Sara is not a bird, nor is she a plane.

She's curled up in her favorite armchair near one of the fireplaces, a mug of coffee in her hands.

She doesn't look precisely happy, but neither does she look angry.

At any rate, she can be bothered. Company would be a welcome distraction from her thoughts.

Lyrae inna bar with a milkshake.*

In accordance with federal regulations, the management is providing a translation for those who do not speak Milliwaysian Minimalism ( Read more... )

He isn't sure how it happens, but suddenly, he's somewhere else ( Read more... )

Hodges had tried to wear his labcoat down into the bar--if he can't get back to the lab, he can at least take some comfort from wearing the uniform and pretending--but it disappears from around his shoulders as soon as he steps off the stairs ( Read more... )

Hodges is down in the bar, sipping coffee (no more of that sludge that's usually the only thing available in the breakroom--this is the good stuff, the kind he usually has to resort to stealing from Greg Sanders.)

He's discovered the library, and he's re-reading The Andromeda Strain at the moment. He's not making much progress, as he's feeling ( Read more... )

David Hodges is still holding a test tube as he sashays through the door, so intent on studying its contents that he smacks right into Bar before he realizes that he's not in the trace lab anymore.

As fun as he is to mess with, he could use a bit of a helping hand here--especially now that he's noticed the observation window, poor thing.