[OOM: Over the sea and far away. 30 April 1940.]

When she steps in, she pauses in the doorway; the bookshop is brighter than she would have thought, and far more crowded, and noisier, and it smells not of ink and paper but --

and her face lights up.

MilliwaysShe leaves a shopping bag and her purse in a booth for a moment and heads over to the ( Read more... )

Faith's in the bar, slouched in a chair in front of the fireplace with a cup of coffee.

Feel free to chat.

[OOM: April 23, on board the U.S.S. Orion, cabin 5-B.]

Considering that Archie's mun is sending him off on a frightful quest very soon, she thought that he could probably use some relatively un-doomy time in the bar before that happens.

So here he is, coming in from the staff wing, humming a lively little tune. He's in a good mood, he's going to be married soon.

((OOC: And the mun must take ( Read more... )

[OOM: On stage in the Ankh-Morpork Opera House, the two Ghosts face off... Most dialogue taken directly from Maskerade by Terry Pratchett.]

The door flies open.

There should, it seems, be a crash of thunder lit by a flare of lightning sillhouetting a dark cloaked figure in the doorway... But there isn't.

The figure is dark and cloaked, however, ( Read more... )

Liz Imbrie is at a table, today's Philadelphia Daily News, yesterday's New York Times, and a week-old Times of London spread out in front of her; she's clipping articles with a nail scissors.

A cup of coffee that smells suspiciously of whiskey is at her left hand.

Well. That was smart.

Fait accomplis are a good idea when you're dealing with men, right?

Liz Imbrie sits at the bar, without a drink, looking at two steamer tickets in front of her. Occasionally she touches them. Yes, they would be why she has not bought a drink.

[OOM: You're fired!]

"Lese-majeste," Liz Imbrie murmurs as she wraps her hands around a cup of tea. In front of her is the sailing timetable of the USS Orion; she's circled a few dates.

She looks a little dazed.

Come snap her out of it.

[OOC: Mun cannot, for reasons unknown, sign onto AIM. Oops?]

[OOM: Liz lunches with a certain canonical gentleman.]

Liz Imbrie is sitting in a booth, a pile of sugar cubes and a glass of water in front of her. She has the hiccoughs.

She's seen the tab notice. She doesn't really care. She's still technically gainfully employed. Once she doesn't have hiccoughs anymore, she'll worry about that.

Do you have a cure? Please tell her. Or the mun.