Milliversary Multipup Post Part One; or, Further proof that Bethan hates her brain and wants to die
Sam Linnfer has draped himself along a tree branch overhanging the lake to brood like Jack Harkness deprived of a rooftop enjoy the spring sunshine.
He is not emo at all, and you are a lying liar if you suggest otherwise. Hush.
~
Molly Hayes has also found a high spot, but indoors - the weather outside is still too cold for this California baby. She’s sitting in one of the lower-hanging rafters, legs swinging as she blows rainbow-coloured bubbles. (It’s amazing what Bar can provide, if you ask nicely.)
Her Security badge is neatly pinned to the front of her pink bunnyhat.
~
Minerva McGonagall has a seat in a booth just out of the main hubbub of the bar, and is marking essays. Lots of essays.
She has a large gin and gillywater, because there are only so many times you can read what is essentially the same essay without going insane. That Hermione Granger and her revision classes is a menace.
~
Dean Thomas, one of whose essays McGonagall is currently marking, has wisely chosen to be as far away from his Transfiguration teacher as possible: he’s sitting in the Observation Window, sketching the stars.
~
The entrance door morphs abruptly, as a massive man in the remains of heavy armour lifts what is meant to be the entrance flap to his tent and finds the bar instead. When he sees where he is, Raoul of Goldenlake grins with relief, tugging his helmet off to expose dark eyes set in a ruddy face under a cap of sweat-damp black curls. He’s noticeably limping as he makes his way across the bar to the sofas, and sits down so heavily that the sofa he chooses complains alarmingly.
Muttered, “Oh, just a twenty-foot giant, they said...”
Yeah. It’s been a long day.
~
Edna Mode, meanwhile, has taken over several large tables, had the Loompas clean them, and laid out large swathes of different materials, over which she is now buzzing like a small, black, very chic bee wielding tailor’s chalk, scissors and pins. (She also has a large mojito, but that’s far out of spilling distance of the material.)
Beware: any interruptions are likely to be used as models.
~
She’s being watched surreptitiously by a slightly older gentleman with a pintglass of beer and a book of poetry that has been very carefully hidden inside a History of Genghis Khan and Other Bloodthirsty Villains.
...Oh. Did we mention that Captain Shakespeare also happens to be wearing a very elegant - and frilly - ballgown?
~
At a table in the corner is a very tired medical student with a very large pot of tea and even larger stack of books, tapping away at a laptop. Martha Jones has taken refuge from Facebook to write her latest coursework essay, and by the looks of things she’s going to be here for a while.
Interruptions had better bring chocolate.
~
Someone who hasn’t been in the bar for a very long time has returned! A stripey young gentleman and his dog are flitting through the bar tonight, beaming agreeably (yes, the dog too). Where’s Wally is more than happy to be back. After all, so many people to get lost in, so many books to drop and be found later, so little time.
~
And, finally, one person who has never been here before, though whether or not she has even noticed its appearance is debatable. A (pre-canon) Suzie Costello has taken refuge in an isolated booth with a strange silver gauntlet, and is writing feverishly in between tinkering with it.
~
All characters - even Suzie - have been supplied by an insistent Bar with a large cupcake crowned with four lit candles, even though none of them quite know why. Except maybe Sam, and he’s not telling.
[OOC: See, I wasn’t kidding about hating my brain. Where’s Wally is not taggable, as he’s plot-only - however, he will be appearing somewhere in the Bar tonight, for your spotting pleasure. See the Back Room for details, please and thank you!
Secondly, Suzie is not currently crazy, although she’s getting there, and is therefore really very unlikely to shoot your pup. However she may not be pleasant and she’s certainly fragile. As she’s pre-canon, the management would like to request that no pups who know about Torchwood’s future shenanigans tag her.
Finally, the management reserves the right to wave a white flag for truce slowtime at any time. Until then, consider this as an apology for my not bloody well playing lately!]
He is not emo at all, and you are a lying liar if you suggest otherwise. Hush.
~
Molly Hayes has also found a high spot, but indoors - the weather outside is still too cold for this California baby. She’s sitting in one of the lower-hanging rafters, legs swinging as she blows rainbow-coloured bubbles. (It’s amazing what Bar can provide, if you ask nicely.)
Her Security badge is neatly pinned to the front of her pink bunnyhat.
~
Minerva McGonagall has a seat in a booth just out of the main hubbub of the bar, and is marking essays. Lots of essays.
She has a large gin and gillywater, because there are only so many times you can read what is essentially the same essay without going insane. That Hermione Granger and her revision classes is a menace.
~
Dean Thomas, one of whose essays McGonagall is currently marking, has wisely chosen to be as far away from his Transfiguration teacher as possible: he’s sitting in the Observation Window, sketching the stars.
~
The entrance door morphs abruptly, as a massive man in the remains of heavy armour lifts what is meant to be the entrance flap to his tent and finds the bar instead. When he sees where he is, Raoul of Goldenlake grins with relief, tugging his helmet off to expose dark eyes set in a ruddy face under a cap of sweat-damp black curls. He’s noticeably limping as he makes his way across the bar to the sofas, and sits down so heavily that the sofa he chooses complains alarmingly.
Muttered, “Oh, just a twenty-foot giant, they said...”
Yeah. It’s been a long day.
~
Edna Mode, meanwhile, has taken over several large tables, had the Loompas clean them, and laid out large swathes of different materials, over which she is now buzzing like a small, black, very chic bee wielding tailor’s chalk, scissors and pins. (She also has a large mojito, but that’s far out of spilling distance of the material.)
Beware: any interruptions are likely to be used as models.
~
She’s being watched surreptitiously by a slightly older gentleman with a pintglass of beer and a book of poetry that has been very carefully hidden inside a History of Genghis Khan and Other Bloodthirsty Villains.
...Oh. Did we mention that Captain Shakespeare also happens to be wearing a very elegant - and frilly - ballgown?
~
At a table in the corner is a very tired medical student with a very large pot of tea and even larger stack of books, tapping away at a laptop. Martha Jones has taken refuge from Facebook to write her latest coursework essay, and by the looks of things she’s going to be here for a while.
Interruptions had better bring chocolate.
~
Someone who hasn’t been in the bar for a very long time has returned! A stripey young gentleman and his dog are flitting through the bar tonight, beaming agreeably (yes, the dog too). Where’s Wally is more than happy to be back. After all, so many people to get lost in, so many books to drop and be found later, so little time.
~
And, finally, one person who has never been here before, though whether or not she has even noticed its appearance is debatable. A (pre-canon) Suzie Costello has taken refuge in an isolated booth with a strange silver gauntlet, and is writing feverishly in between tinkering with it.
~
All characters - even Suzie - have been supplied by an insistent Bar with a large cupcake crowned with four lit candles, even though none of them quite know why. Except maybe Sam, and he’s not telling.
[OOC: See, I wasn’t kidding about hating my brain. Where’s Wally is not taggable, as he’s plot-only - however, he will be appearing somewhere in the Bar tonight, for your spotting pleasure. See the Back Room for details, please and thank you!
Secondly, Suzie is not currently crazy, although she’s getting there, and is therefore really very unlikely to shoot your pup. However she may not be pleasant and she’s certainly fragile. As she’s pre-canon, the management would like to request that no pups who know about Torchwood’s future shenanigans tag her.
Finally, the management reserves the right to wave a white flag for truce slowtime at any time. Until then, consider this as an apology for my not bloody well playing lately!]