Martha Adams enters the bar in jeans covered with flecks of ceder, gloves tucked into her belt, and a face which has obviously recently been washed. Ceder chips hang like fragrant confetti in her coppery hair. She heads toward the bar and, gingerly, asks for a sandwich and a drink ( Read more... )

It has been nearly two months since she last spent an evening downstairs. She, who once was able to ignore Time entirely save to slip in and out of it as she wished, is painfully aware of every passing hour.

Nearly sixty days of troubled nights, too many of which she has spent staring at the ceiling or the wall while sleep eludes her.

(the ( Read more... )

Mrs. Martha Adams enters the bar for the first time in a while. She is looking, all things considered, quite good. Her hair is down to her shoulders again, her skin has the faint tan of a red-head who managed not to get burned (somehow), and she's dressed for gardening ( Read more... )

The End of the Universe is looking especially lovely today.
the world ends
Dworkin is at the observation window, expression avid.
all of them ending and all at once
He's humming something offkey and in Thari.
and this is what we call tragic beauty

[OOMs: A new life for Tool, her reactions to it, and later, a haircut]

Mrs. Martha Adams wants to kill something.

Unfortunately, the thing she wants to kill is already dead.

So she's in the bar, with a drink, contemplating.

Once again, the city pub has become Milliways for Massachusetts representative John Adams. Unlike last time, though, he's too preoccupied to really care. He just spots an empty seat by the fireplace and pulls a coffee table closer. Unrolling a parchment, he also sets up quill and inkwell and proceeds to start writing.

[A souls journey, in three parts. Leaving, Shadows, and Endings]A girl stumbles in. A graceful stumble, she dares never to lose grace. Her large eyes are haunted, and she certainly does not see the Bar she stumbles into. No, she'd been looking for something, anything to end things ( Read more... )

Martha is, again, in to check for messages.

There are, again, none.

However any night she doesn't have to cook for herself in a house that was supposed to hold two or more people is a good night. She orders a dinner, finds a table, and commences watching the stars die.

There are two plates, if anyone is interested in keeping her company.

"mutter mutterconspiraciesmutter muttersteal the clothes off an old mans backmutter muttercapitalists"

And then there's the clink of gold deposited on a smooth surface.

And then there's just Dworkin.