"I'll talk to 'em about it- security, anyway. The rest of the Bar can go fuck themselves if they give you any shit over something that's doing you good."Spoon isn't sure that Sarge has had a chance to talk to Security yet. On the other hand, he and Gheri have been stuck in his room for the last half hour trying to get the door to let them go to ( Read more... )

There's no tower of fire this time. He just ignites and the air fills with the roar of a beast imprisoned. He's still stuck, his mission still awaits, there's nothing that he can do ( Read more... )

Agnes is doing better, so she's going to risk trying out a wait shift. She hasn't worked her last three because of... well, best not to dwell. Anyway, she's feeling okay now, so she's back downstairs with a smile on her face and an apron on her waist.

Your server is: Agnes gets written on the specials board. Then, after a moment's thought, she ( Read more... )

Elan is sitting at a table, tuning his lute and smiling happily. He's met a lot of new friends and learned a few things about this place, and he's excitedly waiting for the rest of this wonderful new subplot to become clear ( Read more... )

[Six Months Ago: Hiro reflects on limitations as he returns to Ando. -- Spoilers for Six Months Ago and back ( Read more... )

Jack is sitting on the floor, surrounded by cushions, playing with wooden blocks.

Shufti is nearby, keeping a close eye on her son whilst sharpening a large sword. It looks rather old, and slightly battered. An expert might notice it is a little too big for her. But it is very shiny.

Drizzt is outside this evening his scimitars gleaming in the moonlight as he weaves them through intricate patterns, his eyes alight with fire as he cuts into a statue of an orc in full plate armor ( Read more... )

At the corner of the bar, the End of All Things perches, drink in hand.

It is entirely possible that a top hat sits next to her on the bar.

It is also entirely possible that it's been a good while since she's had a drink.

All things are possible, really.

Conan is passed out at one of the tables. Strewn around him are various mugs, some of which still have drink in them. Held in his hand, even though he's asleep, is his sword.

He's also snoring. Loudly. Come and wake him, if you dare, or lack any sense of danger or caution.

For a moment, the sound of fighting and fires rage outside the door. Then, in rushes the Cimmerian, both his sword and his armor bloodspattered... And he stops.

"Ymir's bones, where am I?" He looks around, and readies his sword. He doesn't know what magic this is, but he's sure he'll soon master it's Gordian nature.