OOM: Zombie wants beer.

Shaun not giving him beer.

Zombie wants to go to pub.

Zombie fed up with toolshed.

Zombie yanks chains free!

Zombie breaks through toolshed door!

...Zombie in Milliways!

"Huuurrrrh?"

Zombie syntax quite similar to Neanderthal syntax, which is completely unintentional. Mun will stop it now, it's silly.

[OOC: ( Read more... )

[OOM: Meet me in the middle of the air"Jesus, what does a guy have to do to get a nurse around here ( Read more... )

Imagine that, ol' 'Strammy's actually awake for breakfast.

He had a good time in the Strong Badathlon, but now it's time to relax and refuel after the someteen days of glory with a pancake sausage on a stick and a mug of coffee.

Most botherable.

When the door opens, it opens to a warm and gorgeous San Francisco landscape. A man who is yelling something down the road while walking backwards enters.

"I told you, Natalie, I don't -- "

And that's when the door closes.

Monk stands there and stares at it for a few moments, just to make sure it doesn't go anywhere. He counts, silently: One, two, ( Read more... )

To be honest, this places scares Gibbs. It's too bright, too clean, too fancy. And it's magic. Magic isn't merely bad luck, it's just bad. Decent and honorable folk have no truck with magic. And the rest of the world (which includes him) would be smart to follow their lead this once ( Read more... )

See, here's the thing about Gumby -- he's versatile. Ask him to do anything for you, anything at all, and he will deliver, with verve, passion, and quite possibly what was known in the old days as "vim," whatever that might mean ( Read more... )

A table is piled high with flowers.

Standing over this pile of flowers, which is probably piled, oh, suspender-high, is Mr. Gumby, blinking at the array.

There's order to be found in this inviting chaos. Whether you choose to contribute or destroy it is entirely up to you. Either way, though, somebody's getting some nicely-arranged flowers out of

Someone is knocking on the Door ( Read more... )

Well, well, will ye look at that.

There appears to be a Shadwell in the bar, now with his very own can of condensed milk and pockets full of firelighters, by which the narration means that he has two.

Flash southern bastards be damned, you can't ask a man to give up his firelighters.