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[Dec. 29th, 2009|08:39 pm] |
Enter Wendy Watson. Disheveled. Disgruntled.
Covered in slime. |
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| (no subject) |
[Dec. 29th, 2009|07:58 pm] |
The morning (or afternoon) after is never as fun as the night before.
Grace wakes up in her own room, hair covering her face and sheets flung God knows where, and quickly discovers that moving makes her head spin in less pleasant ways than it did last night. She feels wrung out, foggy and desperately in need of a cigarette. Grunting, she rolls to the edge of the bed and blindly fishes along the floor for a pack, knocking over a bottle of Jack in the process.
Must be Tuesday.
An hour and several smokes later, Grace pulls her legs into her chest and laughs up at the ceiling. She remembers, now that her head's cleared a bit. Reliving the details of her affairs isn't something she does, but there's an exception to every rule. And Vlad?
Holy crap, man.
Eventually, she stumbles into the shower; pulls on jeans and a shirt in a series of half-hearted, drunken movements; and drags her feet all the way to the main room of the bar, where she squints and smiles at strangers before flopping on a couch by the fire. Without removing her face from the throw pillow, she barks "Coffee" at a rat and leaves the rest to fate.
[Tiny tag: A Gothic Winter Tale] |
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| (no subject) |
[Dec. 29th, 2009|06:47 pm] |
You know what Myri Antilles loves? Myri Antilles loves milkshakes. She loves milkshakes a lot (and all night long?). Which is why she is currently sitting with three in front of her, two with curly straws and one with a spoon. She appears to be alternating the order in which she sips from them, perhaps trying to find the best combination. Or perhaps not, as she sometimes seems to forget that two of them are there altogether as she takes several long pulls of one or the other.
Hey, a milkshake habit is better than an alcohol one, right?
Down the Bar, Shalla Nelprin is watching Myri's antics with something approaching amusement, though it is tinged with confusion. She's trying to discreetly squint at Myri (which is quite the difficult task). She can't shake the feeling that the girl looks very, very familiar, even with the multicolored hair. It may look a bit creepy to an onlooker.
[both are open for tagging! specification as to which would be helpful~] |
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| (no subject) |
[Dec. 29th, 2009|06:29 pm] |
Layla Miller is bored.
Having run out of places to explore, she's opting for a more intellectual way to keep herself occupied. After all, one can only wander the hallways and grounds for so long before it all starts looking like the same old place. And, having not made any actual friends, Layla is not just bored, but lonely.
Which is why she has pulled a table partly into a walkway (she has to make sure she gets people's attention!) and set up a chess board. There is no clock, but there are two glasses of ice water, one on each side. The seat across from her is pointedly empty and her lips are drawn up into what she hopes is an inviting and exciting smile.
Layla knows there are plenty of chess-playing people in Milliways! Chess + social interaction - boredom = success!
[ooc: layla is very good at chess. the mun, however, has not played in some amount of time. handwaving of moves = A++. friendly chess is more about the conversation anyway, right?] |
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| A present for Security |
[Dec. 29th, 2009|01:52 pm] |
[OOM: As luck would have it]
(Warning for torture and death of a NPC {Well, a NPC as far as Milliways is concerned})
Evil Chicken and the strange flail he took from the vampire slayer appeared above the woods behind Milliways. Evil Chicken was able to flap his wings to stay in the air, but couldn't keep the flail from falling into the trees below. A few branches received an unscheduled pruning before the flail's sickle head caught in a crotch.
Evil Chicken then vanished and reappeared near the trunk of the tree the flail was hanging from. He inspected the tree, and saw the deep cut the flail had made before it came to a stop. "Eep, Bar would have not liked that..."
If he was going to leave this thing with Bar, he needed to be on her good side. He needed to leave a note with it as well. Otherwise, someone on security might kill themselves trying to use it against whatever vampire was stalking around.
Hehe...
Anyhow, he couldn't write the note, he would have to dictate the note to Bar.
He fired wind spells at the flail until it dislodged itself. As it fell, it managed to make a gash in a nearby tree. Evil Chicken disappeared before the flail hit the ground and reappeared on a high tree branch. The flail made a soft thud accompanied by some klanging of the silvthril chain as it landed on the snow dusted ground. From up in his tree branch, he considered how to best bring the weapon into the bar in a manner that wouldn't hurt Bar or anyone else. Then, the chicken and flail were gone.
Evil Chicken and the flail were now both on top of Bar (yay! no scratches!), and the rooster dictated the following note to her.
( To Milliways Security )
Oh, right, he has only spoken to one member of security. Ah, they will figure it out.
The note and the flail disappeared into Bar and the chicken disappeared back to his home world.
[OOC note:In addition to vampire blood(?) on the sickle head of the flail there should still be some blood from the vampire slayer Evil Chicken stole the flail from. Should smell human, as there is nothing special about the slayers of his world. For a description of the flail, see the OOM] |
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| (no subject) |
[Dec. 29th, 2009|03:20 pm] |
The world as Charlie knows it has been good. Peaceful.
Unfortunately good and peaceful is not what really comes naturally to Charlie, after spending any sort of time in the bar.
Which is why he's in it now, at a table with a cup of coffee and a newspaper. It might as well be normal, except...well, it's not. |
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| (no subject) |
[Dec. 29th, 2009|07:40 pm] |
Bartending is up here for the next three hours, providing my internet doesn't completely disappear again. :D |
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| (no subject) |
[Dec. 29th, 2009|07:37 pm] |
Justin arrives for his shift to be greeted by a note chastising him for missing his last one.
'Shit. Sorry, Bar, mun's wireless was non-existant I totally forgot.'
There's a general air of disapproval as she goes to sleep and Justin sighs as he tosses his school bag over the counter and vaults after it.
SPECIALS
Chocolate Bomb
Chocolate Snow Bear
Chocolate Orgasm
'Bar's open.'
[OOC: Hokay, time for slowtime. Thanks all! *flings love*] |
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| substitute DE! |
[Dec. 29th, 2009|11:17 am] |
Good morning, Back Room denizens! I don't really have any ideas for a topic. Uh. Come talk to me?
Alternately: if my glance at a calendar is correct (OH MY GOD HOW IS IT ALMOST 2010 ALREADY), apps will be opening in a matter of days. Anybody new coming into the bar?
And what the hey, we can open it up in general, as we haven't had one of these in a while: what are some characters you might app in the future or have considered apping in the past? Is there a character who makes you go 'THIS SHOULD BE DONE!' but then also comes with reasons that you didn't app them? Tag in with journals you've made but haven't apped to Milliways! Anything goes! |
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| (no subject) |
[Dec. 29th, 2009|10:01 am] |
Christmas is over, but the world keeps marching forward. And that means when you're a reporter, you have your egg nog, you unwrap your gifts (and also celebrate your third anniversary with Rapunzel), and then you get back to work. Especially since for Knox, it's late February at home.
Work right now is the appointment of the government's first Advisor on Superhuman Affairs. A man named Geoffrey "Sarge" Steel, and thus a man Knox would love to interview. And also a man that Knox's sources say is not what he appears to be. Which makes things intriguing, if also not what Knox is used to handling. But he's game, assuming he gets past the gatekeepers in Washington.
For now, he's reading up on his subject and enjoying some coffee. Come say hi. |
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| (no subject) |
[Dec. 29th, 2009|01:31 am] |
It took a bit of careful timing, but Gus has managed to escape from the infirmary. Somewhere, he’s picked up a television remote control, and is carefully making his way through the bar, ready to stun anybody that tries to stop him. Of course, being quite late at night, there aren’t a whole lot of people to try to stop him doing whatever mission he thinks he’s on. As he nears the Bar, he hunkers down beside her and grabs onto his shirt collar. “Cap’n, target is acquired,” he whispers in his shiny new Scottish accent. After a quick glance round the bar, he gets to his feet and makes a mad dash toward the door. [Tiny Crazy Tag: IMDb Flu]
[ooc: plotlocked. See this post for information.] |
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| A Bound pup has just left the Bar |
[Dec. 29th, 2009|01:30 am] |
As of this post, Gus Dickinson can no longer be found anywhere on the premises. Most of Gus’ friends (and I use the term loosely, because... well, he’s Gus, and a bit of a prick) should know that he’s Bound, and why. But despite this, he’s gone. Room 199 is still registered to him, and will be indefinitely. But for the time being, the resident has gone missing. Even he wasn’t expecting to leave. Bar might know where he’s gone off to, but I doubt she’ll say anything. Any outstanding slowtimes and OOMs with him will continue to tag. |
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| (no subject) |
[Dec. 29th, 2009|03:24 am] |
Of all the races in the galaxy, the Greys have the dubious distinction of being K's least favorite. The Bugs are more violent, the Dentazi are bigger pains in the ass, and the Annelids, well, there you go. But the Greys had the galaxy's worst track record regarding First Contact with pre-Warp cultures, and one of the best ways to get on K's bad side was to carry on like those rules didn't apply to you.
That pretty much summed up most of the Greys, which was how they'd managed to make themselves notorious throughout the galaxy. Unfortunately, for K, and for Zed, there'd been rumors of a secret meeting long ago between the Greys and the Loompas, leading Zed to squint and growl, "Not those weird little bastards again!" and sending K on a weeks-long mission to determine what intel the Greys might have about the Loompas.
That turned out to be pretty much nothing at all, which is why it's a slightly grumpy K who strolls into the bar tonight, and heads over to Bar for a double of Eli Lockhart's finest bourbon. |
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| (no subject) |
[Dec. 29th, 2009|01:12 am] |
Duck is attempting to practice plies using the back of a chair as a makeshift barre.
This would be going better if the chair didn't keep shifting and sending her wobbling wildly.
Still, if nothing else, Duck is great at determination! |
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| quick psa |
[Dec. 28th, 2009|11:59 pm] |
Hey-oh, guys! Just posting a quick note from my phone to aplogize for disappearing; my wireless is sixteen kinds of wonky tonight, so for those threading with Ben Wade (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) almosthonorable), I'll pick up any and all tags in the morning asap!
Thanks, and sorry for the technology fail, y'all. |
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| (no subject) |
[Dec. 29th, 2009|12:28 am] |
Finding Duo is proving less easy than hoped.
None of this (of course) shows on Trowa's face when he enters. He makes his way to the bar, where he requests a cup of coffee and a sandwich, and drops a bit of folded paper on the polished maple. This note isn't for someone else, though; it's a question to Bar, and a moment later a napkin with a few orange-crayon words on it appears in its place. Trowa nods, pockets the napkin calmly, and heads for a table.
(What the napkin confirms: Duo hasn't been in in days.)
He settles down anyway.
When he's done with his sandwich, he'll pull out his laptop. Some of the evidence-mining he wants to do can be done off-line, and Milliways' time differential is useful. Meanwhile, there are a few people worth keeping an eye out for. And a room worth monitoring, just in case. |
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| (no subject) |
[Dec. 28th, 2009|10:58 pm] |
(Somewhere Under Milliways: Sunshine's large, lovingly-collected library of gothic vampire lit will likely never be the same refuge of fantasy escapism ever again. She may burn them all when she gets home. If she survives to get home.)
From the kitchens come the sounds of startled, squeaking rats, of a large basket of paradoxes overturning as someone runs unsteadily towards the reassuring light and noise of the bar. The door to the kitchen slams open a moment later, letting through a pale and shaking Rae, clutching her wrenched and bruised right arm to her chest as she runs.
Her head is still reeling, her eyes watering and blurring her vision, the realization of what had just happened - what she had done - and to whom - causing her stomach to rebel violently.
Luckily, the cleaning crew prefer a clean bar and have put trash cans up at strategic locations, for Sunshine doesn't make it to the restroom before being physically ill. She falls jerkily next to it, clutching the trashcan rim with a white-knuckled grip in an effort to steady herself and counteract the tremors she can't seem to stop.
(Warnings in OOM for... well, gothic horror.)
(Tiny tags: A Gothic Winter Tale, Vlad Dracula)
(OOC: Mun has gone to bed. Will return to tag up on threads tomorrow. EP is open for new threads/tags forever and ever, amen. <33333) |
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| (no subject) |
[Dec. 28th, 2009|09:03 pm] |
Olive's back again (the door was in her kitchen. she'll never understand that magic), so she's making the best of it. She's at the bar with a hot cider, wishing it could warm her heart, and not just her stomach.
Can she bend your ear with her troubles?
[ooc: open until her next post.] |
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