The weather on the East Coast is cold and miserable again; so are the people living there. The damage done by Friday's little flash of seventy degree temperatures and the resulting wave of low-level happiness has been largely defused ( Read more... )

Well, howdy, son, I'm so pleased to meet you... the boys and I have been expecting to greet you...Remiel, archangel of Hope and chief of thunder, in absense of headphones (and a cd player), finds himself walking into Milliways paraphrasing and humming. He should probably invest in some ( Read more... )

Doors, in dramatic moments, usually open with bangs. This not being a dramatic moment, Remiel opens the door soundlessly -- although Cavanaugh-the-blue-yoyo whirs quietly in the air.

The archangel chooses a seat at the bar, grinning, and orders a purple rain shot. Bother/poke/throw jellybabies at will.

Raguel comes in late, stretching a little as he walks to work the out the soreness in his back. The bar's holiday decor throws him a little, as it has every time he's been in lately. Easy to forget it's December, when the temperature doesn't change; he's not the type to notice the piped-in music in department stores ( Read more... )

Raguel pauses on the bar's threshold and takes a moment to stare at the patrons (odd-looking, even for Milliways) and creepy decor. The sheer unfamiliarity of it triggers a brief surge of panic - something did happen and he wasn't here - before he looks more closely ( Read more... )

When Andrew and Sam finally stumbled through the front door, they were no longer dressed in their wedding wear, but were grinning like fools nonetheless. Everything had gone off without a hitch, and the two were absolutely beaming up at each other.

There was a very large cake set up on one of the tables, and someone had set up the karaoke machine ( Read more... )

Peter's in the wheelchair by the fireplace, sleeping again ( Read more... )

KARR, it seems as been busy. His scanner flickers back and forth at a steady-almost smug-pace. Both his hood and front end are littered with leaves, and have a good amount of dirt on them, but for once it doesn't seem to bother him. The observant might also notice that it looks like there's some fur stuck to his undercarriage and wheels ( Read more... )

*Meg heads in through the front door, her feet absently moving in a pattern that's not quite walking, and promptly trips over a chair.*

There's an angel curled up in an armchair-- sans wings, because that would be painful-- reading 'Salem's Lot and sipping at a strawberry milkshake. Remiel doesn't seem to be very involved in it, and grimaces occasionally.

Perhaps Hope should not be reading Horror.