Ana was carrying two boxes when she came through the door that night, one of them was almost like a beehive box, separated into compartments with a lid that slid off sideways. That one was filled with jars, one in each compartment, pigeonholed and clearly labeled. There was also a stack of empty teabags in each of the corner compartments, and ( Read more... )

Ana, or rather Lehi just at the moment, had had a busy day, relearning how to use a bow and arrows instead of throwing knives. He was still better with the knives, but was quietly making arrowheads at one of the smaller tables over near the window, chipping carefully away at shards of obsidian, a small bundle of already feathered shafts off to one ( Read more... )

Dethklok's manager walked into Milliway's.  It was actually a few days his time after his last visit.  But something seemed to poke at him to cross over that night.  Now.  He had a tendency to act on those feelings.  They had kept him and the band alive in the past ( Read more... )

Ana was feeling young-ish tonight, it had been raining back home and that always made her feel young, or very very old ( Read more... )

Just now, two men walked into the staff corridor, one in black, one in white ( Read more... )

Ana felt like being a boy that day, this was something she did often enough that it really should be no surprise to anyone ( Read more... )

Ana felt like being a boy today, for one thing he was taller this way and could see the havoc that the jelly critters were getting into.

He'd let them loose first before choosing a seat at one of the smaller tables to watch, smiling broadly as he sipped his mug of cider.

Feel free to ask what all the grinning's about.

If all goes well, Will's going to be off to Kate's New York so he's trying modern clothes out beforehand ( Read more... )

Tonight in Milliways! Free show compliments of a very excited puppy with a new toy.

Miniver is sitting close by, laughing at her. He's got his working clothes on (read: emo black jeans with emo black shirt -- hey he works backstage!) and a glass of whiskey in his hand.

Come join them.

When Pickles thought about things, he got depressed.

So he's decided to not think so much.
He's currently situated himself in front of the fireplace, and has his pocket notepad out, pencil in hand, and he's writing. Around him is his obligatory booze bottle fortress of doom. Some are empty, most are untouched.

At least he seems more chipper