Moiraine is ensconced at a corner table, with a book of poetry lying open before her and a cup of tea at hand.

It is a quiet evening for the Aes Sedai, apparently.

When Hektor arrives in the Bar this time, he is well prepared. His bow to the Bar is smooth as always; it causes a sloshing sound from the sacks slung over his back. "Lady," he says, "I told you I would bring an offering; if there is something you would rather than this, you have only to say, and I will bring it to you next time ( Read more... )

She's been doing a great deal of thinking in the past weeks, oh yes indeed she has. (And since it seems that her thinking lately goes hand in hand with how hard she works, Magdalyn Simonds has been beyond pleased at the number of pieces that 'Angie North' has brought into the gallery ( Read more... )

There is a large pink pig curled up by the fire, singing Eskimo Nell softly to himself.

"--I DON'T FUCKIN' CARE," Ronan bawls over his shoulder, shouldering through the door without any particular attention paid to his exact location. "DOYLE, YOU CAN SUCK--"

A moment's surprised silence.

"--on me bloody green lolly," he finishes, much more quietly, and slouches towards the Bar proper, hands jammed deep into his pockets.

Things have, perhaps, not been so interesting lately ( Read more... )

*A bolt of lightning with a head zaps through the door and stops in the middle of the room, dissolving into a large blue man with lightning in his hair and wearing red underwear*

*Freakazoid looks around*

Hmmm, this doesn't look like the Saskatchewan Surfing Festival I was supposed to meet Cosgrove at....

*he looks around a bit*

Oooooh, a BAR ( Read more... )

In a sweatshirt and her oldest, most broken-in pair of of jeans, her hair up in a messy ponytail, BJ is not the sterling image of the soon-to-be practicing veterinarian. She doesn't even seem to realize where she is, with her record player blasting away (Billy Joel - Graceland) and her hands full of a journal article she had just photocopied, she' ( Read more... )

The door swings open, revealing jungle foliage of almost cartoonish lushness, and a young man sticks his head into the bar.

He looks very puzzled. However, if you grow to know him better, you will discover that this is not much of a departure from his usual expression.

"... Huh," he says, with a degree of thoughtfulness usually reserved for ( Read more... )

The front door opens to reveal a darkened hallway, and in steps a woman in late middle age with greying red-roan hair: Cordelia Vorkosigan, in a loose green robe over the grey ship knits she wears as pajamas, frowning down at the book-reader she's holding ( Read more... )