Spoon is out back with moonswords, working out. It's a different style from his usual, and he wants to put some extra time into it. Especially after using them primarily at the thing with Axel the other day. Definitely not yet extensions of his arms. Definitely got to put more work into it.

It's one of the simple pleasures in life.

Some days, Nottingham just is hard on everyone, today was one of those days.

The weather was nice but there was an angry lord passing through the forest and so Will enters, still far too ready for battle.

He stops, blinks, gets a pack of ice from the Bar for his eye, checks he's not bleeding anywhere else and flops down near the fire with some

Aramis was sitting at a table, unaffected by the changes since he and his Musketeer brothers in arms were all from the 17th century. He was looking over his copy of a bible, and there was a nervous glance around the bar. There were some strange meetings with deities and worse, something that could only be a terrible demon from the pits of hell ( Read more... )

The front door slams open, and a blur of bright reddish-gold fur and dark green cloth skids through, losing traction as the ground shifts from the soft loam of Sherwood to the hard wood of the bar. Robin is on his feet fast enough though, and bounds back to the doorway to bow dramatically at whoever is on the other side ( Read more... )

After quite some time outside, with English bow in hand and quiver in the other, the other Sherwood Outlaw burts through the backdoor. Now generally this would be an issue but oddly enough as soon as the door is open music seems to follow the fomer Bard into the commons of Milliways ( Read more... )

"... Oodalaly oodalalay golly what a day..." Sings the fox in green as he strolls through the front door, bow and quiver of arrows slung over his back.

Someone's in a good mood, anyway.

"Mmmmm, la la dada deeee dala..." The voice is quite good, but the person owning it is a bit fuzzy. At least he isn't dressed up like a stork this time, even if he is daydreaming while walking.

It's just as well he hasn't run into the Sheriff and his wolf pack today. Someone is really looking forward to that archery contest.

Sometime well before sundown (ah, Millitime, how we love thee), Wells steps away from looking after a certain pair of Doberman puppies and finds himself in the Bar. Not his idea of a good place to be on the last night of the full moon, so he gets a pint of Bass and keeps right on walking until he gets out back. He's going to wait for a bit with his ( Read more... )

The door bursts open, and a gangly-legged stork in a badly patched coat and a badly battered cloth hat stumbles through backwards. With one feathered wing (don't ask how) he carries a rough bow, the wood just barely shaped properly. There's even a twig with a lone green leaf still attached to the outer arc of the clumsy weapon. The arrows in the ( Read more... )

After closing their latest case and feeling decidedly anticlimactic about it, Mulder felt some light reading was in order. He'd been meaning to reread the entirely absurd, but equally interesting, book he'd bought at a sci-fi convention a few years ago, theorizing alien foreplay rituals; he'd lost it, however, somewhere in the recesses of his ( Read more... )