[OOM: Academy Awards, 1999 In which two years ago beats both Elizabethans and the Second World War. Rated G for gratuitious singing, F for flailing, and S for surprised nominees.]

Maureen enters the bar humming. It's not a recognizable song, mainly because it's a little tune she's making up as she goes along. She glances around. Maybe Mark was around here and that's why she ended up in this place. She simply shrugs and heads to the bar, ordering a glass of water.

The door opens slowly, and a few snowflakes blow in, along with a behatted-and-bescarfed bohemian filmmaker with a cup of coffee. Starbucks, to be precise. He seems to be staring at it wryly. "Why do people pay so much for this stuff?" With a shrug, he plops down at the bar, ordering another coffee. Real coffee this time.

Mark's in the bar, beer, new notebook and pen, scribbling a few notes on various things. He probably could use distraction. Paperwork with a production company really sucks.

Maureen pushes open the door which apparently leads to the bar, walking backwards inside of it. Where was Mark anyway? Oh well, quick trip to the restroom and then she'd eat his food and wait for him to return. Because, well, what else was there to do. But as soon as she turns around she realizes that this was not the place she thought it was.

Roger. Guitar. New default icon as his mun joins the "eeee, trailer!" chorus.

He's sitting by the couches, quietly strumming "Hey Jude" again.

Have at.

Having successfully braved the perils of yet another wardrobe crisis, Angel makes his way downstairs and stops by Bar for some pizza, and a drink.
...Wait, are those ice cubes in that soda? An impressive step, for someone who's spent the past few months avoiding cold as much as possible.

Maureen stumbles into the bar at some godforsaken hour of the morning, after being thrown out by Joanne for the third time. She is holding a small valise and she clearly needs a drink ( Read more... )