered daggers and still too short to be called a shortsword.

In any case, interrupt, but not to be startling plz.

not-de-la-vega.livejournal.com

There was a masked hero in the bar.

Only he wasn't masked today, and his only heroic deed for the moment was balancing the account books for his mother's vineyard. This was of course after he'd valliantly vanquished a plate of huevos rancheros

He'll probably buy you breakfast if you help him with the books.

(mun is at work, patchy replies eminent for the next three hours or so when I get banished to the office with no intarwebs

blue-star-badge.livejournal.com

Adric padded out of the kitchen, drying his hands on his apron, he smiled a moment later, padding to his usual seat at the end of the Bar for a late dinner, tugging out a tablet and a pen from his apron pocket, working on pinning down block transfer computations again, still just to see if he could. Go ahead and distract him, it'll prove him right.

~*~*~*~

Over in what had become his usual booth was Remy, playing a game of solitaire, his own dinner long since finished, though he was sipping at a mug of coffee still, and mostly the card game was to distract his brain enough that he could come to a few decisions while it was otherwise occupied, he'd welcome a better distraction than the game however.

~*~*~*~

Off at one of the small tables was a young man in black, wearing a simple enough mask. He was carefully stitching a narrow cut down one arm, apparently using the Bar as a respite from whatever fight he'd been in previously.

~*~*~*~

Last but not least, someone's little old grandmother was sitting over near the fire, humming to herself while she spun, using a drop-spindle and alternating wool and finely ground cornmeal to get the colors she wanted in the yarn.

not-de-la-vega.livejournal.com

There was a young count in the bar, going over some papers. For the most part his mother was the one to handle things when it came to the Vineyard, but she was delegating things to him more and more often, mostly as a reminder to him that she wouldn't be around forever.

If you'd like to help him review the year's expenses please, feel free, he'll probably give you lunch or something. Numbers aren't one of the things that comes naturally to him.

seeks-sixfinger.livejournal.com

Inigo's out by the lake again, fencing with shadows.

He may be distractable, but calling out from a safe distance is more recommended than surprising him.

[OOC: Mun will be in and out for most of the day.]

not-de-la-vega.livejournal.com

They say that there's no rest for the wicked.

As a point of fact, the wicked sleep quite well, it's the masked heros that don't get any sleep, at least, that's how it would seem, given that one particular masked hero was back in the bar, bandaging an arm before polishing a short knife, taking a stone to the edge of it, brow creased in concentration.

He'd likely welcome conversation all the same.

not-de-la-vega.livejournal.com

HE didn't kick the door open this time, just opened it cautiously, warily even, though he did smile when he discovered that it opened onto Milliways once more.

He nodded, apparently to himself, before sheathing the knife in his hand and crossing to the bar, ordering a Monte Cristo sandwich and a glass of lemonade, surveying the patrons quietly while he ate.

not-de-la-vega.livejournal.com

There was a demi-count* perched in a booth. The bandage he'd had during his last visit was gone, or at least replaced by something small enough to go under his shirt.

He was humming to himself as he cleaned one of the shorter knives, nose wrinkling at a nick in the blade's edge, he'd have to file it down when he got home, because clearly he didn't think to get a stone from the bar.

He was keeping an eye on things however, didn't pay not to really, he'd learned that once too many.

*here the narration points out that he really is a count, but doesn't like titles, hence, demi-count

not-de-la-vega.livejournal.com

Joaquin de la Vega was squirreled away in a booth, cleaning and sharpening his knives, the remains of a meal on the table and a fresh bandage starkly white against his upper arm. His mother, it seemed, had bested him in a duel once again. He seemed surprisingly cheerful about this fact.

virii-twins.livejournal.com

The Twins were outside, sparring carefully with a man in black.

Carefully not only because he was easier to damage than they were, but also because he was actually quite good. The Twins each had their usual katana, and Zorro was working with his sword and one of his short knives.

All three are probably easily interruptable however, just be careful not to get too close too fast.